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~Agent Stygian, Claude Reese~
Claude glanced around his “prison”. He had to admit, as far as cells went, this one wasn’t half bad. It was more like a suite in a high-end hotel. There was a separate bedroom with a massive bathroom, and a small kitchenette with a refrigeration unit stocked full of food. Some he was familiar with and some not so much.
The living area had a plush, circular, sectional couch that could hold ten people.
It reminded him of an Arabian Night’s fantasy resort. From the architecture to the gauzy material hanging from the ceiling mimicking the inside of a tent. The colors throughout the room were bluish-black, cobalt, and turquoise that contrasted with the ocher-and-sand colors of the walls and plush rugs.
He snorted. No matter how pretty, a prison was still in prison. He eyed the two guards flanking the only exit. He might have enough experience to overcome them and escape, but he didn’t have any idea where he was, so how would he know where to go? It didn’t help they’d confiscated his oval transportation device. Best to sit tight and see how things played out.
Thank God he didn’t have to wait long.
The doorway dissolved open and as one, the guards snapped to attention.
In walked one of the most unusual men he’d ever seen. The guy wasn’t human, but he didn’t look like an Akurn either. If he didn’t know any better, Claude’d swear somebody was playing a joke on him. His eyes widened as he examined the man from head to foot.
Holy fuck! The guy looked like the character from a recent series about a man witch.
Tall, with long white hair pulled at the nape of his neck, exposing slightly pointed ears. While his skin was light, it was more Caucasian rather than the porcelain white of an Akurn. It was his eyes that declared him as an alien. They were larger than a human’s and oval-shaped. Instead of a single color, the irises were dual—a starburst of yellow intersected deep turquoise around the dark pupil.
The stamp of controlled intelligence from the guy made Claude pause. Deep in his gut, he knew this wasn’t someone he could easily cross.
Without a word, the man approached.
Claude couldn’t move. The man reached over and touched his fingertips to Claude’s temple and a slight burn shot through him. Eyes closed, he moaned. The crawling sensation that left a slight burn stopped when the man pulled his hand away. Good thing an invisible force held him up. Otherwise, he’d crumple to his knees at the sudden release of pain. He opened his eyes, and his stomach dropped at the man’s frown.
The white-haired man stepped back and tapped a finger against the side of his mouth. After giving Claude an up-and-down examination, he clasped his hands in front of him. “You have someone blocking your memories. Who has done that to you?”
The tight hold vanished. Claude jerked and sucked in a shaky breath. The chill in the air seared his throat when he exhaled through his mouth. He swore it fogged in the frosty air. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you, and why should I tell you anything?” He crossed his arms and returned the favor of an up-and-down perusal.
What the guy wore differed from what the aliens had on. It was more East Indian in design rather than the Middle Eastern style the guards and the guy in charge of them wore. Draped over slim ankle-length pants was a traditional cotton silk kurta in white.
The guy’s platinum left eyebrow rose.
Nice Spock imitation. Okay, standoff. Claude doubted the man worked with the Akurns. Besides, those aliens wouldn’t hold him in a place as nice as this. Now he had a damnable choice. Either open up to this guy or get taken out of the game. Which would probably include a nastier holding cell. If they allowed him to live.
He uncrossed his arms. “Look, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” He held out his hand. “My name is Claude Reese. I’m a special agent for the CIA, and my goal is to stop the Akurn invasion.”
With a narrow glance at Claude’s outstretched hand, the man offered a short, firm shake. “I am Raiden.”
They dropped their hold.
“That’s it? Just Raiden?” When the other man didn’t answer, Claude probed. “So, why don’t we sit, get comfortable, and have an open dialogue like civilized men.” He gestured to the opulent sectional with a glance toward the kitchen. “I think I can whip up something to drink if you’d like.”
Yeah. Nice and friendly like.
Raiden shook his head. The ends of his long hair swung behind his legs. “That won’t be necessary.” He draped the strands over his chest and sat on the couch across from Claude. The ends of his bright hair pooled on his lap.
Claude shrugged and resumed his seat with an ankle crossed over his knee. “Tell me, Raiden. Where are you from?”
“San Francisco.”
“Huh? Um, okay.” That was... unexpected. Claude leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. Before the other man grilled him, he dove right in. The sooner they were both on the same page, the sooner he could jump back into the thick of things.
He laid out how he became the head of FEAR and described what he and his team discovered in the last six months. When he finished, he stared at the exotic man for his verdict.
Raiden remained motionless, his eyes unfocused before sharply assessing him. “I know what you are telling me is truthful for you.” His tone was smooth with nary a hint of emotion. “However, I’m concerned about the psychic block stopping me from reading you.”
“You can read minds?” Damn, that must be convenient. He raised his hand in defense. “Not that I want you scrambling around my head, but have you had this problem before?”
