A/N: I don't own anything, not even Spock's hotness. *sigh* Anyway, just a little warning about my universe: it's a bit AU and has some dark themes. As always, enjoy!

She moved through the cavernous space like darkness, spilling over the floor in a show of grace. Her muscles tensed and bunched and she jumped like a cat into the air, spun and landed firmly onto the rafters. As her biogenic eyes inspected the area beneath her, she tucked her slim, lithe body tightly in the space against the wall, her sensitive ears picking up the small whoosh of air as the doors slid open. Two armed guards ambled slowly into the opulently appointed suite, their muscles corded and thick beneath the black uniforms, and their angry growls muted beneath the heavy masks and thick, blue rings of glowing astarite hanging about their necks and lips.

She could hear the steady rasps of their breath as it fanned the air in staccato waves, vibrating against their palates as they struggled to speak the king's tongue.

Frustrated, they gave up the attempt and slipped back into their native language, sweat glistening upon their shiny heads as they continued searching the room in broad sweeps.

"Ar'sha, ga' tok na pa'!," though the tone was menacing, Nyota could only guess at their intent. The language of the Rag'Shur had never been her forte, or her interest, for that matter. It was not the language of power, of trade and influence—it did not guarantee that her belly would be full and her nights would be warm.

She waited impatiently for several long minutes as they continued their search, their foul odors mingling in her nostrils and their guttural mutterings renting the still air.

By Tor, she swore silently, when would these—these--beasts be done with their pitiful ramblings?

She watched as they roved about a moment more, their heavy footsteps scraping against the delicate carpets and their bodies bruising the soft ionic walls. They glanced around the room once more before defeatedly traipsing out into the corridor, their sharp, deep voices echoing loudly in the halls before fading slowly away.

Nyota sighed and hurriedly jumped down to the floor, her eyes searching quickly, settling on the slick exterior of the A' Tur. Greed danced in her eyes and roused the nerves in her stomach. They would pay handsomely for this. She smiled coldly, her eyes gleaming with all the warmth of a great predator in the fields.

She made her way to the large window overlooking the tower, unlatched it and bounded off the high ledge onto the distant, soft grasses below.

*****

He seemed pleased. Nyota could barely contain her glee as he handed over payment. His dark, Vulcan eyes were lit with a tendril of elated hatred and a small smile played at the corners of his lips.

"You have exceeded my expectations, assassin," he told her and she nodded.

He folded his hands neatly behind his back as he paced and Nyota watched him curiously. He came to an abrupt stop and spun on his heel, coming to stand behind his desk once again.

"I had heard that of all the assassins in the guild, you are the most—creative,"

She let loose a tiny, evil grin as she nodded curtly once more, "I believe in—innovative thinking, yes,"

"Some would say that your methods are cruel, and yet I find them to be—pleasingly methodical."

Nyota tilted her head slightly to the side, the slight grin slipping off her face and became a stony grimace.

"I don't have time for this. Spit it out. What do you want Sylek?"

"I have—a proposition for you."

Nyota shrugged carelessly, "And I have—a price for you," she replied in flawless Vulcan, an indulgent smile playing against her features once more.

Shock raced across his placid face before he slipped back into calm repose.

"I do nothing for free," she continued, "You know this."

"Yes, I know this well, assassin," he retorted evenly, his inky eyes regarding her with an expression she could not decipher.

"I understand that your sibling, a sister, is on Centorion-5,"

Nyota stifled the shocked gasp which threatened to leave her lips and instead stood still, watching, listening.

"And so what if this is true?," she finally asked and quirked a beautifully defined brow, "What business is it of yours?"

He regarded her silently a moment and Nyota looked into his eyes once more. Yes, she knew that expression, she could not decipher it before, but she had seen it many times in men's eyes—it was the feeling of power. This man had power over her—and she didn't like it, not one bit.

She tried desperately to contain the rage inside her, the storm of anger that wanted to rip into his Vulcan hide and wipe that expression off his pompous little face. Instead she fumed.

He waited a moment more before speaking, "She is a concubine to the king," he told her, as if he were doing nothing more than reporting the weather, and perhaps, to him, her sister were no more important than that.

"I have heard that his tastes are quite—eclectic," he continued, "He has very—aggressive proclivities,"

Nyota kept her gaze and body steady even as sensation rocked within her. She had always known that the Centorion monarch was a sick, disgusting, twisted little fuck, but she had held out hope that she could buy her sister's freedom. Yet, as the trade embargo continued, and all of Centorion suffered, she watched helplessly as her sister's bride price soared well beyond her means. She was becoming desperate—and the Vulcan before her knew it.

"Name your terms," she said tersely in formal, High Vulcan.

A slight grin ghosted across his lips before disappearing.

"You will—assassinate this man," he told her and indicated the small holovid upon his desk.

"And?," she prompted, her eyes glinting dangerously.

"And I will make sure your sister is returned to you."

She narrowed her eyes and thought a moment. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Vulcans do not lie,"

She snorted inelegantly, "Everyone lies."

He paused a moment and then nodded, "Your logic is sound,"

"I want proof," she told him between clenched teeth, "If you are playing me, I swear by Tor that I'll--,"

Nyota stopped as her sister appeared before her, a holographic image splashed onto the calm serenity of Sylek's chamber.

"I have done the monarch many favors. He will give me anything that I ask. Perhaps I shall ask for her?"

Nyota's breath caught in her throat. Her heart ached with sadness as she took in her sister's long beautiful, raven tresses, the slope of her elegant arms and the look of intense sorrow upon her pretty face.

"Zuri," she whispered and reached out to touch the image, only to have it disappear.

"If you accept, I shall make sure she is returned," he told her.

Nyota considered the offer for a moment and then sighed, her heart heavy in her chest.

"I'll do it,"

"As I have previously mentioned, assassin," he told her, "I ask that you assassinate this man,"

"Who is he?," Nyota inquired as she gazed at the holovid.

"He is a very important member of one the ruling houses," he continued speaking, his voice shaking only slightly with concealed hatred, "His death will prove very fitting to my purpose."

"He will be hard to kill, but you are the best in your field. He will be stopping momentarily on Telax-4."

"What's his name?," Nyota asked, her mind already buzzing with plans.

"He is the Son of Sarek. His name is Spock."

****