by Vi Voxley
She had to find her voice, soon. The trick seemed to be ripping her eyes from his, although Zoey had never seen eyes like those. They were the deepest blue, but what she liked the most was the swirling storm in them. The warrior's eyes looked like blue amber.
"I am Zoey Swann," she made herself say at long last, not allowing her voice to shake. "I am the –"
"I know who you are," the warrior boomed, his voice so low and deep it seemed to make the air around them vibrate smoothly. "I am Daegon, lord of the Phon clan. And you are the woman who thought it was a good idea to keep me waiting."
Chapter Two
Daegon
Gaiya.
There was something about that name alone that bothered Corgans. Ever since the new chieftain had decided to go ahead and share their holy world with outsiders (and not just any outsiders, the Galactic Union!) Daegon had been silently listening to his crew bristle about it.
That was an awful crime if the words of his warriors were anything to go by, let alone Daegon’s own opinion on the matter. It seemed that Nadar Brenger really wasn't trying to make himself popular.
Corgans had a troubled history with the Union and the latest confrontation hadn't improved the matters one bit. The fact that the men who had fired upon the holy shrine would be allowed to walk away didn't sit well with the clans.
Nadar's female had proven that not all of the Union's people were the same, but she seemed to be an exception. The people who now lived on the shrine world Gaiya were decent and hardworking, but at closer look, the cracks showed. Without the chieftain and his bride, it was bound to fall apart.
And it was still the name that bothered them. Gaiya meant "earth" or something akin to it. It was an old Terran word. It meant the Union had been allowed to make the planet theirs.
No, Nadar Brenger was definitely not taking any steps to becoming a beloved leader.
Daegon knew all that. Without letting anyone know what he thought, the warlord sat and listened to his warriors talk about the new order. He listened, and waited.
And what he thought was this:
If any of you are foolish enough to let the chieftain hear your words, you deserve what's coming to you.
He could understand the clan's mood, though. The previous lord, Rudion, had been the chieftain of all Corgans. Nadar was not.
Leaning against the wall of the battle hall, the warlord allowed his mouth to curl in a smirk.
I shouldn't be so critical of Nadar. Here I am, not doing any favors to my own reputation either.
As he sat and watched his warriors duel, Daegon pondered over another matter, which he happened to agree upon with the new chieftain – if you knew better, the opinions of lesser men were nothing.
Whether or not Nadar Brenger was actually correct was an entirely different issue.
There was violence in the air. He could feel it. And not only in the great battle hall, filled with equipment and weapons to help the warriors train their improved bodies. There it was natural, raw emotions beaten to the surface, boiling over. Vicious souls with terrible power trying to bend the world to their will. That was simply what being a warrior was.
No, Daegon could smell blood in the fabric of space itself. The clans were restless. The initial resistance had been harshly smothered by Nadar and his clan, but now it was rising again. The other lords were realizing that Gaiya hadn't simply been one of Nadar's moods, a means to impress his bride. The new chieftain meant it to stay as he had decreed and wanted to go even further.
Change was coming too fast for a species that took a single, ginger leap of faith once in a century.
Never mind the Union, it was making their other borders weaker as well. Daegon had heard rumors of Yemalan raids.
I wonder if the Union will be hurt to hear they're not really our archenemies.
Closing his eyes, Daegon let his head fall back against the wall, the smirk still on his lips. Everyone was trying to be so important these days, fighting for attention like young warriors on a battlefield. How simplistic.
"Lord," a voice called.
The fact that the title wasn’t used respectfully was blatantly obvious in the tone – not nearly subtle enough for Daegon to give the speaker a quick and merciful death. So much time had passed now and still this happened.
Corgans, he thought. We have long memory. I wonder if Nadar remembers.
He opened his eyes.
The warrior who had called him stood in the middle of the hall, his twin blades already bared. Daegon could see the man's broad chest heaving, proof that he'd built up his courage by battling others. The warlord couldn't recall the warrior's name, but it was for the best. It would be forgotten soon regardless, and rightly so.
"You are tired," he said lazily. "Keep your life for another day and face me tomorrow."
The man stared at him, blue eyes flashing.
"No," he said through gritted teeth. "I challenge you today."
Sighing, Daegon got up. No one else in the room moved. He took in the expressions of the others. Some were careful, a few disapproving. Quite a bit more than he would have liked were hopeful, expectant.
You win me no favors with your decisions, Nadar, he thought bitterly, knowing well that this upstart must have been one of the many who had expected him to do more to oppose the new chieftain.
The challenge had been issued. No mercy now.
"Must we do this again?" the warlord asked, slowly walking to the warrior, pulling his swords free. "We have been over this. You never learn. You just die."
