Hunted Warrior

by Lindsey Piper

  “No, not from you. I don’t know why you should be any different from the polite liars and cheats who make up the Leaderships of the Five Clans.” He looked away. “But you are.”

  “Does that mean you believe in my gift?”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “It weighs heavily on you—the problem of Dragon Kings’ survival.”

  “Yes.” He added that affirmation, although she hadn’t intended her words as a question. “That everyone seems to be sticking their heads in the sand, all the while letting the cartels determine the future of our strongest warriors, is so Dragon-damned frustrating …”

  He seemed to realize how much he’d divulged, because he stopped abruptly. His mouth was a pinched line, but nothing could erase the tempting slope of his upper lip.

  Avyi permitted herself one indulgent thought. Just one. She wouldn’t think about his firm, taut body or how much the wound on his shoulder fostered in her an urge to stand back to back with him, as his equal and his defender and his partner—everything a man and woman, a matched pair of warriors, could be. Those thoughts were too dangerous, too perfect, when she had no way to understand perfection.

  No, she only indulged in the idea of kissing him again, this time with the gentle curiosity he’d demonstrated when touching her hair and unbinding her clenched body. He’d push her back until her body melted and let go of its ever-present tension. And he’d kiss her like a lover. It would be breathtaking with Mal …

  Dragon be, she was thinking of him as Mal now?

  She wanted a vision, a glimpse, but nothing came other than the same frustrating image of lying together with him, embracing, surrounded by gauzy white, their bodies pressed flesh to flesh. But when? How? Instead, she would have to rely on what she’d never given much thought to: the present.

  He was arrogant, stubborn, inexplicably wrathful beneath his elegant exterior, and oddly powerless despite his personal strength and resolve. None of that mattered as much as one fact.

  She did like him.

  “Besides, Florence will hold more appeal than here.”

  She stood and adjusted her scant gear. They’d purchased another knapsack for Mal to carry their provisions, which included spare clothes and more food. It would last them until they reached Italy. “Appeal is as good a reason as any for making a choice.”

  He joined her in standing. “Really?”

  “People do it all the time. Stay in. Go out. Fill their cupboards.”

  “You’ve been talking grand futures and old myths. It didn’t occur to me that smaller choices would be variables, too.”

  She patted his cheek, as if humoring a child. “A small mind wrapped around a big brain.”

  She set off so that he couldn’t see her smile. His expression had been too priceless—utterly stunned and affronted.

  An hour later, they sat knee to shoulder on a bus to the coast, and three hours after that, they reached the city of Heraklion.

  “Considering what I’ve learned since,” Mal said, “why didn’t you choose Sitia as your point of arrival? This is a bigger city. More humans.”

  “More opportunities to be ignored. Even you, Giva—who knows who you are here?”

  “Those Indranan.”

  He crossed his arms and nodded toward a pair of men by a dockside bar. Avyi felt their tap-tapping in her mind, as they revealed themselves less by appearance than by the invasive nature of their telepathic powers. She noticed Mal had felt that tickle, as the first sparking flare of his powers came into being. Already he’d gathered static electricity. She shut her eyes, frowned, and nodded. If Mal needed her help, she would be there.

  She had his back. Stranger still, she would’ve laid money on the idea that he had hers, too. Instead, she wouldn’t wage money. She was wagering her safety and untold futures.

  “They’ll recognize me,” he said grimly.

  “And me. I’m infamous, too.”

  “And proud of it?”

  Her companion was grinning again. “When was the last time you smiled so much in a day?”

  Mal frowned, as if the question were spoken in a language he couldn’t interpret. “I don’t recall.”

  “Good or bad thing?”

  “Let’s just call it a thing.”

  “Fair enough. But they don’t seem out for a fight. I wish they’d mind their own business, though,” she said, rubbing the base of her skull. “It’s so rude.”

  “Agreed. Now try playing political chess with their kind.”

  “That’s some poker face you must have if you can hide your thoughts, too.”

  He shrugged. “Long practice.”

  “Except from me. I read you like a book.”

  “I take exception to that.”

  The port was thick with masts, as if a misguided city planner had clustered all of its telephone poles in one place. A huge dock harbored long overnight tourist ferries. People unloaded crates and rolled goods up gangways. Passengers waited, sitting on their luggage or arguing with customs officials. Men from smaller ships called out their destinations and competed for business by literally out-shouting one another. Despite the necessity of blending in, Avyi was overwhelmed anew by the bustle of humanity. She’d been in isolation in the Tigony stronghold for months, in the labs for years, and among the wandering Garnis since before she could remember.

  The present … It was a new, difficult thing to take in all at once.

  “I arrived by helicopter,” Mal said offhandedly. “Unless you happen to have a passport I don’t know about, we won’t be permitted into Italy by conventional means.”

  “You don’t know a lot about me, but at least that’s true. No passport. No records.”

  “I suppose that means the slow route after arriving in Athens. There’s a cruise liner that sails from Patra to Venice.”

  “That sounds like Greece again, Giva.”

  “This is where I trust you won’t run, and you trust I won’t have you locked up.”

