Sanctuary: A Dark Planet Warriors Novella by Anna Carven

Author:Anna Carven [Carven, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-24T18:30:00+00:00

12

Abbey

As we enter the department hyperstore, a ten-story behemoth of a place called Elysium, the doorman stares apprehensively at Kalan and Rykal. One of the things that makes this place unique is that they’ve kept the old-school style service going.

Real shop attendants, real doormen. Despite all the technological advances our people have made, we still prefer to speak to actual humans, not bots.

Oh, there are bots all over the place too, monitoring for shoplifting, using facial recognition to check our shopping profiles, changing product placement, blah blah blah…

But the bots remain discreet.

Out of sight, out of mind.

There’s a reason these bricks-and-mortar stores still exist. Digital shopping has its benefits, but most of us still want to look, touch, feel, and hold the actual item in our hands before we stupidly fork out all our hard-earned credits on some rash impulse-buy.

“So this is shopping,” Rykal remarks as he stops near a display stand laden with all kinds of hats. He picks up a tall, wide-brimmed hat that looks like something out of an ancient twentieth-century western movie and examines it closely. “Shopping for leisure.” He snorts. “I thought Arin was joking. Do you actually find this relaxing, Abbey?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” I say, trying not to sound defensive. These bad-ass warriors just have a way of making a girl feel self-conscious at times. “It’s nice to walk around and take in the surroundings and actually interact with people.” I glance at the hat. “You should try it. It looks like it might suit you.”

Good lord, what am I doing asking this highly trained, lethal warrior to try on a cowboy hat? Tarak wouldn’t have a bar of it.

I wouldn’t even dare try it with him.

Rykal puts on the hat.

Ami squeals with laughter, kicking her legs in excitement.

Unimpressed, Kalan snorts derisively. No longer content to allow my hyper-energetic daughter to toddle along beside us, Kalan holds Ami in his massive arms, and she bounces contentedly, sitting with her back against him, her legs dangling in front.

What a sight they make. Kalan’s face is like thunder, plastered with a permanent—and quickly deepening—scowl. In contrast, Ami is all sunshine and rainbows, her lilac eyes sparkling, her pale hair wild. There’s a chocolate smudge on her left cheek; the only remaining trace of those delicious waffles we had at the food market.

Her left foot is bare, and the right one is enclosed in a pink sandal. I think she lost her other shoe somewhere in the food market.

When Kalan scooped her up and offered to carry her around for me, he did it without question, without complaint, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and being totally used to big, gruff Kordolian males, Ami was instantly comfortable.

Unki Kal she calls him.

Ha.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Kalan is getting himself ready to be a daddy himself.

Jia, you sneaky cat. What haven’t you told me?

“This hat…” Rykal peers into a nearby mirror, adjusting the hat at a rakish angle.

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