The members grabbed their helmets and took their leave. Rachol remained seated with Nykyrian, waiting for the room to clear.
As the door closed, he turned to face Nykyrian. "I don't know if you should accept Biardi's contract. We can't afford liabilities."
Nykyrian hated the way Rachol was able to read him. Though he kept his expressions and moods carefully guarded, Rachol had always possessed an uncanny ability to see past his facade. "I really wish you would stop second guessing my thoughts. We're too backlogged to take on any more. You'll have to apologize to her father. Tell him to call out his Gourish troops to protect her."
Nykyrian stood. He moved to the right wall and pushed the buttons for his change of clothes. "We're not baby sitters," he finished, stripping his battlesuit off.
Rachol turned his back to Nykyrian and continued talking, "You're attracted to her?"
"I'm not blind," Nykyrian snapped. "Can you tell me she holds no appeal for you?"
Rachol laughed. "Oh yeah. But, I also know how many times you've gone to see her dance. Face it, Kip, you're infatuated with the woman, and that's not like you."
"I lust for her, nothing more." Nykyrian replaced the wall. Picking up his boots from the floor, he sat in his chair.
"Nothing more?" Rachol asked, swinging his chair around to face him with a cocked eyebrow.
Nykyrian glowered at him as he jerked his boots on. "This discussion is terminated." He retrieved his glasses from the table and put them on to hide his odd green, human eyes.
With one last grimace at Rachol, he left the room.
Nykyrian disregarded Rachol's words. He was a soldier, not som e love-besotted fool. All too well, he knew his duties and obligations, nothing would ever distract him from them.
Making his way toward Mira and her post, Nykyrian was glad to shed his Nemesis guise. The birth of Nemesis had been necessity— it left him free to roam without many snipers taking shots at him. And with his hybrid looks, if the authorities were to ever learn the identity of Nemesis, it wouldn't take his enemies long to find him.
For now, people assumed Nykyrian Quiakides to be a minion of the Nemesis; a role that suited him well. As long as his identity was secret, he could maintain a quasi-normal existence.
He rem inded himself that his identity was only one of many reasons he could never involve himself with someone. If he had learned anything in his life, it was that no one could ever be trusted.
People were his friends, until he looked the other way.
Nykyrian stifled the emotions that filled him as he thought of Kiara, and reverted to the soothing emptiness he relied upon.
Two
Once again, Kiara woke to unfamiliar surroundings. She recalled Nemesis and jolted up, her heart lodged painfully in her throat.
Where was she? What had they done with her?
Kiara searched the room hurriedly with her eyes, looking for some clue about her fate.
The dim overhead light reflected against the pale steel walls, giving them a strange, shadowlike appearance. Drawn by a sudden movement in one corner, she focused her eyes on a pudgy, elder woman who watched her from a reclining chair.
"You're safe." The woman smiled sweetly, her aged face that of a kind grandmother.
"No one here will hurt you."
The woman's dark brown eyes glowed with honesty and warmth. Kiara trusted her.
Surveying the room as the lights brightened, she noticed the richness of the furnishings.
The bed she sat upon was made of dark, carved wood, a rarity few could afford. White gossamer sheers hung over the tall posts, shielding the bed from a stray draft.
Kiara looked back at the woman. "Where am I?" she asked.
"The where isn't important. You'll be home soon now that you're awake." She stood, beaming with a face Kiara recognized as one belonging to a fan. "Are you hungry or thirsty?"
At Kiara's declination, she moved toward the door. "My name's Mira. You stay here and I'll retrieve your battlesuit."
Kiara watched her leave. In the still quietness of the room, she heard the fierce wind outside and an insistent thumping. Her gaze was drawn to the brightly colored windows on the far wall. An odd-shaped tree blew in the strong wind, knocking branches against the window. Kiara felt every bit as controlled by unseen forces and just as helpless against them.
Kiara sighed, her thoughts turning toward her father. No doubt he was frantically hurling angry curses at his poor soldiers, ordering them out to search every fraction of space for her. Her throat tightened as she prayed these people really intended to return her to Gouran.
The door slid open, startling her from her thoughts.
She turned to see a man entering, not Mira. Kiara pulled the cover to her chin, hesitant toward the stranger, not quite afraid, but definitely grateful for the tiny amount of protection the sheers provided her.
Nykyrian paused. He had assumed Kiara would still be asleep. He should have known better.