“Tarriq.”

I feel his whisper, even through sleep, and swim out of a dream into the edge of wakefulness. The warmth of it, of him, settles over me. There is an insistent tone to that single word, though, that will not let me slide back to sleep even as the blanket warmth of his love enfolds me. Rolling over onto my back with a groan, I crack open eyes that feel gritty with fatigue and exhaustion.

“‘Shani. How long?” Wakefulness and I do not immediately get along. Ever. My speech is slurred with sleep.

“It is just past midafternoon. You have slept for about three hours.” I hear the affection in his voice and see it swirl in his shape. Rarely do I shorten his name, and he finds it charming.

I groan again into the pure black of the bedroom, the depths undisturbed by even a single candle, and throw an arm across my forehead. “What broke?” It is the only thing he would have woken me for.

“I do not know. IO sent a runner for you. He awaits you in the sitting room.” Colors swirl within Meshani, red and yellow in a scything ribbon tightly wound within a blue sphere. He is mildly angry, but he controls it tightly and projects outward calm.

I sit up at that, the bedding slithering down my bare chest to puddle in my lap. “Damn. It must be the auxiliary reactor vents in Four. I was supposed to repair them tonight; they have been rattling.” I rub at the bridge of my nose and sigh. 

Meshani frowns, and a cube of scintillating green shimmer collapses into itself as it reforms into sullen disapproval within his throat. I know it is not for me, but for the disruption to my sleep; I have been working too much on too little sleep for the past three days.

“I know,” I soothe him, reaching out to put my arm about his waist and draw him close. He enfolds me in strong arms and I simply hold him close for a moment, my cheek pressed to the expanse of his muscular stomach. “But they cannot perceive it as I do. There is no other way. No one else can do this.”

“If they keep working you at such a pace, they will have no one at all.” Meshani is not usually bitter, but I can feel his concern. I can see it as well, a brown thing that churns in his belly.

“You will give yourself indigestion,” I chide gently and stroke the place where he holds that concern. He shivers at my touch, and the brown shape morphs into an orange upwelling of primal lust. I smile as he unconsciously clutches at my scalp. “Bring me tea please, Meshani. I will get robed and speak with the runner. Did you light a candle for him?”

Meshani has to swallow before he can answer. “Yes. A single light only.” 

I wish I could answer the rough desire I hear in his voice; it has been too long since we had time to ourselves besides sleeping. Usually he has better control than I. The darkness hides my smile, though it cannot hide the response of my own needs as Meshani and I embrace. “I will tell Merrick that I want tonight off.” There is a growl to my words that promises Meshani everything he desires.

He replies with a pleased hum and slips from my grip. I can see his approval in the orange hues that thrum through him like the strings of a finely tuned instrument. “I will pack you a meal, as well.”

“Thank you, my all.”

Meshani moves off to attend my needs, and I slide out from beneath the covers. My robe is near to hand, hanging from a peg sunken into the stone of the wall near the head of the bed. I take it down and slip my arms into the sleeves, tying the belt about my waist to cover my nudity before freeing my long hair from the back. The robe is a finely woven thing of silk, hued in deep twilight blue with trim and tie in black. The colors, like the smooth fabric itself, are soothing.

On silent bare feet, I make my way across the hall to the sitting room. The single candle upon the writing desk on the far side of the room is small, the pool of light it casts minimal. It allows me to remain ungoggled, so I regard the youth sitting nervously upon the room’s single chair with full senses but from an oblique gaze. He watches me nervously, all whirling shapes and ribbons of lambent aurora. I think if he were to stand up, his knees would knock together. He is perhaps 14 or so, and ready to age out of being a runner in a year or two. His clothing is coarse and almost uniformly brown, so his pale skin and corn silk hair stand out against the tunic and trousers even more. Even sitting, I can tell he is a gangly youth, all arms and legs where his core has not yet caught up to the rest of him. I judge that he would perhaps come up to my chin were he standing, though I am scant taller myself than is average.

