Free Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3) by Chrystalla Thoma

chair and picked up his Rasmus. To calm down, he disassembled the gun. The magazine came out first, and then he double-checked the chamber, making sure no round was left inside. With a thin punch he always kept in the holster, he field-stripped the gun and broke it down to its parts, piece by tiny piece, first the slide, then the firing pin spring, the metal frame and the trigger. He cleaned them on a patch of his t-shirt that wasn’t stiff with dried blood and checked for humidity and mold, for anything that could cause trouble. But everything looked fine.
    He quickly put it back together, inserted the magazine and wiped an imaginary stain from its barrel. He bowed his head. His boots were caked in dry mud. His blood-stiffened jacket hung on the back of the chair, incongruous in the cheerful little apartment.
    He had a feeling he’d outstayed his… well, his welcome, if that was the right word. He wasn’t sure how Kalaes saw his presence there, no matter what Maera said, and then… Then he had a feeling there was something he couldn’t see, though it was right in front of his eyes. He realized cronion was in the fore, tightening his belly, pressing inside his head. Warning him.
    But of what? He was safe, safe there, and he repeated the mantra until he could take a deep breath and release his hold on his gun.
    He had the gun out in a heartbeat and aiming when something rattled. He jumped to his feet just before the door was thrown open. A man stood at the opening, orange flashing on his chest and crimson pulsing over his heart and head. The world around them went dark and hushed as Elei took aim.
    The wild shape of the hair and the wide set of shoulders were familiar.
    Stop . Elei forced his hand down until the Rasmus pointed to the floor. Just stop .
    Kalaes stood there, wide-eyed, arms tight around two bulging cloth bags. The spikes of his black hair pointed up, as if he’d been pulling on them all day. “Elei?”
    He backed away, his mind still screeching. “Sorry.”
    Kalaes entered, steps dragging, and nudged the door shut with his foot. He gazed at Elei for a moment, shook his head and headed for the kitchen. Elei heard the bags drop on the table, heard the steps return. Hands took the Rasmus away.
    “Come sit here.”
    The bed creaked as Kalaes sat. He seemed tired. Dark circles marked his eyes. It must have been a hell of a day. Elei suddenly wondered where Kalaes had slept if Elei had taken his bed. The chair didn’t look very comfortable.
    Elei sat down on the bed.
    “Maera called me, told me what you said. Look at me Elei.” Kalaes’ eyes were narrowed. “Is there any chance this Falx guy has followed you here, to Aerica?”
    “I think not.” Yet he wondered. Had someone followed him? Nothing had happened so far; he had to hope he was safe.
    The lines of Kalaes’ mouth relaxed. “Life has been quiet here for some time now. I haven’t had a gun shoved into my face in years. You just…” Kalaes placed the gun on the bed and crossed his arms. “Where did you come from anyway? You never said. I thought Pelia might have gone to Kukno or Torq…”
    “Ost.”
    “You’re joking!” Kalaes’ brows arched. “No wonder you caught telmion, fe. What in the hells was Pelia doing on Ost, the backwater of the world?”
    “She headed the drug company. She was looking for a vaccine or a cure.” Elei hesitated. Should he trust cronion, trust that being with Kalaes was safe? Pelia had sent him there and she ought to know what she was doing. But could he trust anyone? “A cure for telmion. That’s what she told me.”
    “Did she try it on you?”
    “No, no good. I have cronion, it complicates things.”
    “Could that be what this Falx is after?”
    Elei shrugged and it pulled on his healing wound. He supposed it could. But why wouldn’t she have told him if the cure had been found? She’d talked to him about practically everything else.
    Kalaes rose, startling him. “Come, fe, let’s make