Shielded Heart Read online

  Shielded Heart

  The Infinite City #2

  Tiffany Roberts

  Contents

  Blurb

  Arcanthus

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by Tiffany Roberts

  About the Author

  Blurb

  Arthos, the Infinite City, is a place of alien wonders and indescribable beauty—and, most importantly for Samantha, it’s also halfway across the universe from her abusive ex-fiancé. She came to the city desperate for a fresh start, but she finds herself downtrodden on a world of aloof alien beings with little hope of finding her place—and a good chance of being kidnapped or killed before she can even settle in.

  At least until she is saved by an irresistible alien with piercing eyes and a seductive smile.

  Alkorin is the living embodiment of temptation, and he makes no effort to disguise his desire for her. But when his past threatens to drag her into a dangerous underworld, she discovers he isn’t who he claims to be. After enduring so much suffering, can she bear to take a leap of faith with this mysterious alien? Can she trust him with not only her life, but her heart?

  Copyright © 2019 by Tiffany Freund and Robert Freund Jr.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including scanning, photocopying, uploading, and distribution of this book via any other electronic means without the permission of the author and is illegal, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publishers at the address below.

  Tiffany Roberts

  [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Illustration © 2019 by Cameron Kamenicky

  Character Art Design © 2019 by Sam Griffin

  Proofread by Aquila Editing

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to Sam Griffin, whose talents helped bring Arcanthus to life—including his naughty bits. May your imagination continue to be an inspiring source of devious, alien delights.

  One

  Arthos, the Infinite City

  Terran Year 2105

  The press of a button—in this case, a button which displayed the amount of credits loaded onto the chip in Arcanthus’s hand—was all it took to change the bokkan informant’s standoffish demeanor.

  The bokkan’s stony features softened as he led Arcanthus and Drakkal to somewhere more private—a dark, deserted alleyway. Arc exchanged a glance with Drakkal; that glance was enough to tell Arc that he and his azhera companion were on the same page.

  The change of location suited their purpose well.

  Arcanthus’s thick tail swung from side to side. He willed it to slow; as eager as he was to conclude this business and head home, he couldn’t rush this. He knew this was the informant they’d been searching for, but he needed to hear confirmation from the bokkan’s lips.

  After they were well beyond the main street’s neon lights, the bokkan stopped and turned to face Arcanthus and Drakkal. “So, uh…” His eyes dipped to Arc’s hand, which was closed around the credit chip.

  Arcanthus raised his left hand and splayed his metal fingers, revealing the chip on his palm. “This? Oh, you have to earn this, my friend.”

  “Just…just a little, then, as a token of your good faith?”

  A grin spread across Arcanthus’s lips, and he chuckled. “We’ve not pulled any weapons on you. That’s token enough, I’d say. Though we could do things that way, if you’d prefer…”

  Shifting his eyes to Drakkal—whose burly frame nearly filled the narrow alley—the bokkan shook his head.

  Arcanthus closed his fingers over the credit chip and lowered his hands, clasping the right over the left. “I’ve only four questions. Answer to my satisfaction, and you will receive all due payment.”

  The bokkan’s dull purple tongue slipped out and ran over his craggy lips. “That’s not how this sort of thing usually works. You pay me for—”

  Drakkal cleared his throat, dragging out the sound into a low growl as he bared his fangs. The azhera’s fur—taupe with patches of copper and umber—bristled. The bokkan snapped his mouth shut.

  “Did you give information to a female with blue and black hair and a male with facial scars?” Arcanthus asked.

  Eyes rounding, the bokkan nodded. “You’re not the first to ask after them, either. Some people dressed all in black had questions, too, but none of them actually spoke. They used holo-text to communicate. Seemed unnatural.”

  “A perfect segue into my next question. What did you tell the black-clad individuals who asked after the couple? I suggest, for your sake, that you omit nothing.”

  The bokkan flicked his gaze toward the alley entrance. “Look, there’s people involved in this who I’d rather not cross, and I don’t—”

  Drakkal moved closer to the informant.

  “Okay, okay!” the bokkan cried, pressing his back against the dirty wall. “I told them that yes, those two had come to me. I, uh…told them that the female did most of the talking, and she was asking after a forger. Said they’d heard of one with a reliable reputation. And I, um… I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this, okay?”

  Arcanthus lowered his chin, tightening his hold on his own hand. The gentle hum of his cybernetic limbs exerting pressure coursed up his arms and into his shoulders. “Such a shame. I really wanted you to earn your payment today.”

  The bokkan cast another frightened glance at Drakkal and held up his hands. “All right, all right. I gave both groups instructions on how to find this forger, okay? I told the ones that didn’t talk that I’d sent the couple over there. That’s all I said.”

