Ka'Cit's Haven (Riv’s Sanctuary #3)

“Phek, he’s really out of it,” one said.

“Phekking talking nonsense,” another said. “I told you not to give the new ones any woogli drink. It’s too strong for them.”

Shit, that’s right. They couldn’t understand her. No one spoke English on this planet.

Fuuuuuuck.

The panic on her spine spiked and shattered all across her body, sending icicles through her veins.

With a final effort, Nia tried to scramble from the group. She flailed her arms as she tried to free herself from between the aliens. With strength she never knew she had, she resisted the arms holding hers down to grab on to two of their shoulders so she could surge forward toward the edge of the street. Hope flared as she saw the street side for just a moment.

They were going up an incline now and, for just a moment, she managed to see Lauren’s blonde hair when the crowd parted just a little. She and Riv were still arguing with the merchant selling the cradles.

She saw Lauren turn to say something to her, she assumed, and the exact moment when the woman realized she was no longer standing there was clear.

Panic flooded Lauren’s face and Nia called out, but with the noise of the exchange and the distance now between them, neither Riv nor Lauren heard her.

That’s when she felt another blow to the back of her head and this time, it didn’t make her vision swim. It made her vision go dark.

Fuck.

“No!”

She’d been so close.

She fought to retain consciousness, but a scream died on her lips as she felt her body fall against the aliens around her.

4

Ka’Cit Urgmental hated the Exchange.

Not because of how busy it was.

No.

He didn’t hate the crowds. He simply hated the individuals that made up the crowds.

He could see the demons on most of their faces—the lies they hid behind.

He only needed a few seconds looking at them to know if they were thinking something nefarious.

Maybe it was because of his job, the life he’d chosen for himself, but it was an uncanny skill that made him question the motives of every single being around him.

He’d long learned that most beings were selfish. Always.

He sat at one of the food stalls on one of the upper levels of the exchange, a woogli drink oozing in front of him on the counter.

Down below, the sea of shoppers on the main street flowed and ebbed.

He was alone. Despite that food stalls were always crowded at the exchange, this one was empty, save for his presence.

In front of him, the food merchant trembled as he pretended to dry some fresh drinking utensils.

What was his problem?

Ka’Cit eyed the merchant through the slit in his mask.

“Is—is something wrong with the drink?” the merchant asked, his round eyes flicking from the drink to Ka’Cit then back. His thin grey arms trembled, as did the antennae on the top of his head. “I can make a new one, no problem. No problem at all.”