This story has been rewritten. Please see chapter 1 for details.

Chapter 9

He stretched his slender fingers under the light of the time rotor. Faint pink lines spanned across his palm—the only evidence of his mishap earlier. Curious things, new bodies, always swirling with excess regenerative energy. Such heightened sensations, as though watching the world with the volume up too loud and the screen too bright. And yet something felt off, something even the newness couldn't explain.

Despite each face change, his nature had always stayed intact—so why did he feel embarrassed on the terrace that morning? Or anxious the night before? Such feelings were the mark of lesser beings, weakness of the highest sort. And the girl, every time he went near her his brain went all muddled as though … malfunctioning.

"Lord Victor," Sika said through the comm channel on the console, "Chan Coi 'Thet makes a formal request for a re-challenge."

He curled his fingers into a ball. "Request denied."

"And what shall I do to ensure he abides by your decree, my Lord?"

He detected an uneasy inflection in Sikah's voice, subtle but present. He whipped out his laser screwdriver and flicked the diodes into place.

The doors burst open. Chan Coi 'Thet strutted into the chamber adorned in his ceremonial armor, his chest plate puffed out. Horns, bones and teeth protruded from the ridges like grotesque trophies. 'Thet scanned the room for his human prey, then settled his gaze onto his master. His crusted lip curled into a sneer, revealing serrated teeth.

Oh, he knew that look. He'd lived it—that thirst for blood. But if any blood were to spoil the pristine white marble of his console chamber, it would be that of 'Thet and not Rose. He edged away from the console and trained his screwdriver higher. "State your intent."

Chan Coi 'Thet mirrored his movement, talons clicking along the polished floor. "I demand what is owed," he said with more growl than voice, a wet rasping that sent spittle soaring. "Your laws decree that any may challenge a past opponent."

He tightened his grip. "My laws are just that, mine, and I decree that you keep your distance." His glare said the rest: act, and I will end you.

The wrinkled flesh of Thet's gullet pulsed. "You deny me my right to spare a weakling female?"

"Your right?" The gall. But how could he expect anything less? The same reason this warrior had been an invaluable asset was the same reason he was now a massive liability—killing was a matter of pride to his culture. 'Thet would not be satiated until he stood above her mangled body, no matter the personal cost.

He didn't lower his laser, but typed one-handed into the spacial locator input. "Let's be clear, slave, the only rights you have are those I bestow upon you." He thrust down the throttle. The time column lit up as the crystallized center spun up and down. "But if it's your image you seek to protect, then go. Go back to your wars and your battlefields where no one knows of your defeat."

The time rotor stilled and the main door opened. Thick, leafy foliage spilled into the chamber, carrying the earthy scent of clay.

"Walk over that threshold and claim mastery over yourself," he said to 'Thet. He altered the setting on the laser and waved it in the creature's direction. The large metal band fell to the ground with a thud. "Try to walk through the other doors, and I'll slice you in half before you take two steps. Your end will be quick and painless." And meaningless—the worst sort of fate for a Chulan.

'Thet's slitted pupils flitted toward the open door then settled back onto the laser. He could smell the inner turmoil, see the creature calculating his odds of attack.

Sikah hovered near the entrance, his skin pale and waxy as though he found the brightness uncomfortable with so little camouflage.

At long last, 'Thet broke his stare and plodded toward freedom. His scaly tail disappeared into the brush, swatting at branches as it went.

Though the color slowly bled back into his skin, Sikah's posture remained rigid, his expression unreadable. He folded his arms behind him. "Apologies for the intrusion, my Lord. I'll notify the pertinent personnel of 'Thet's dismissal."

"Do you doubt me, Sikah?"

"No, My Lord."

"And why not?"

"The others didn't see you on Starfall, my Lord. The man that watched that city burn to the ground was the same man that watched his planet burn, no mistaking that." Sikah's gaze flitted down and back up, lingering on his open collar. "And yet that's not the same man I see before me now. You've changed."

"How so?"

"The Victor I knew didn't free slaves or suffer loose tongues."

Astute observations. Could it be his atypical behavior and inner changes were linked?

The shadewalker turned toward the hall, then paused. He angled his head to the side, the overhead lights glinting off his bald crown. "It's the girl, isn't it?"

