Just business, Drakkal repeated in his mind. The thought didn’t cool the angry fires that had been lit in his chest.
“So generous of you,” was the best he could manage to say.
“It’s a small thing.” Murgen lifted his hand only to drop it on Drakkal’s shoulder in a heavy slap.
Drakkal clenched his fists, pressing the claws of his right hand into the heel of his palm. He always told Arcanthus to remain calm. How hypocritical would it be for Drakkal to lose control of his temper now? It didn’t matter if part of Drakkal’s mind insisted he was shaming himself by letting Murgen’s comments slide; he’d moved on from the azheran concepts of pride and honor long ago, hadn’t he?
“So is the ID chip you ordered,” Drakkal replied. “If you have the credits, I have your chip. Let’s be done with it.”
Murgen chuckled, producing a booming sound that made the flesh of his throat expand as though it were filling with air. “No, no. Let me show you something special, something people like you rarely have an opportunity to see.”
Keeping his tone as neutral as possible, Drakkal said, “Maybe another time.”
“Come now”—Murgen squeezed Drakkal’s shoulder—“I insist. Your forger, he does good work. Let’s solidify our relationship with this little treat.”
Drakkal found himself glad that he’d put on a thick jacket to cover up his sleek prosthesis despite the way such clothing sometimes irritated his fur; he had a sense that Murgen’s direct touch would’ve been far more uncomfortable. Murgen was the sort of person Drakkal had dealt with often during his years as a gladiator on Caldorius—friendly only so long as one served a purpose.
After drawing in a steadying breath, Drakkal nodded.
“Good! Come along, azhera.” Murgen turned away, glancing at the volturian as he moved. “Nostrus, accompany us. We’re off to the menagerie.”
Nostrus glared at Drakkal again. Were his eyes any colder, there’d be ice crusting his eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
Drakkal said nothing. It seemed holding his tongue was the best course of action here if he meant to be done as quickly as possible, even if it meant suffering Murgen’s condescension and Nostrus’s ire. His only consolation was that Arcanthus was charging Murgen well above the standard rates.
He followed Murgen into the hall. Nostrus fell into place behind Drakkal, and the azhera could feel the guard’s gaze, chilled and heavy, on his back. A hint of unease colored Drakkal’s irritation; he was in an unfamiliar place with people he didn’t know. Dangerous people. Murgen had already madeit clear that he viewed Drakkal as a lesser being, and Nostrus seemed hungry for conflict.
Drakkal forced his tail to still. He’d learned long ago that it served as a tell that could cause trouble in situations like this. Besides, he’d been in worse places. He’d dealt with people like Murgen and Nostrus countless times.
Just have to get through this. Then I never have to see either of these two again.
What was a few more minutes at this point?
He would soon discover that, if nothing else,a few more minuteswas a gross underestimation.
Murgen stopped at a blank section of the wall. “I trust that, given the nature of your…profession, you understand that you must divulge no details regarding what you’re about to see?”
Drakkal grunted his understanding.
Murgen’s big, dark eyes widened along with his grin, and for the first time, his mask slipped, revealing a hint of the real person beneath—a person who would devote countless credits to destroy the life of anyone he deemed an enemy.
Drakkal held the durgan’s gaze until Murgen looked away.
Murgen extended an arm and pressed one of his thick fingers to the wall. A large section of the wall slid upward, disappearing into the ceiling and exposing a set of sturdy metal doors. A moment later, the doors slid apart, opening on an elevator car.
Drakkal’s fur bristled. His current relationship with Murgen and Nostrus wasn’t exactly built on trust, and elevators weren’t the most comforting spaces. The relatively tight confines were extremely restrictive when it came to combat; things tended to get brutal and desperate in such conditions quickly.
Murgen stepped into the elevator first, turning to face the hall. Drakkal didn’t allow himself any hesitation; hestepped in after Murgen and positioned himself with his back against the far wall. Nostrus entered last, leveling his cold, hard gaze on Drakkal even as he turned his body toward Murgen.
“What a happy bunch we are,” Murgen said as he pressed a button on the controls. The doors closed. “You’ll have to forgive Nostrus, azhera. He’s worked for me for many years and takes his job quite seriously. The finest security professional in the business, this one.”
Drakkal offered no response. He kept his gaze on the doors, watching in his peripheral vision as Nostrus watched him.
Without a sound, the elevator began its descent; Drakkal felt it in his gut, and some primal part of him railed against moving even farther from natural light. It didn’t help his unease. In his experience, it was the wealthiest clients who most often decided the terms of an agreement no longer suited them at the last moment, who were the most likely tonegotiatea change of said terms. Of course, those last-minute changes usually occurred at blaster point.
But there was more here, something Drakkal couldn’t place. It was almost…a sense of inevitability that eluded definition, somehow related to a scent on the air that was too faint to isolate and identify.
Drakkal’s tail twitched. He leaned back against the wall to prevent it from swinging restlessly.