Star Wars_ Darth Bane 02_ Rule of Two - Drew Karpyshyn [58]
Twi’lek complexions came in a wide variety of colors, but Kel was of the extremely rare red-skinned Lethan race. Like most Lethans, he was undeniably gorgeous. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a hard, flat stomach and perfectly proportioned limbs. He wore tight black pants and a loose-fitting tan tunic that hung open at the front to expose the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen. He had sensuous, perfectly symmetrical features: soft, full lips and dark, smoldering eyes that seemed to draw you in if you stared at them too long. His firm, shapely lekku coiled around his neck and shoulders, winding their way suggestively down the front of his open tunic and exposed chest.
“Rainah!” he cried out a second time, causing more than a few people to stop and look at him curiously. Zannah cursed under her breath, and moved quickly through the crowd to his side.
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed when she got close. “Everybody’s staring at us!”
“Let them stare,” he said defiantly, though he did lower his voice to match hers. “They’re commoners. Their opinion means nothing to me.”
Kel was a child of position and privilege. In addition to being of Lethan stock, he came from a family that ranked among the nobility of the Twi’lek warrior caste. His entire life he had been told by all those around him how special he was; it was only natural he would grow up believing others to be beneath him.
At times Zannah admired his haughty arrogance. It was a sign of power: He knew he was a superior specimen, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. But it was also his great weakness. She had discovered early on that Kel was easily manipulated through flattery or challenges to his pride and ego, and she wasn’t afraid to exploit that knowledge in the pursuit of her mission.
“You’re late,” she told him. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I shouldn’t even be doing this,” he snapped back at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing herself close and wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders. “I was beginning to think you were with another lover,” she purred. “If I ever find you with another female, I will cut her heart out.”
Kel pulled her even tighter against his body. “You are more than enough for any male,” he whispered into her ear, sending a shiver down Zannah’s spine.
She kissed him on the lips, then broke the embrace. “We don’t have time for this,” she protested. “Your friends are waiting for us.”
Licking his lips as if he could still taste her, Kel nodded and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go,” he said, pulling her through the crowd of shoppers.
* * *
As dusk fell over the camp on Ambria, Darth Bane reached out toward the tiny crystal pyramid he had carefully positioned on the small pedestal in the center of the otherwise empty tent. Moving slowly, he brushed his fingers gently against its cold, dead surface, then pulled his hand back when he saw it tremble. An instant later his fingers started twitching spasmodically as tingling jolts of sharp pain laced their way from his elbow down to his wrist. Swearing a silent oath, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, trying to ride it out.
Because of the orbalisks that encased his body, he was used to living in constant pain. It was always there, a dull throbbing just above the level of subconscious awareness. Normally he could shut it out, bearing the torments of his infestation with no visible effects. However, if he wasn’t careful—if he pushed himself too far—the physical demands could overwhelm him. The tremor had been a warning, the first sign that he was reaching the edges of his endurance.
Three times before he had attempted to create his own Sith Holocron, and each time the project had ended in failure. He wasn’t about to fail this time. He knew that one false move at this stage and all his work, literally years of preparation, would be undone. Yet he also knew that he had no choice but to find a