  Avyi adjusted the strap that held the precious quiver of arrows. “Sounds like you’ve made our plans already. I’m game.”

  They took a taxi to where Mal’s personal helicopter waited to take him home. He called his pilot, who arrived within the half hour. His man was visibly shocked at the sight of Mal’s attire. Apparently he knew his place because he stared, ducked his eyes, and said nothing other than, “I expected you back days ago, sir.”

  “I was detained. Back to Athens, Perdius. Then a refuel before we fly to Patra. Have Ginovosa meet us at the helipad. I want my suitcase ready for travel of all possible varieties, and another for the Pet.”

  Avyi hid her cringing reaction to being called that again—by Mal, no less. She had become so attached to the idea of her new name. But who among the Tigony—no, who in the entire world—would know her as anything else? Just Malnefoley. Suddenly the fact that she had no passport, no identification of any kind, struck her as more than a technicality. She didn’t exist. She only existed as a commodity and a vendetta.

  Taking the knowledge into her soul, she refused to be caught up in other people’s definitions. She was simply Avyi. And she was on a mission.

  She hadn’t thought the mission would include climbing into a helicopter, yet there she was. She cursed her gift. Cursed and cursed and cursed, until Mal handed her a pair of headphones. An attached microphone allowed her to hear and speak during the noisy flight. Takeoff was dizzying. She gripped her armrest while keeping her expression as neutral as possible. She’d flown with the Asters, but their jets were practically windowless.

  She shuddered, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. That imprisonment was behind her now. She was flying. She was looking through a domed window, over the coast of Crete, where blue that matched Mal’s eyes crashed in foamy white waves against rocky shoals and small fishing villages. It was daytime, with the fishing boats already at sea, their captains searching for the slippery creatures that would mean the difference between their families’ survival or
starvation.

  There in the helicopter, she knew she would’ve been much more comfortable haggling with a boatswain to secure their passage aboard a simple vessel. She’d arrived by such plain means. It evoked images of long-ago days, when traveling by water was the only way to move from continent to continent. Had her age been closer to the end of a Dragon King’s life span, she would’ve known those thoughts as centuries-old memories, not products of her imagination.

  Then again, had she been born two hundred years earlier, she would’ve been able to bear children. There would be no cartels to serve, and no sick Grievances co-opted by human greed for Dragon King magic and violence. What sort of woman would she have become?

  A family. A stable life. Eventually grandchildren.

  And a husband.

  She gripped the armrest tighter. Vertigo convinced her swirling mind that the helicopter was destined to fall into a sickly port’s murky, gasoline-streaked waters. Her respiration ticked toward bursting her lungs.

  A comforting hand settled over hers.

  As he had in the small hostel, Mal loosened her death grip with patient fingers. He flipped a switch to exclude the pilot from their conversation. “What was that?” he asked, his voice humming directly against her eardrum.

  “The hazard of bearing company with soothsayer.”

  “A prediction?”

  “Something like that.”

  In truth, the word husband had evoked a mind-warping blend of images so overpowering that she couldn’t sort fear from desire from resentment … from the unavoidable truth.

  Did she want to avoid becoming Mal’s lover, or take steps to ensure it took place?

  Or would she finally accept, after so long, that conscious action made no difference? It was a prediction for a reason. There was no changing what would be. If even she had difficulty accepting that, how was she going to convince Mal to trust her?

  She couldn’t.

  She and the Honorable Giva would part as soon as Avyi found her way to Cadmin and ensured her safety. The girl was important. That burned bright in Avyi’s thoughts and guided her steps toward fulfilling twined destinies.

  But the journey to meet the grown woman named Cadmin entailed more than a trip to Florence. She shivered and clasped his hand, but she refused to meet his questioning gaze or answer the questions he asked into her headphones.

  Eventually the helicopter flew over the uncluttered waters of the Mediterranean. Without landmarks, Avyi’s view was simply blue. That eased her dizziness. Although she wanted to be out on the sea, buffeted by the sun and the salt, she let that piercing blue do its best to strip the strange vision from her mind.

  No. Impossible. Her future version of Malnefoley, wrapped naked around her in an unknown bedroom, was the same man who sprawled casually beside her in his seat. Watching the sea was like looking into his eyes.

  “So tell me how this works,” he said. “You see me clearly in Florence. Does that mean we’re guaranteed to get there?”

  “By one means or another.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We will arrive in Florence. In the meantime we could be attacked or struck by a small aircraft or serenaded by clowns. There’s no telling what awaits us in between.”

  “Serenaded by clowns?” He stretched his legs as best he could in the tight confines. “That almost sounded like an imagination.”

  “Do you doubt I have one?”

  “I wouldn’t have a clue. Not with you.”

  Oddly, she was offended. “Does my possession of an imagination detract from or confirm the possibility my gift is real?”

  “Detracts from. You were more convincing when you were practically robotic.”

  “Robotic?”

  Another shaft of hurt shoved between her lungs. Was she so … different than everyone else? Did she truly come across as a programmed machine rather than a flesh-and-blood woman? Had she been the Pet so long that no one assumed she had a personality of her own?

  I was his pet. Who would expect anything but servile obedience to Dr. Aster?