I feel him staring as I sink down into the pile of cushions, my knees folding gracefully. Few besides Meshani see me ungoggled, so I am not surprised at his trepidation. He cannot quite put his finger on why I am different, just that I am. I finally raise my eyes to meet his, to see him flinch. He does not disappoint me. His gaze jerks away and he licks his lips uncertainly. 

My eyes are too large, too wide. Too dark. The narrow violet iris holds my pupils in a permanent state of dilation, and the cornea is not white, but instead a deep mahogany veined with pale blue like frost. They are utterly inhuman.

The youth does not know how to react, and I watch him try to control a shiver. He finally sees the other in me.

“Speak, lad.” He jumps at the sound of my voice even though I speak barely louder than a whisper, and I see the roil of his fear surge. It is entrancing, almost intoxicating. I shove down the urge to stalk him even as I feel it lay tension across my shoulders. He does not know that he sits with someone who could prey upon him, but something within him recognizes he is in peril and he knows fear. I exhale and continue speaking softly. “Deliver your message.”

He swallows hard. “Nellkis…” His voice cracks, and he clears it nervously before starting again. “Technician Nellkis sends his most sympathetic apologies, Darkwalker. Your immediate attention is requested at Station Four, as power generation has abruptly gone offline and backup systems have failed to engage. He reports further that Stations Three and Seven are laboring to compensate for the additional demand.” His voice seems over loud amidst the quietude of my home. As though he can stave off the nervous anxiety with a loud statement.

The youth falls silent as Meshani appears. I turn to watch my partner as he lowers a steaming earthen mug to where I can accept it with a murmured thanks, and I bring it to my nose to inhale the heady aroma of the tea. Meshani then moves to offer the youth a mug. It sets the runner at ease a bit, and I smile behind the lip of my own mug. This lad will have tales to tell his peers. Meshani then returns and curls up around me on the cushions, wrapping his form about me almost protectively. I lay a hand upon his hip, possessive, though I know there is nothing that can separate us. 

I return my gaze to the boy, feeling subdued by Meshani’s presence, and the lad seems to understand subconsciously that he is no longer in immediate danger. He sips the tea politely, though I can see him blanch faintly at the flavor. It disagrees with his tastes. But he is too polite to say so.

“Run a message to IO Director Merrick Kaar,” I say into the silence, startling the lad again. “Inform him of this emergency and tell him I will be there within an hour and a half. That I expect Team Four on immediate standby. And that I want tonight off duty, in addition to my standard overtime pay.”

The runner swallows nervously. He opens his mouth to speak, but then looks away in uncertainty. I read confusion in pale variegated whorls as he finally gathers his wits. “The director was on scene. He said I was to accompany you, Darkwalker.”

Surprise freezes me in place. Meshani sits up, and I hear concern lace his words. “Tarriq? What is it?”

I am utterly still as I parse the youth’s words. Meshani takes the mug from my hand a moment before I would drop it and sets it aside.

“That fool. Damn him.” The whispered words are vitriol from my lips. Meshani waits patiently for me to speak, a hand on my back. “It is not the auxiliary vents after all,” I mutter at length. “The turbine is damaged. It is the only reason he would take this risk.”

Distantly, in the very periphery of my vision, I see the boy sitting in confusion and fear. Part of me is tempted to startle him, just to watch him try and climb the wall in his terror. He will bolt at any sudden movement.

I sense more than feel as Meshani lifts his gaze briefly to the boy, and I hear him hiss out a breath. “Go dress,” he tells me softly. “I will have a short chat with this lad about what he can expect.”

Silently, I nod and roll fluidly to my feet. I do not even bother to acknowledge the runner as I sweep out of the room. Meshani begins to speak quietly to the lad, but his words are muffled and soon beyond what I can perceive. 

I am angry, and treat the furniture accordingly. Drawers are manhandled roughly, clothing is thrown in haphazard fury. I do not know what colors I have chosen, only that it is a pair of loose trousers and a sleeveless tunic cut longer behind than in front. Not even my hair is exempt from my wrath as I viciously comb it out and bind it back into a tail. I hear a small rip of cloth as I cinch the tie about it. 

Damn Merrick to the Darkness.

What he asks could kill the boy.