Synnr's Saint Read online

  She wanted to touch.

  No. Not gonna happen.

  He was a freaking alien. And she’d been abducted by aliens. Even if he’d had nothing to do with that she couldn’t trust him. She’d been hauled from one place to another, poked and prodded and forced to perform for months. She couldn’t trust any aliens. So far they’d all been happy to hurt her and she had no reason to think that would change.

  “You’re amazing.” It seemed to burst out of him in a puff of air and there was a sheen to his eye. Was he telling the truth? Had he just come back to compliment her? Emily didn’t want to preen, but it was nice to be appreciated.

  She’d gotten used to understanding the aliens. It was weird, but they’d done something to her, to all the humans, so that they could understand whatever alien language they were speaking. And since she’d discovered a series of strange bumps on the back of her ear, she was pretty sure they’d implanted something there. It was a little terrifying to consider, but she hadn’t noticed any side effects.

  Or maybe she was fooling herself and something about the implant made her ignore side effects.

  She’d drive herself crazy if she thought about it too much, so she’d spent plenty of the last months purposefully not paying attention. She could worry about the damage once she was free.

  And she was determined to get free again.

  Somehow.

  The sexy—what? No, not sexy—alien was still staring at her like he expected her to respond. Her captors didn’t like it when they spoke, didn’t think humans should communicate any more than absolutely necessary, usually when asking questions about the strange tests they performed. Maybe this one was different. “Who are you?” She shouldn’t have asked. Curiosity killed the human. But he was looking at her like she was a person and it had been so long that she was at a loss.

  The corner of his lips tugged up on a grin that bloomed into a smile. And there were the fangs. These aliens had fangs. And yet they thought humans were the wild animals. “I’m Oz,” he said. “I’ve never seen a human do anything like that.” His eyes were bright with wonder. She almost believed him. It had surprised her how similar the emotional cues that came from these aliens were to humans, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

  Maybe this whole thing was some horrible nightmare. Maybe she was lying in a coma back home, wasting away on life support until someone decided to pull the plug.

  Did she want that? She didn’t know.

  Oz was still standing there, almost close enough to touch, and she caught his scent, something smoky and masculine that made her want to step closer.

  To him.

  The alien.

  Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  They didn’t ask for names. They didn’t care about them. The aliens had assigned different names to each of the humans and hurt them if they caught them using their real names. That hadn’t stopped any of them. They wouldn’t give up themselves.

  Did he expect her to give that designation? Aerial-1. It could have been worse. Emily thought it sort of sounded like a fighter pilot name. But it wasn’t her. And even if this man, this Oz, hurt her, he wasn’t going to get her to say it. She shouldn’t say anything. But words fell out of her mouth and she couldn’t pull them back. “Emily. Emily Saint.” Maybe even Emily Saint, Esquire, but she wouldn’t know that for sure until she got back home and learned the results of the bar exam.

  She had to bite back a laugh. She was standing in the presence of an alien, in a place where she was forced to perform for them every night, and she was worried about a little test?

  Okay, the bar had sucked and no one would call it little, but still. Priorities.

  Oz reached out, but held his hand back before he touched her. “Emily.” The syllables slid off his tongue with a slight lilt and sent a shot of awareness straight through her. She could not afford to become attracted to one of these monsters, no matter how hot he was.

  She wasn’t going to be like Grace, trading favors for special treatment.

  Things weren’t that dire. Not yet.

  “You don’t belong here,” he said, and she could hear the sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  But why?

  Footsteps echoed down the hall and Emily looked; it was getting close to her next performance time. Her ankle was as good as it was going to get, and good enough to handle the aerial work she’d have to do. She’d had worse. And she doubted her captors would take kindly to complaints. Most of her coaches hadn’t.

  When she looked back, Oz was gone.

  “Aerial-1, you should be in position. Hurry now, before I have to reassign you.” The frizzy-haired woman who handled the scheduling grabbed Emily’s hand and yanked, as if she didn’t trust her to move under her own power.

  Emily followed. She looked behind her, but there was no sign of Oz.

  Who was he?

  She’d have to forget all about him. Her survival depended on it.

  OZ’S HEART BEAT WILDLY as he ducked around a corner and out of sight. It had been a stupid move to come back here. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of the operative and had no idea if she was even at the performance facility today. He’d gone in without an exit strategy and it was only some damn fool’s luck that meant he hadn’t been caught.

  But Emily.

  He rolled her name around his mind and conjured an image of her. That dark hair. That pale skin. Those bright gray eyes that defied him even as she stood silently before him. The strength inside of her crackled with electricity and he wanted to wrap it up in his arms and shield it from all harm.

  Madness.

  He’d watched her perform once. And that interaction had barely qualified as a conversation.

  It was the job. It messed with his head. He’d been forced to pretend to be a hateful, ignorant Apsyn. Of course, he wanted to rescue the first human who crossed his path. It was only natural. He wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t as bad as they were.

  That didn’t explain the attraction.