He reached the center of the room, turning to address the crowd watching them.
Letting his voice drop low and threatening, Daegon growled, "I grow tired of this. I will tolerate no more. All of you who are thinking of killing themselves on my blades tomorrow, the day after or the day after that, spare my patience. Step forward. Now."
Grim silence answered him, but then footsteps sounded and five more men joined the first. The one who had issued the challenge seemed glad, like adding more fighters to his side would somehow help.
Though he also appeared to be annoyed. Daegon knew why. All of them did. Numbers didn't win battles, although they occasionally helped. When it was over and if they were lucky enough to survive Daegon, they would still have to settle the matter of who had won.
Of course, they would not.
Standing in the middle of the circle of six warriors, Daegon said, "May the spirits judge us all."
Six voices echoed his and then they came, all at once – that was the only way they stood a chance. Daegon dodged under the cloud of blades, not knowing whether to laugh or despair at the idiocy of it all. These were the men he was supposed to lead, but they tried the simplest strike first and died in the most humiliating way.
Tangled blades above him did little more than scratch his armor, but the closest of the six lost his legs for it. While they all stumbled back, Daegon rolled after the one who had fallen. He left the man to groan and scream as he bled out, turning to face the others.
They were more careful now, but it was too late. All of them had been dead since the moment Daegon heard them take a step toward him.
They all charged together again and Daegon met them. Within a second, he shook the lazy ease from his shoulders and turned into a whirlwind of movement. The warlord knew he couldn't stop for a second, not even hesitate for a heartbeat, or one of them might find an opening in his defense.
In fact, he barely had time to block or parry, when all he had to focus on was reducing the number of his opponents. That was as far as they counted in battle. More men simply meant more time spent on killing them.
The next man to fall got a nasty death, because Daegon needed a distraction. Dodging, jumping out of the way of the swords coming to cut him in two, the warlord waited. When one of the men moved in to stab him, he sidestepped so quickly they barely saw him and thrust one of his swords right through his opponent’s neck.
In the next instant, he had pulled the bla
de free and was moving on while the others watched their companion choke. Crimson blood colored the man's armor as he sunk to his knees and dropped to the ground. Not a nice way to go.
The third warrior probably died thinking exactly that, but Daegon hadn't stopped to give the challenger a moment to gather himself. The bastard got lucky – the sword pierced one of his lungs so precisely that it took one of his hearts with it. The other organs couldn't compensate before it was already too late.
Pity. I shouldn't hack them up too bad. The organs could be used for others. Others more worthy of them.
Daegon reminded himself that all Corgan warriors built up their bodies with additions as well as training. Their species didn't exactly have a favorable reputation for the custom of using what was left of the dead for the living. All of the warriors who died by his hand would be taken apart by the priests and reused.
He aimed better after that, trying to kill without injuring major organs. With only three left, defeat was coming quickly for the warriors. The next had his throat sliced open and another lost his head in a matter of seconds. Daegon hadn't stopped for a moment since they'd charged him, not before the last of them lay dead before his feet with a sword through his eye.
The warlord waited a second before pulling his blade free and wiping both swords clean with the short cloak he wore upon his armor.
"Anyone else?" he asked, not even raising his eyes.
No one moved. All boots stayed where they were.
Daegon sheathed his blades and turned to those around him. He searched their faces again, finding what he'd predicted – resolution.
"Good," he said calmly. "Now we can be a clan."
It had all happened months ago, long before the chieftain had appointed Daegon as his representative in the negotiation. At first the warlord had thought Nadar to be joking. And then he’d realized that he wasn't, but maybe Nadar thought it was funny anyway.
So he took the Wraith and went to meet this woman who had come to ask Corgans to join the Union they hated.
* * *
He waited for her response in the darkness of the bay.
Several emotions warred on her beautiful face and Daegon had to admit that perhaps there really was something special about Terran women.
The female in front of him was the most stunning vision he'd ever seen. Long black curly hair fell over her shoulders, a little messy, but it somehow made her all the more appealing. The warlord had to fight the urge to touch her flawless, soft skin and push a strand of her dark hair away from her eyes.
He wanted to see them better, the fire now burning in them so wildly. Deep green eyes watched him, filled to the brink with passion, but not longing. Daegon felt his cock stir at that look, pressing against his armor, calling for the female.
A long blue robe covered her body, barely leaving any room for imagination with its shallow dips and gorgeous curves. His eyes undressed this otherworldly creature in front on him even as she glared at him.
Daegon wanted to see that fierce gaze burn for him and mixed with desire.