  Especially the Giva, whose job it was to investigate anything related to the cartels, particularly where they intersected with the issue of Dragon King procreation.

  “I’m not a robot,” she whispered.

  She hadn’t thought the microphone strong enough to pick up her quiet affirmation, but it had. Mal returned her whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Another shiver worked up her spine. Unwanted, unexpected tears pricked behind her eyes. Fatigue. That’s all.

  “How are you going to manage in Athens carrying that sword?”

  “Better they see a man with a sword than catch notice of your skin.”

  Avyi looked down. Her arms were bare, but otherwise she was as practically dressed as ever. “What about my skin?”

  He traced his forefinger up the inside of her wrist. “Pale. Luminous. Had I not seen otherwise last night, I’d have thought you could glow in the dark.”

  “I was being modest.”

  “Hiding your true potential?”

  “If you like.”

  Leaning nearer, Mal tucked a spike of her exasperating hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you hiding your true potential, Avyi.”

  “And you get what you want.”

  “I will when it’s your turn to amaze me.”

  “In Florence. You’ll see.”

  “No need to wait,” he said, easing back. His gaze never left her face, until she was tempted to retrieve her brass knuckles and smack that perfect jaw. “I’m already impressed.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  To Mal’s surprise, he meant his words. She was resilient and strange, but also wily, creative, and almost unwillingly funny. That didn’t change their situation. He’d decided to go to Florence based on a number of sensible decisions, the most important of which was to see if Avyi’s mission intersected with the plot against his life—or to see her discredited and put his mind at ease. He was not going because of his growing curiosity about more than her kisses and shy smiles. She was unique.

  What if … ? Just what if … ?

  Logic failed him when it came to Avyi, including why he’d bothered helping to name her. That name connected them. Bound them. Would she always be Avyi, because of him? The idea was almost primal. He had been granted the privilege of naming the woman who’d never had one of her own. It was a possessive act he couldn’t help returning to, savoring as a small triumph.

  Why am I drawn to you? Because on a very deep level, Mal knew their connection mattered. It was the strange feeling that another life vibrated just beneath the surface—all of it infinitely bigger than them.

  He turned to her, where she had resumed her huddled position in the passenger seat. Had he not seen it for himself, Mal would’ve had a hard time picturing her standing to her full height, or lounging almost at ease in that hostel’s wooden chair.

  “What did you predict that was so overwhelming?” he asked. “When we took off?”

  “That you and I would be lovers. But it wasn’t new knowledge.”

  Had Mal been taking a sip of water, he’d have choked. “You hide so much, but not that?”

  She hugged her knees closer. “I wanted to learn whether you’d be excited or revolted.”

  Not knowing how to respond, Mal only watched her. She was determined to avoid his curious gaze; she never looked up from the rubberized black flooring.

  He could find her more than intriguing. He could find her irresistible.

  “I’m … curious,” he said simply.

  She plopped her feet down. The boots hit the floor with a one-two thump strong enough for Mal to feel despite the helicopter’s vibrations. “I could say the same about you. Curious.”

  The moment of odd intimacy was marked by its usual end: Avyi turned away. Had they not been confined, she would’ve turned on her heel and walked away from him. That he had to chase anything was novel. He’d been given everything since he was a ch
ild. Born to the privilege of royalty. Pushed to the point of such destruction that he’d become notorious.

  Chosen as Giva.

  He wanted her to stop hiding from him. But unlike everyone else around him who bent to his will, this wouldn’t come naturally. It was up to him.

  Mal had so many questions to ask, although fewer and fewer pertained to Dragon King conception and the strategies of the cartels.

  Why were you with Dr. Aster? What was the nature of your relationship? Why stay in his custody, flee, stay in my custody, and flee again?

  He had the nagging feeling that she was comfortable opening up about blunt topics such as becoming lovers, but thornier questions about her past would remain forever barred.

  He wouldn’t give up on knowing her. Dragon damn, he wanted to know her completely. It was purely personal. It was purely selfish. He’d thought himself above all that.

  He wasn’t.

  “Any idea what those two Indranan wanted? Did you picture them lunging after me with another Dragon-forged sword?” The tap-tap of a telepath probing his mind was never a pleasant experience. He still felt that tickle, as if he needed to scrub the inner folds of his brain. His mental poker face, as Avyi had suggested, only went so far. “Any ideas?”

  “I don’t like helicopters. That’s one. Your hair is gorgeous in the sunlight. That’s another.”

  “Your tricks are wearing off, Avyi,” he said, although feeling a certain pleasant surprise at her intimate comment was unavoidable. “I meant about the Indranan.”

  “My tricks are just fine, because you still flinched.” She smiled, a private smile seemingly meant for herself alone. “They were members of the Leadership from the Southern Indranan faction. Their destination is Turkey, not Florence. The Sun goddess, Kavya of Indranan, has gone home to her place in the Himalayas, and they’re returning to her in search of peace.”

  “Rumors, not predictions.”

  “Then call it hope. She’ll heal their divide. She and Tallis, the Heretic. They are a volatile pair, but not when they’re together. Two horses pulling the same cart.”