The Iriduan’s Mate by Susan Trombley
Twenty-Two
Shulgi stood staring out the window of Namerian’s office at the factory below and the spread of the dreg beyond. He failed to truly see the uninspiring view, an image of Molly in the clutch of the ramsuta official still burned in his vision.
“I’m pleased you were able to secure the equipment we required,” Namerian said in a cool tone that didn’t fool Shulgi. “Although Alad had an interesting tale to tell about your little… adventure on third-tier.”
“No one will complain about one dead thokost,” Shulgi said flatly, not bothering to turn around to face the other male.
He felt Namerian’s approach but didn’t glance at him when he joined Shulgi at the window.
Namerian didn’t show the same courtesy, his gaze falling heavily upon Shulgi. Without meeting his eyes, Shulgi knew he would spot judgement in them.
“Let’s not play games, Shulgi,” Namerian said, his tone taking on a sharper edge. “The thokost barely offered a minor nuisance to you and poses no threat to us and our mission. That wasn’t the part of the tale I found most disturbing.”
Shulgi ground his teeth, his jaw twitching as he bit back the angry words he wanted to speak to defend himself from the condemnation he knew would come.
“Who is the woman?” Namerian said in a harsh tone, turning fully to face Shulgi, his arms crossing over his chest. “Have you been re-afflicted by her?” When Shulgi remained silent, pondering his words before he would speak them, Namerian spoke again. “Alad said you nearly charged onto the property of a city official. He claimed that the look in your eyes when you saw the woman with the official scared him.”
Namerian grabbed Shulgi’s upper arm, trying to turn him to force him to meet his eyes. He couldn’t shift Shulgi, who shrugged off his grip.
“I am not afflicted,” he finally said, his voice a harsh growl, anger prickling behind it.
“Then what insanity has gripped you!” Namerian hissed out. “Is it because of the stimulants that keep drawing you to the darkest alleys of the dreg to hunt and kill.” He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it is. Even in your most incautious moments, you wouldn’t hunt a city official. Especially not with Alad in your company.”
He took a step back as Shulgi finally met his eyes with a glare of his own. He held up both hands in front of him. “You’re letting your bloodlust consume you, Amanat!” His eyes widened and Shulgi saw fear in them. “We knew you were a murderer when we accepted this mission, but we understood your past, and believed the cure was the key to stopping good Iriduans from becoming monsters.”
Shulgi returned his gaze to the window, noting his subtle reflection in the glass superimposed over the dirty dreg below.
“I fear you, my creche-kin,” Namerian said in a harsh whisper. “I fear that you were always a monster, and your affliction only awakened you to your true nature.”
“My true nature,” Shulgi spat in a bitter snarl as he glanced again at Namerian, “was awakened the day I was dragged from my cocoon and pressed into war-class training.”
Molly believed him to be a good person, but Namerian saw the truth of him. Now, Shulgi understood that truth fully and could no longer take comfort in Molly’s reassurance about his nature. How many lives had he claimed before Ninhursag had entrapped him? How many enemies had he hunted and killed for daring to pose a threat to the empire?
Ninhursag hadn’t awakened him. She’d merely taken a weapon already well-honed and stained with blood and turned it upon a different enemy. Now, that weapon had turned upon the worst of the criminals in the dreg, but it remained a bloodstained weapon, hungry for more death.
He would have killed the official without a second thought for touching Molly the way he did. For using her, the way he did. For reminding Shulgi that other males dared to take for granted what had been so precious to him. What was still so precious to him.
“She is mine,” he growled, his fists clenching, muscles bulging with the movement. “It infuriates me that others use her like chattel.” He slammed his fist against the window, the entire span of it flexing outwards, unbreakable but not unshakable. “It infuriates me that once again, duty compels me to ignore my own will!” He spun on Namerian, stalking towards the other male as he backed away, holding out both hands. “This cure was supposed to free us, so why do I still feel like a slave?”
“You gave up your freedom to help others achieve theirs!” Namerian said in a trembling voice, darting around his desk to put the expanse of it between them. “It is a noble—”
“Hang the Spinner with that ‘noble’ tangle, Namerian,” Shulgi shouted, slamming his palms onto the desktop. “You dare to condemn me for caring about something beyond this mission? Beyond our rebellion against the empire?” He sank down into the chair in front of the desk with a heavy sigh, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. “You dare to condemn me for having feelings?” His voice remained steady but hung heavy with his melancholy. “For wanting love, when all I’ve ever known is bloodshed?”
Namerian still stood behind his own chair, keeping both it and the desk between them, his violet eyes wide, his lips and jaw tight.
Shulgi lowered his gaze to the desktop, noting his reflection more clearly now in the glossy surface. His brows lowered over his narrowed eyes, his cheekbones stood stark, his jaw squared, his hair ruffled. But it was the look in his eyes that disturbed him the most. The look of a male standing on the edge, looking down into an endless darkness that mirrored what dwelled inside him—and debating that leap that would free him from the bonds of a conscience, a sense of duty—or any hope of redemption.
“She pulls me back,” he whispered, more to himself than Namerian. “She keeps me from surrendering completely to the lust for blood that boils forever inside me—the addiction that won’t be cured by removing my combat glands.” He lifted his head to meet Namerian’s fearful gaze. “She is the only cure that will save me, Namerian. The only one that will truly free me.”
Namerian sagged against the chair back, leaning forward on his forearms, regarding Shulgi with a cautious expression. “We are so close to phase two now, Shulgi! Just control yourself for a little longer! Help us complete this part of the mission. Then you can do whatever you like. Once we know the cure will work permanently, your role will be complete.”
Shulgi shook his head. “No, it won’t be. I was tasked not just with disseminating the cure—but also guarding it against those who would misuse it.”
Namerian straightened, his silver brows lowering. “You imply that we can’t be trusted? You? The one who murders for a hobby?”
“My victims are the scum of the galaxy. If you manage to remove the limiter on the nanites, everyone in the galaxy would end up a victim.”
Namerian lifted his chin, scowling. “Well then, I guess you’re stuck with this mission. So why don’t you see it completed, and then you can have your… woman.” The way he said it made the word sound like a curse.
Shulgi wasn’t surprised by the venom in Namerian’s tone, and he’d sunk so deeply into depression that he didn’t even prickle at it.
“Of course, if you change your mind, you could just give us the passcode to the nanites and be completely free of this burden.”
He could do that. He could dump the responsibility for using the nanites ethically in the lap of his team and abandon this thankless mission altogether. Perhaps Roz and crew would hunt him down for betraying their trust. Perhaps Nemon would find him and strangle him slowly for betraying his.
But it would free him to save Molly and take her far from this terrible place. Then he might finally become the male she believed him to be, rather than the monster he was.
