Marie Harte - Creation's Control

Planet Mardu, the eastern territory, year 2955

Three blood-red moons hung low in the sky, bringing light to the black reaches of Easfra’s seedy port. Several run-down transports, smuggler trawls and a slave ship docked close to the outer reaches of the eastern territory. System law avoided the place like the plague, making it perfect for a man hiding his identity. Most of the dregs frequenting the underbelly of Easfra left Ryen well enough alone. Seven feet of pure rage tended to fend off even the most curious. Unfortunately, these assholes didn’t know better than to equate numbers with success. As if he’d let a half dozen barbarians take him down after what he’d lived through.

Ryen slammed a fist into flesh and bone, adding another knockout to the two men already sprawled on the ground. The others circled him, hoping to win an impossible fight.

The scent of blood made it hard for Ryen to focus on anything more than trapping his inner fury. He knew that if he gave in to temptation, this small skirmish would turn from dangerous to deadly. He couldn’t risk the threat of exposure.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to hold still, absorbing the punch that met his unprotected belly. The glancing blow didn’t phase him. Piss poor fight, and it’s not giving me a damned thing.

“Fuck, he’s like a rock,” the tallest of the three opponents swore. “Damned Ragga.” Ryen curled his lip and waited for the rest of the Cortami barbarians to attack, aware his smirk often provoked others into action. Hell, that expression had irritated his Handler to no end. In his four years at the now defunct Blue Rims Laboratory, Ryen had spent more time recovering on his back than standing on his feet. Synster, that prick, got off on torture, to see how much Ryen could take. Ryen, stubborn bastard that he was, could take a lot.

“Yeah, well even a Ragga has weaknesses,” another of the barbarians said with a sneer.

Which might have been true of a real Ragga—a native of the planet that gave birth to the strongest men in the System. But Ryen was so much more. Stronger, faster, harder, his kind had such a lethal reputation that they lived with a death sentence over their heads if discovered. I should be so lucky, he thought with a snort, waiting for someone to make a move.

The man to his right swung a hard punch. Ryen blocked it and the kick from the idiot’s friend. Irritated they weren’t giving him what he needed, he growled and took the offensive.

The space dock rang with curses, scuffled footsteps and physical blows. Ryen put down two more barbarians and approached the last, praying for something more. With frustration, he silently urged this piece of shit to fight like his life depended on it, because it very well might.

“You druns have no idea how to brawl.” Ryen dodged what would have been an ineffectual blow to the stomach and retaliated. The snap of the asshole’s ribs went a short way towards satisfying his need to destroy. Another two kicks and the barbarian dropped to the ground, his body limp, broken and bleeding.

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about targeting people on the docks.” Applause sounded behind him. The need to vent his anger grew, and with death on the brain, Ryen spun around to meet the next fool stupid enough to goad him.

Fuck. “Drekk. I should have known.” If only another group of bullying thugs had found him. The docks, however, remained silent and empty save Ryen, his unconscious attackers, and Drekk.

The man stood a head shorter than Ryen, still making him taller than most of the System inhabitants Ryen came into contact with. Bright grey eyes dominated a face too rough to be called attractive by Nebite standards. Yet the scar on Drekk’s left cheek and the rugged meanness in his gaze constantly urged Ryen to take a second look. Where Drekk’s anger should have been a quiet peace remained, and Ryen had a hard time fathoming the composed man before him with the dangerous Creation he knew Drekk to be.

“Ryen, I’ve been looking for you.” Drekk didn’t look happy as he crossed powerful arms over a broad chest. “What have I told you about keeping a low profile? You aren’t wearing your visor—”

“I can’t see with that damned thing.”

“—And without it your eyes, those spectacular blue orbs, proclaim your differences better than that gigantic frame. At least with your visor on we can pass you off as Ragga.”

“Whatever.” His eyes hadn’t seemed to bother his new ‘friends’.

Drekk vanished and reappeared in front of him in a blink. “Not whatever .” Unlike everyone else Ryen had ever met, Drekk showed no fear of him. “I’m telling you what you need to do to survive.”

“I’m tired of this shit. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep.” I’m so hungry... Ryen didn’t know how to explain his constant need for something just out of reach. The only things that had kept him sane in the labs were his never-ending physical training and the constant orgies he’d been forced into. It had been hard enough to sate himself with the weak women Synster brought him. At least the artificial intelligence he’d fought had stimulated him with challenge. But damned if he could find a fight or a woman who could handle him in Mardu.

“Give yourself a break, Ryen.” Drekk’s voice gentled, doing strange things to Ryen’s balance. “You spent years being conditioned to react a certain way. You’re free now. It’ll take time to lose the urge to destroy.”

“Like you did?” He huffed, wishing for once Drekk would tell him what his own experiences had been like. Like Ryen, Drekk was man-made. Eyran scientists had tampered with genetics to create the perfect weapon. Unlike Ryen, Drekk blended into society. His eyes looked normal, white around light grey irises and black pupils. Ryen’s eyes were unique.

Midnight blue surrounded lighter blue bands and pinpoints of gold.

Both dark haired with coppery skin and warrior builds, the men shared only a similar outward appearance. Drekk carried an air of self-possession that Ryen sorely lacked.

Frustration rode him hard, and lately Ryen worked to stave off his rage at even the littlest thing.

“I’ve been where you are, Ryen. It’ll get better.” Ryen clenched his fists but reminded himself that Drekk wanted to help him, as annoying as the male might be. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t, because you won’t let me.” The normally stoic Drekk frowned. “Every time I try to help, you tell me to ‘fuck off’. I know you’re having a hard time, but I’m not your enemy. If you keep up this attitude, I’m going to show you just where to put all that rage. You forget I’m every bit as strong as you are.”

Excitement churned. “Prove it. Fight me.” That he welcomed. Drekk’s psychological bullshit he could do without. Ryen didn’t need understanding words and gentle reproach.

He needed action, physical release. Hell, I need to get laid. It’s been too long. Yet he abstained, fearful of harming his sexual partners with uncontrollable desire.

Drekk’s constant presence didn’t help. Around Drekk, Ryen ached. Arousal flared whenever he neared the annoying male, which made little sense and increased his aggravation with life in general.

Drekk raised a brow and spoke in a reasonable tone, shooting Ryen’s anger into overdrive. “I won’t fight you. I don’t need to prove anything. Ryen, the sooner you accept who you are, the better you’ll feel. Those meditation exercises I gave you will work if you let them.”

“Yeah, right.” Sit and stare at the walls? Think about nothing at all? How the fuck would that get Ryen in touch with his ‘inner self’?