  But Oz told his cock to give it a rest and sneaked out from backstage, slipping out of the club through a side door. He didn’t want to run into Xydion and have to fend off another offer of drunken revelry.

  His vehicle was exactly where he’d left it, and he scanned it with a tool on his communicator to make sure no tracking devices or other surprises had been added. To anyone looking, it would have appeared that he was reading a message. Nothing suspicious. No need to give him a second look.

  The vehicle was clean and he engaged the hover to fly back to his rented quarters. They weren’t in the best part of the city. If anyone followed him home, they wouldn’t be surprised. The man he was pretending to be couldn’t afford much. He’d even needed a roommate.

  Well, that’s what people were supposed to think.

  Never mind that he and Solan were both Synnr spies.

  His associate was sitting at the counter and examining several scans on display from the holoprojector. Oz was too far away to read, and he doubted he’d understand much if he did. Solan had been assigned to get into the testing facility and find out what was going on and track down various documents. Oz had the easier job, hang out at a club and look like he was having fun.

  “Any news?” he asked. He set his things down and rolled his neck, letting his oppressive Apsyn identity slide off as if it was a physical thing. He wanted to take several showers to wash the stink of the club off of him, but that could wait.

  “They’re further along that we thought,” Solan grumbled. He waved at the projections in front of him and expanded one until Oz could see the picture of a human, face screwed up in agony as electricity danced along her skin.

  He was relieved to see it wasn’t Emily, and then ashamed of himself for thinking that. Whoever that was, they were still a person. They still deserved not to be treated like that.

  “I thought they were attempting to induce Matches without the humans.�
�� Oz slid onto the bench next to Solan and looked at the image. “Did you take this? That’s getting close.”

  “It was in the file,” said Solan. “I’ve only seen a few of the subjects in passing. And none were the operative. But there are whispers about a change coming. We’re going to have to move soon before we lose our window of opportunity.”

  “She wasn’t at the club,” Oz replied. “At least, I didn’t see her. The humans they have on display seem healthy enough. No way to know if they’re being tested as well.”

  Solan flicked his fingers again until a list of names came up. Oz didn’t see Emily’s, but it took him a moment to realize why. None of the names were human. “The asset isn’t on here,” he noted.

  “I think she is. But we know who we’re looking for. An assigned name won’t make any difference.”

  That was true enough.

  “Cru wants a call before midnight,” Solan said quietly. He didn’t look at Oz, too caught up in his documents. Or in not seeing Oz’s response.

  “He’s going to blow our cover.” Crubok Scofoyl had been given command based on a family name and a mediocre Academy record. He didn’t trust those under his command and had to touch ever piece of the operation for fear they were doing something wrong. And he was an asshole. Oz had suffered plenty of scrapes and bruises from him back in school. The fact that the man gave him orders now rankled.

  “He’s just as determined to do this right,” Solan reasoned. Oz knew he didn’t like the man either, but they didn’t have the same history.

  Lucky.

  “Then let’s go over the basics before we initiate the call. I don’t want to be on a secure line all night.” The chances of getting caught were minimal. The planet of Kilrym had a big population, and while the government wasn’t the kindest out there, they didn’t monitor every call and conversation. They couldn’t. And secure lines were secure for a reason. But too many secured calls and they were sure to fall under suspicion.

  Solan spun around on his stool, finally facing Oz. “Here it is. The Apsyns don’t like that we can Match with non-Zulirs. And they especially don’t like how strong Matches are. They acquired humans from various sources and are working to somehow give themselves Matched powers without the input of humans. And they’ve made progress. One report shows a Zulir subject with a fifteen percent increase in voltage in a test environment after exposure to what they’ve labeled Method 7. No other test subjects have shown such jumps. Those with improvements are stuck around three percent. The project is sucking up credits like the queen’s jubilee and they’ve been forced to sell a number of their subjects, as well as putting them up as performers.”

  Oz took over. “The performers have different talents. Some play with fire, another flies without wings. They are simple spectacles, but the price of admission is one hundred credits a night, and the club is always full. The humans don’t seem damaged, but we’re fairly confident that they’re being tested. Our operative has access to both the performance facility and the testing facility, but we’ve been unable to make contact.” Oz took a breath. “Think that will satisfy him? The last think we need is for Cru to come down here.”

  Solan shuddered. “I doubt we’re in much danger of that. He’s going to want to know more about the Matching procedure. You know how he feels.”

  Cru didn’t like mixed Matches. He didn’t say it. No Synnr would. Not when they weren’t sure of the company. But there were plenty who could at least sympathize with the Apsyn point of view, even if they opposed them for other reasons. Cru was an aristo, related to the queen and assured of a title of his own once the appropriate people passed on. It didn’t matter that Synnrs were supposed to accept non-Zulir into their ranks, to let them become citizens and full members of society. Some still saw them as... lesser.

  He’d like to see Cru or one of his friends do half the tricks he’d seen Emily do.

  “He’s waiting for a Match of his own,” Oz pointed out. “And you know he’ll only accept the best. I doubt he’d settle for a fifteen percent increase when he could find a lord or lady with the right family. That’s worth more.”

