{Enki}

Korac, along with the rest of the room, turned and looked at the powerhouse who was Tameka Phillips. He couldn’t help but notice the pride in Xelan’s eyes as he gazed at his girl with pure respect. It amused Korac that Caedes shared a similar expression. Long-term exposure to Fury had a catching effect.

Hell, even Tumu’s voids glimmered regarding her fantastic suggestion of draining the storm. “Yes. Torrentus should respond, but I warn you. The experience under that catastrophe might be so intense you can’t reach your ability in time before it overwhelms you. It was a byproduct of Ishkur.”

That word again. It rang in Korac’s bones.

Recognition ignited Tameka’s eyes in green fire. “What is Ishkur? Why did Celindria say I was the key to it?”

A flicker of something passed over Xelan’s face before he answered, “Ishkur is a project the Aegis abandoned.”

Tumu elaborated, “I never saw evidence of its completion.”

When Razor cycled into Korac, he told Sagan of projects the Aegis abandoned because of Inanis and eventually Tritan intervention. Was Ishkur one of them? Korac said, “The Aegis left several endeavors unfinished because of Razor’s experiments with his Probability army.”

Something pressed against Korac’s mind, nearly interrupting his thoughts. Something he’d experienced before. He spared a glance at Andrew. It was happening more frequently lately and only when this Progeny was in the room. When Andrew met his eyes for a brief glimpse, Korac knew it was him. So much guilt inside. Was Andrew tearing himself apart over Lucas? Testing their intentions because he forgot how to trust?

Tumu carried on with details about Tritan security. Andrew left the room with a wave. Kyle stayed behind and offered his joint to Lam, who whispered a flame onto it, reducing it to ashes. Pehton followed the conversation from her height deficit, looking for all the world like a sexy penguin. Tameka’s eyes fluttered, and she shook her head. When she took two deep breaths, Xelan touched his hand to her back.

The Shadow was burnt out. Phase III came too soon after Phase II, and planning wasn’t exactly regrouping. The Prince’s comforting gesture to his mate reminded Korac of an important promise he made to himself. He said, “I need to check on Sagan. I like what we have here so far. Tritan hallowed ground as a battlefield—What a concept. I’ll formulate units once we get this information to Lady F8.”

“Wait,” Xelan grabbed his arm and… well, things were complicated. As if he sensed it, too, the Traitor Prince dropped his hand and said, “I may or may not have smuggled some Tritan weaponry—”

“Excuse me?” Tumu took some offense.

“—Into my stronghold on Earth. Colton and Cypher told Lynn and Andrew that it’s structurally sound. Can you and Sagan grab them for me? There’s not many. Nothing you can’t carry.” As if to make his point, Xelan’s eyes flicked to Korac’s substantial biceps.

An awkward silence settled in the room. Everyone watched Xelan and Korac’s interaction. A side-effect of airing all of their dirty laundry. As the unnecessary tension mounted, Korac muttered a curse and walked out on the past which haunted Xelan’s eyes and went in search of his future.

Sagan sat across from Triss, staring with dark circles under her eyes. Elden, Gait’s royal couple stole so much from his girl. He wanted a way to return her peace of mind.

“Sagan?”

She startled in a room full of her favorite people and blinked a few times at Korac as if trying to recognize him. Or check whose eyes were in his head. After a second of this, a gorgeous smile—goofy, too—spread over those soft lips.

When watermelon diffused the air, Korac knew she liked his battle gear almost as much as he liked hers. A purple Icarean robe which matched her eyes, cinched at the waist by a silver wide-link chain. Black leather pants which matched her own tucked into embellished motorcycle boots completed the ensemble.

Sagan stood and drove the point home, running her small hand over his pale exposed skin where the robe intentionally gaped. Warm fingers traced the designs he’d painted beneath. With her free hand, Sagan tugged gently on one of Korac’s ornate braids that fell from his sliver ponytail. She smiled and said, “Hey there, handsome. I was just imagining the rest of our lives together.”

Shit. It was never a good time to ask her. Phase III came upon them fast, but “rest of their lives together” sounded nice. Korac took Sagan’s hand from his chest and brought it to his lips. Soon. “We have some errands. They shouldn’t take long.” He let his eyes wander to the sweetheart neckline of her deliciously revealing halter top.

Yes. Pink, glowing cheeks. That’s what Korac wanted. Sagan stopped playing with his hair and swatted him. He kept the wince to himself. Progeny women were fucking strong.

“Where do they need me to go?”

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After thirty minutes of checking with everyone to see if they needed anything on this run, Korac and Sagan arrived on Monarch 3, where they met with F8.

“The Pantheon.”

“Yes.”

“As a battlefield?”

“Yes.”

Inside the viscous fluid-lined hive, the elusive Queen of Monarch 3 sat on a black blossom which formed her throne. Seps stood at her right side, while a legion of other drones lined the walls, standing at attention like excellent soldiers. With her head tilted in contemplation, F8 asked, “Was this Tameka’s idea?”

Sagan’s mouth gaped in surprise. “How did you—”

“She’s bold and this is an idea only thought up by someone possessing such bravado. Can you get us there, Seamswalker?”

Sagan stepped forward like the confident General who Korac loved. “I’ll retrieve you and the rest of the forces from Cinder’s shrine. There are other forces, yes? With our current situation, we’re out of touch, so we’ve no idea how far the declaration of war has carried.”

F8 smirked and glanced at Seps, who also smirked. She leaned into him and muttered, “Shall we tell them or let it be a surprise?”