  Arc’s tail picked up speed, but he kept his hands down and clasped together. “What do you know about this forger?”

  “You didn’t hear any of this from me, okay? He’s a real secretive one. I’ve heard he doesn’t give his name out to many people, likes it to be hard to find him. He’s got a reputation for being trustworthy—he doesn’t double-cross his clients, even when the bounty on them is bigger than his asking price for his work. Supposedly doesn’t even share the names of people he does work for. Goes by Alkorin.”

  Arcanthus took a single step closer to the informant.

  The bokkan glanced up, meeting Arcanthus’s third eye, and slid half a meter away along the wall.

  “And he expects the informants who send people in his direction to be discreet,” Arcanthus said. “Expects them to guard his potential clients. That’s why he ensures said informants are well compensated. That’s why you have been well compensated—a thousand credits per month, plus kickbacks for referrals that result in new business.”

  The bokkan shrank back, as though attempting to force his body through the wall. “H-how could you know—”

  “Remember, I’m asking the questions—and we’ve arrived at the last one. I trust the answer should come to you easily enough. You seem to have no problem passing this information to everyone who comes asking.” Anticipatory electric currents coursed through Arcanthus’s cybernetic limbs. “What is my name?”

  The bokkan’s eyes widened, and, somehow, his rocky skin paled. “A-Alkorin the Forger?”

  Arcanthus nodded. “Good. It’s too bad you seemed to lack any amount of intelligence when you sold out my clients. I do not appreciate my business being compromised. I would tell you to remember that, but…”

  He shifted his thumb and flicked the credit chip high into the air. The bokkan looked up to follow the chip’s arc. In the same moment, Arcanthus opened the concealed compartment in his left forearm. The compartment launched the hilt of a hardlight blade into his waiting hand as he extended his arm. He activated the weapon before he’d fully closed his fingers around the grip. The blade—like a sword forged of translucent yellow crystal—formed instantly and pierced the bokkan’s neck.

  Releasing a choked grunt, the bokkan informant lowered his eyes to look at the blade before meeting Arc’s gaze again.

  Arcanthus lifted his right hand and caught the credit chip as it came back down. “Sorry. People like you simply don’t align with the ethics of my business.”

  He deactivated the hardlight blade.

  Blood oozed from the hair-thin wound on the bokkan’s throat. Arcanthus turned away, slipping the hilt back into its hiding place. He’d taken a few steps toward the end of the alley before the bokkan collapsed; the thump of the body hitting the ground did not give him pause.

  “You really just mention ethics while you had a blade in someone’s throat?” Drakkal asked from behind Arcanthus.

  “What of it?”

  “You’re irritable lately.”

  Arcanthus stopped a few paces from the alley’s mouth. “I am not irritable.”

  Drakkal chuckled dryly but said nothing; it seemed to Arcanthus a sly means of having the final say without speaking.

  Arc spun to face Drakkal. The frustration and stress of the last couple weeks bubbled to the surface, but as he looked into Drakkal’s green eyes—which glowed with reflected light from beyond the alley—those emotions subsided. None of this was the azhera’s fault.

  “Shut up,” Arcanthus muttered as he turned and walked into the street, continuing toward the hovercar waiting a few blocks away.

  “Problem’s solved,” Drakkal said, falling into place beside Arcanthus. “Leak is plugged. No need to stress.”

  Arcanthus waved a hand dismissively. “There should never have been a problem in the first place. I’m sure the damage to my reputation has already been done.”

  “You know the terran and her mate didn’t tell anyone what happened.”

  “That’s not the point, Drak.”

  “It is. And I won’t let you do this, Arc.”

  “And what, exactly, do you think it is I’m doing?” Arcanthus kicked a chunk of rusted scrap metal across the ground; his cybernetic limb registered the impact and relayed that information to his brain, but it was nothing like feeling it for himself.

  “Brood.”

  “I am assuredly not brooding, Drakkal.”

  “You’re whinier than a thirsty cub begging for its mother’s teat.”

  Arching a brow, Arcanthus turned his head toward his companion. “Is that really what you’re going with?”

  Drakkal shrugged his broad shoulders. “Being honest.”

  “No, you’re not. You accuse me first of brooding, and then of whining. Which is it, exactly?”

  “Both. You’ve been off since dealing with that terran.”

  Arcanthus sighed. “Would it hurt to lie once in a while, if only to raise my spirits?”

  “Yeah. It’d hurt you.”

  “Couldn’t possibly be more painful than the bruises you constantly leave on my ego.”

  “More likely to bruise myself on your ego than the other way around, Arc.”

  Arcanthus opened his mouth to reply but realized quickly that he had no retort; there was no arguing against what Drakkal had said.