  Solan gave him a look, but Oz didn’t know how to respond to it. A Match was supposed to be something special, transcendent. Rare. He couldn’t imagine passing over a Match just because they weren’t what he expected. And it wasn’t like all Matches led to romantic relationships. Most of them, sure. It was almost impossible to bond so closely without emotions getting involved. But if Cru wanted a noble spouse, he could still have one, no matter who he Matched with. Why he would care about the Apsyn research then concerned Oz.

  But that was all just speculation. Cru hadn’t crossed the line. Not yet.

  “What do you think will happen to the humans once we’ve got our asset out?” he asked, a vision of Emily flying through his head.

  What would she look like with wings?

  Solan winced, and Oz knew it wouldn’t be good. “Let’s get this call over with,” said Solan.

  Yeah, no way that was going to be good.

  Was there another way to save her? Oz would have to think. He’d be leaving soon, and he couldn’t let her remain in Apsyn clutches.

  Chapter Three

  SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED to be tested today. Emily knew that. They’d never tested her on the same day as one of her performances, and she was supposed to be transported to the performance facility in a matter of hours.

  But there were wires connected to her head, straps on her wrists and ankles, monitors spitting information she couldn’t decipher, and something that looked suspiciously like a cattle prod.

  She hated that thing.

  And, weirdly enough, there was another alien in the room, other than the one doing the tests. He was hooked up to machines of his own and was practically bouncing in his seat, excited for whatever was about to happen. This was new. And bad. All new things were bad. That was what she’d come to learn. Every change led to more pain. The only slightly not-terrible thing that had happened were her performances. Her captors had let her design her routine after giving her a few simple commands. She had to include aerial stunts, and she had to make it interesting. But what those stunts were was up to her.

  Everything else stunk.

  The doctor—or at least Emily thought he was a doctor, he sure did do a lot of medical tests—was speaking to the other alien, both of them talking too low for her to make out over the buzzing and beeping of the machines. She didn’t like the way they kept glancing her way. Whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be pleasant.

  And what did the alien have to do with it?

  She wanted to ask. She was desperate to know. But they wouldn’t answer. And she’d probably be punished for speaking up.

  She hated this.

  She wanted to go home.

  Her mind flashed back to Oz. It had been two days since she’d last seen him. He hadn’t been back at the club, and when she’d discreetly asked a couple other prisoners about him they hadn’t known who he was. Maybe she’d imagined him. The whole encounter had a dreamlike quality to it. After all, why should she believe there were nice aliens when every other one she met seemed intent on forcing her to perform or causing her pain? Maybe she was close to her breaking point.

  The aliens stopped talking and Emily’s heartbeat stuttered. Whatever they had planned, they were starting soon. The non-doctor alien held onto the arms of his chair and grimaced like he was at the dentist, preparing for pain.

  Oh, hell.

  But Emily tried to stay relaxed. She’d learned that tensing early only made it worse. Not that there was a way to make things better, but she had to try.

  The doctor went to his desk and punched in something on his high tech computer/table. Or maybe it wasn’t high tech to him. But they didn’t have anything like that back on Earth outside of movies and TV.

  There was another thing Emily missed. She’d been taken right before the final season of her favorite TV show. She had dragon-related questions tha
t needed to be answered. Fictional dragons. Did real ones exist?

  She was being experimented on by aliens; anything else seemed possible.

  Her wandering thoughts distracted her so the first punch of electricity came as a surprise. It hurt, but Emily wasn’t going to show it. Years and years of performing through the pain, smiling as her body screamed had taught her how to hide it, and she wasn’t going to give these aliens the satisfaction.

  But the doctor seemed relatively disinterested in her. The hum of electricity heading her way was steady. Unpleasant but not unbearable, and she was going to be dealing with static shock for days. Instead all his attention was focused on the alien.

  His wings.

  They didn’t display them often, and at times Emily could forget they had them at all. But now they crackled with electric fire, bigger than she’d ever seen on another alien. Was that because of what they were doing?

  There were greens and yellows and blues in the electric strands that made up some sort of feathers. Though they weren’t real feathers, there was no down here. But that was the best word Emily had for it. And they rippled like they were alive, resting over the alien’s skin and wrapping around him like a blanket. Maybe they weren’t even wings. Maybe that was the wrong word.

  But god, they were beautiful.

  Something was happening to Emily, the crackle of electricity running over her seeming to seep into her skin. It hurt. Tears pricked at her eyes and one escaped, but Emily kept silent. The doctor and his alien patient weren’t looking at her and she didn’t want to draw their attention. She felt a pull deep inside her, like her insides were being yanked out, and it was only grim determination that kept her quiet.

  Lightning shot out from the alien.

  Emily couldn’t quite pinpoint where it had come from. Just like a lightning strike it happened so fast that she couldn’t fully wrap her mind around it before it was gone. And then it happened again. A yank and a strike. The alien made some kind of noise, half pained, half ecstatic.