Sagan tensed beside Korac, so he pressed his hand against the exposed skin of her back. He could see what she couldn’t. F8’s pulse pounded, her heavy breathing expanded her ample chest, and the woman’s multi-faceted eyes glimmered with warm light.

Pure exhilaration.

Korac recognized it from many of his partners. After all, with gags, blindfolds, and masks, they’d learned to communicate without words.

Sagan looked a question at Korac, and he whispered in her ear, “It’s good news. I’m still uncertain how good, but we’ll see the support we need.”

“You have no idea.” F8 sounded satisfied and elated. “This will be the battle to end all strife across the Vast Collective, and we move under the Shadow’s banner. Please… pass on my respects.” The Queen bowed at the neck, but her people fell to one knee and pounded a fist to their chest.

Thousands of drones paid their respect to the Shadow.

On a final note, F8 said, “The Tritan makers, all their dominating schemes to subjugate the women they’d created, will see their worlds undone at our hands.” She held her tiny feminine hand to her face and clenched it into a fist.

All the leaders of the planets were such drama queens.

Korac was still contemplating this when Sagan Seamswalked them into the study of Xelan’s desert stronghold. A hexagonal room lined with rosewood shelves and furnished with plush leather sofas plus one massive desk custom-made to mount along one half of the room. A small flame of Cascading Light burned in the fireplace.

It was called “taste.”

Sagan went over to the desk and rummaged through some books. “Can you believe—”

One latched and the wall with the desk revolved into another room.

“—That Xelan’s this cheesy.”

Korac gaped incredulously and swore to never accuse the Traitor Prince of having taste again. As Sagan disappeared, Korac followed the desk into the next room. “Before Imminent had attacked Iona Medical and the Arsenal, I would have called it redundant to house a secret vault in a stronghold miles under an empty desert.”

Taking in the room, Korac could see why. A variety of goodies hovered over a dozen podiums set throughout the otherwise bare room. One of which he recognized. Pointing at the gun, he said, “Remorse held one like this at me when I confronted him after you went… missing.”

Sagan shot him a sweet smile. This way and that, she tried to show she was recovering. Korac only wished she’d never endured it in the first place. She bent her knees to read the podium’s label under the handheld cannon. “Aegis Deterrent. Yeah, no shit. How big is this thing? Oh…” Sagan blinked and read, “Forty-five kilograms. Aw, thanks, Wingmaster. These labels are nifty.”

Korac smiled to himself all the while to Sagan’s chatter. He scanned a few labels of some interesting blades and something which looked like a riding crop. Interesting. Reading the label, he said, “This one is electric.” Maybe it vibrates? Glows?

Oh.

Nope.

Touching it, the throng sparked and buzzed. Korac caught Sagan’s wide eyes staring as he held it. He smirked and said, “After we’ve won, we’ll put it to good use.” He almost added “if you’re up for it,” but realized reminding Sagan of her progress wasn’t helpful. She needed the distraction and fun. Korac could deliver that in spades.

“What do you think they’re doing to Pax?”

Sagan’s question put a cap right on Korac’s intentions. He answered honestly, “I wish I knew.”

Sagan plucked another weapon from the podium and added it to the trunk. “Tameka will kill them all, including Silence. I hate feeling this conflicted about the enemy.”

“You shared hope with her. That’s a precious thing to the Shadow. It hurts to have such a pure, intimate experience spat on, and I can tell you that you’ll get through it and there’s more after this, but it’s not good enough. It shouldn’t be this way.”

Across the way, Sagan looked at him like…

Well, it was a hard expression to describe. Gratitude. Understanding. Ah. Korac smiled openly for her as he interpreted it. “I love you, too, amos.” Now was the time—

Fuck!

Fuck, Korac left it with all their shit back in Enki.

He must have groaned because Sagan stopped smiling and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Korac was an idiot. That’s what was wrong. “Nothing. Just exhausted. Forgetting things and the resulting frustration.”

“Tell me about it. I forgot to bring a bra.” A playful glint shone in Sagan’s eyes.

Elden, love her, Korac nearly melted on the spot. “Well, we can’t take advantage of that now, can we?” He crossed the short distance between them and bent down to meet her soft lips. Warm. This was home—

“Cut her out of me. I am my own. Korac!”

He broke the kiss and whirled to find T.a.o. entreating him with her arms outstretched, soaked in red blood.

“T.a.o.!” Sagan cried, before rushing over to her. “Oh, Elden. Are you all right?” She frantically searched the smaller Seamswalker.

The tears spilling from her broke Korac’s heart. “Can you hear us, T.a.o.? Are you, yourself?”

It was her. There was no way Celindria could imitate the warmth in those Atramentous eyes, but otherwise, T.a.o. barely looked like herself.

Fuck, Korac hated all the strappy bondage shit Celindria dressed her little sister in. At least Celindria left T.a.o.’s hair long and wavy. He cupped the volume of it to her face and touched something wet and warm. Korac’s hand came away from her skull, covered in blood.

Even injured, T.a.o. kept herself from marring his clothes. Frantic, she spoke in that strange talk of hers. “I cut her out of me. I am my own. My blood. My power. My brothers, oh, Elden… Korac!” She looked away from him and into Sagan’s eyes. “You let him have you. I couldn’t stop it. Never let her have you. I couldn’t… The boy…”

Sagan caught the dark elfin woman when she collapsed. Distraught, his lover looked to Korac for guidance. “Do we take her to our people and risk that she’s a sleeper?”

Any way out of this was a bad idea.

What would Wingmaster do?