His double pulse drummed. "What makes you say that?"

"Because it's obvious to everyone that she means much more to you than you pretend." The muscles at Sikah's jaw twitched as though he wanted to say more, but he shook his head and disappeared into the corridor.

He stared at the smattering of stars across the sky. Somehow they seemed less bright than before. His gaze fell to the patio garden below. Servants meandered around glistening pools lit by suspended light globes. Sculptures rested on pedestals, still and silent. What brought him here? Did he really think coincidence led him to the balcony to clear his head?

Rassilon! When did things get so complicated?

He raked his hands through his hair. Sikah was right. Look at him, so easily manipulated by the whims of a human girl. How pathetic. She'd transformed him into her personal puppet—tricking him into freeing servants, getting him to whisk her away to whatever destination she pleased, strutting about as if she owned the place.

And all for what? To secure her passage back home, no doubt. Surely this was her plan along; he was just too distracted to see it.

"There you are," he heard someone say in a familiar London accent. "Been looking high and low for you." Rose draped her hands over the stone banister beside him. "You clean up nice. Good to see you back to your old self again."

But he wasn't back to his old self. Not at all.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

He didn't answer. A hand rested on his shoulder and he jerked out of reach. "Don't."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"What have you done?"

"Huh?"

He swiveled to face her. "To me. What's your endgame? Is this some grand scheme of yours?"

"Scheme? What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer. "Did you use some kind of psychrometer? Or a telepathic amplifier of some kind?"

"Psycho what? Victor, you're not making any sense." Her brows twisted, then drew together. "Are you okay?"

There it was again—that same look of concern she gave him on that floating docking ramp, eyes so very round and unmarred by any hint of deceit or agenda. Whatever was going on, Rose was innocent.

But then what other explanation was there? All of this turmoil inside … His gaze darted across the expanse of the courtyard.

"Look," Rose said, "it's been a long day. We both could use some rest. I'll just—"

"Wait." He meant to stall her with a simple touch, but found himself trailing his fingertips down her forearm instead. So soft.

Rose took his hand in hers and squeezed. "What is it?"

"I …" Tell her what, that he couldn't stop thinking about her? That every time she touched him time slowed? That she stirred strange feelings inside him he couldn't explain, much less control? How ridiculous it sounded.

She rubbed her thumb in circles against the back of his hand as though coaxing him to answer.

Memories rushed back—her fingers twisting in his hair under the starlight, her hot breath on his face, their arms locked around each other in the very spot they stood. Want throbbed inside him like an ache. The world blurred. Suddenly his lips were against hers and he held a fistful of her hair, his other hand pressed into the small of her back.

Rose gasped into his mouth and pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss. Even in the dark he could see the flush in her cheeks. "I … I can't."

Her words seared into his ears. "Why not?"

"For a million reasons." She clutched her forehead with a trembling hand and stepped back. "The darkness on our heels, the danger of a disruption to the causal nexus. Take your pick."

"But you kissed me the other night."

"I know." She rubbed her eyes with her palms. "I didn't mean to lead you on or anything. It was just a spur-of-the moment thing. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I … I should go." She gathered her gown and fled toward the stairs, straps of silver woven across her back.

"I didn't give you permission," he called.

She came to an abrupt stop, then spun around, warning in her eyes. "I'm tired and I'm going to bed," she said with over-annunciation, as though he were a child who didn't understand.

"Not until I say you can."

"Screw you."

His jaw flexed. "You forget your place," he said as he strode toward her.

"I thought we were past this." Her posture deflated, her shoulders rounding forward.

Must she look so sad? It didn't suit her. He reached for her.

"Don't." Her words were ice, cold as her unyielding glare.

He balled his hand into a fist and dropped it by his side. "You dare tell me what I can and cannot do?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? I thought it was all a front, pretending you were heartless, but it's not, is it? You really don't feel a thing. Not for me, and certainly not those people on Villengard you tried to kill today." Rose shook her head, as though after all that time she finally saw him for what he was—and it repulsed her. "I could never be with someone like you." She turned and marched down the steps.

But he did feel.

And as he watched her blonde hair disappear from view, her words stung like a jagged edge thrust deep in his chest.