Claimed by the Alien Bodyguard - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,93

males. The males were close enough to her that she must’ve felt their breath on her bare skin.

Tenthil rounded the tier to stop beneath the volturians. He leaned his arms on the railing, turned his face toward the lower level, and listened.

Countless sounds assaulted him in a chaotic jumble—the music from the nearest stage was the loudest of them, but the din of countless conversations and the thumping bass from the dance floor refused to be overpowered. He moved his head, and the qualities of the sound changed as his ears entered the dead space on the edge of the sound dampening field. It was there that he discovered what he’d sought—the lilting, flowing words of the volturians’ native tongue drifting down from above.

His translator implant granted him understanding of the complex language; the volturian males were arguing over who would get a turn with the female first.

Despite the numerous dampening fields, sound traveled well enough from the VIP level for Tenthil to overhear nearby conversations. That could prove valuable; the Master always appreciated his acolytes bringing new secrets when they returned to the temple from their work around the city.

After scanning the upper level again, Tenthil moved on to the mid-level doors marked as restroom access. All three led into long corridors with high ceilings, two of which seemed high enough to overlap the space occupied by the third floor. Those taller halls possessed heavy-duty hatches near the centers of their ceilings. The latching mechanisms on both hatches appeared to be manual wheel cranks. Such mechanisms were common throughout both the Undercity and the Bowels beneath it, but not in places like this, where security and modernity were presented as paramount.

Either the hatches were fused shut or the owner of the establishment thought them too far out of reach to be vulnerable to intrusion.

Tenthil stepped aside for a passing group of Ergoths, glad he’d removed the pin; if these thugs had found him impersonating one of their own, it would’ve meant a fight, and Tenthil wasn’t quite done with this place. Getting thrown out by security for bloodying some Ergoths would only make it more difficult for Tenthil when he came back here to close his current contract.

He assessed the walls and ceiling around the hatch; for the first five meters, the walls were smooth and wide-set, broken only by random pulses of neon that moved like radiant serpents racing through the dark of the Void. Though invisible to the naked eye when not illuminated, Tenthil recognized the lights for what they were—infinitesimal imperfections of which he could take advantage. Beyond the smooth sections, dozens of exposed pipes, ducts, and conduits would make the rest of the climb effortless.

Best to check the hatches before I leave tonight, should an opportunity arise.

Leaving one of them unlatched would provide an easy entrance for his next visit—when he’d be a bit less inclined to follow the weapon-check policy at the front entrance.

He exited the corridor and returned to the railing overlooking the lower floor, fixing his gaze on the dancers below. This time, he kept his attention on the uppermost edge of his vision. Drok, if present at all, was most likely behind one of the STAFF ONLY doors or up on the third floor.

Tenthil had come to accept the simple truth of his work long ago—no amount of training, planning, or skill could completely cancel out the effects of chance. Even the Void—which, according to the Master, touched everything—could not overcome the randomness of the universe.

Chance was at play when Tenthil lifted his head just as a huge, heavily muscled tralix descended the steps from the third floor and emerged on the middle tier directly across from him. The left prong of the tralix’s forehead crest was broken off, and his mottled teal and violet skin was covered with old scars, including a prominent one on his cheek.

This was Tenthil’s target. This was Drok.

Drok turned to face the small entourage that had arrived—a long-necked ertraxxan with skin the color of old bruises clad in upper-class attire and four well-dressed, broad-shouldered vorgals who were undoubtedly his personal security—and offered them a wide, tusk-filled smile. He and the ertraxxan clasped hands. Though Drok had to be twice the mass of his guest, the ertraxxan maintained a dignified air, displaying neither intimidation nor subservience. All this happened over the course of a few seconds, and Tenthil paid little mind to the meeting.

Though Tenthil was grateful for his first in-person glimpse of his target, his