  They continued onward in silence, and the Undercity streets grew crowded and noisy as they left the alleys and side streets behind. Arcanthus was more eager to get back home with each step. Business that forced him out of his sanctuary was rare, and it always irked him. There was too much that could go wrong out here, too many variables beyond his control. If he had to be away, he found it far more pleasant to be doing what he wanted rather than cleaning up messes or putting out fires.

  When they arrived at the hovercar, Drakkal climbed into the driver’s seat and Arcanthus into the passenger’s. The control boards bathed the pair in a soft, bluish glow as Drakkal engaged the engines and began their ascent to the express tunnels.

  “We’re alone now,” Drakkal said. “Talk.”

  “I’ve nothing to say,” Arcanthus replied.

  “Arc. Out with it.”

  Arcanthus released a heavy breath. “I want a terran.”

  Drakkal glanced sharply at Arc, narrowing his eyes. “What the hell do you mean you want a terran?”

  “I used the simplest language I could.”

  “No, just the vaguest.”

  “I want a terran. A female terran.” Raising a hand, Arcanthus swept back his long, black hair, tucking the loose strands behind his horns. “I fail to see what’s so difficult to understand.”

  “You just going to call a purveyor and buy one? Kraasz ka’val, Arcanthus, you should know better after what we’ve been through.”

  Arcanthus glared at Drakkal. “I didn’t say that, damn it. Terrans have been migrating to Arthos for two years. I’ll locate one who’s already here.” When the azhera just stared at him, Arc added, “I’m not abducting anyone, Drak.”

  “I know you. You bend the rules when you want something.”

  Hovercars and express tunnel walls flitted by in a blur outside the cab.

  “You wanted me to talk about it,” Arcanthus said.

  “Yeah. So I could tell you not to be stupid.”

  “Says the one who swallows a kilogram of his own fur over the course of every year.”

  “I told you,” Drakkal growled, “there’s scientific research that proves azhera tongues are some of the cleanest in the known universe.”

  Arcanthus smirked. “Have you looked around the universe, my friend? The standard isn’t set particularly high. But if you must know, that female terran intrigued me. Hell, if she hadn’t been mated to the zenturi, I’d have had her bent over my desk by the end of that first meeting. I saw it in her eyes.”

  Drakkal snorted and shook his head. “You say that about every female. Have you forgotten how much trouble you’ve caused because you can’t keep your pants on?”

  “I don’t wear pants. Only a very long loin cloth.”

  “Vrek’osh, you know what I mean!”

  “Now who’s irritable?”

  “Arcanthus, I will—”

  “I promise you, Drakkal, this is different.”

  “How?”

  “Because it is, all right? What harm is there in finding a curious terran, bringing her to my workshop, and potentially learning a few new ways to give and receive pleasure?”

  Drakkal shook his head, lips curling to display his fangs. “You met one terran, and you’ve been obsessed with them ever since.”

  Arcanthus pressed a hand over his chest. “You wound me, old friend. I’m merely intrigued. Nothing more.”

  “Obsessed,” Drakkal repeated, glancing out the side window. “You need new hobbies.”

  “What difference does the way I spend my free time make?”

  “With as much as you pushed that zenturi, I have a right to be concerned. You were outgunned on that one.”

  “I could have dispatched him if I’d wanted to.”

  Drakkal laughed; the sound, deep and rich, seemed to rise from his belly. “No, you couldn’t have. Y ou’re a top-grade fighter, Arc—the best I’ve ever seen—but he was a killer.”

  “Is there a difference, azhera?”

  “When you were messing with his mate, yes. He would’ve taken you out.”

  “Do you recall our earlier discussion about telling little lies to help me feel better?”

  “I do. Especially the part where I implied it wouldn’t happen.”

  Arcanthus threw up his hands. “Fine! You win, Drakkal.”

  “Good. You’re finally—”

  “I’ll make sure my terran isn’t spoken for.”

  The string of curses that tumbled out of Drakkal’s mouth—all in the obscure dialect of his clan, which translator implants seemed unable to decipher—made Arcanthus laugh whole-heartedly. His laughter only provoked fresh oaths from the azhera.

  When they arrived home, Drakkal left Arcanthus to his own devices, muttering to himself about how he should’ve gone back to his homeworld years ago to become a fisher, a shopkeeper, or a trash collector—anything other than Arc’s business partner.

  Arcanthus’s humor lingered until he was alone in his workshop. He entered through one of the rear passages; the huge blast door at the room’s front was used only as an entrance for clients, one of several visual representations of how seriously he took security. He wanted his guests to know they were safe under his roof—and that any attempts to harm him would be swiftly and wholly thwarted.

  He sat down behind the wide desk at the edge of the raised platform, leaned back in his chair—tail swishing slowly through the cut-out at the base of the seat—and swept his gaze over the large chamber.