"I did not make you wait," she said stubbornly. "I arrived and my ship tried to contact you. Since you didn't respond, I assumed you weren't in a hurry to begin this meeting. I went to the surface for a short while to make sure I was better equipped to meet you, and now I am here."
When he didn't immediately respond, being too caught up in her lovely voice, the female carried on, "I apologize if you felt I was being disrespectful, Lord Daegon. That was not my intention."
She was trying to keep her voice steady and casual, but the warlord could hear her true nature singing under the surface.
"I forgive you," he said. "On one condition."
He didn't miss the way she seemed to lean towards him as he spoke. It took every ounce of will he had not to reach out and pull her closer. The sweet, fresh scent of her hair reached him, driving him mad. He had to remind himself that he had a duty to perform and admiring her wouldn't help one bit.
"Of course," she said, but again he could hear the defiant pride somewhere in there.
"You are a diplomat," he stated. "But I am a Corgan. We speak bluntly. I hear your words, but your voice tells me another story. I want to hear the same message from both. Then we can talk."
She regarded him seriously, frowning. It seemed impossible to Daegon, but it made the female even more gorgeous.
"Is this a trick?" she asked carefully. "To see if I would insult you?"
"Consider what you know of us and take a guess," Daegon replied.
The female – Zoey, she had said – regarded him for a long moment before finally standing straighter and nodding.
"Alright," she said, her voice shaking a little. "Then could we have some light? You are not Brions, your ships aren't dark on purpose. I think you're doing this to frighten me."
Daegon grinned. He liked her.
"And?" he asked, taking a step closer, enjoying the way Zoey winced but didn't pull back. "Are you afraid?"
It was clear that she was, but to her credit, she didn't allow it to control her. The female forced a smile on her face.
"A bit," she admitted. "But this is a cheap tactic. I'm alone on your ship. Of course I'm bound to be scared."
"You flatter me."
"Only a Corgan would take that as a compliment," Zoey said, but the tension was slowly leaving her body.
Something about that sentence suddenly reminded Daegon that he shouldn't be so forthcoming with her. After all, she had been sent there to get the result the Union wanted. Would they send a beautiful female to negotiate on purpose? He recoiled immediately and saw the wary look in Zoey's eyes.
"You are right," he said. "The darkness is a trick. We can go to a more comfortable room, but don't expect everything else to be that easy."
"I won't," she said, nodding, but the carefulness was back in her voice.
Daegon regretted hearing that. He didn't want her to be scared around him, even if he knew it was better that way. Leading her out of the bay and heading for the hall that had been prepared for them, he considered the implications of her.
Had she been sent to seduce him? More importantly, had the chieftain asked for a female ambassador, thinking she'd be more likely to get the agreement out of him?
Looking at her walk beside him, Daegon wished he had the answers to those questions.
He had never felt anything like that before. The feeling she brought out in him was too good to be spoiled, but it came with a bitter truth. If it turned out she had been sent to trap him, the person who had given the order would die.
And if she knew, Zoey too would pay, no matter how beautiful she was.
Chapter Three
Zoey
Well, this is not good. I think.
Zoey was confused. Her emotions towards the warlord kept changing every two seconds, and that was not a good negotiation tactic. The first impression had been that of a terrible monster, staring at her with those eyes glowing in the dark like a giant predator. Then he had seemed like a perfectly normal warrior, someone Zoey could imagine having an actual conversation with.
And now, she wasn't so sure. Daegon walked beside her, brooding and silent. Mara had warned her that Corgans were moody and proud, but she honestly hadn't expected to offend one so quickly.
At least, as he'd promised, they were approaching areas that were better lit. Zoey could see the hard lines of his face more clearly, the expression somewhere between contemplative and angry. Had she said something wrong?
Her own feelings were even more complicated, but she could deal with them. The fact that the towering warlord was the most impressive man she'd ever met didn't have to be an issue at all.
Right?
The ship was almost ominously empty. Zoey saw a few crewmembers hurrying past them, but they all had oddly guilty looks on their faces. It seemed like they were breaking a rule simply by being there. She wondered if those had been Daegon's orders, for them to be left alone.
Th
e idea was both enticing and terrifying.
Another person might have panicked in her situation, but Zoey wasn't about to abandon her goal so easily. She said nothing while they moved through large corridors wide enough to allow five fully armored warriors to move shoulder-to-shoulder.
The Wraith truly was a warship. The scarce crew that she saw clearly had tasks to perform, running to make sure they were on time. It was obvious that Daegon kept proper order on his ship.
Without a word passing between them, the warlord led her into a hall that didn't seem to belong with the rest of the vessel. It was brightly lit and warmer than the corridor they'd just exited.
Zoey resisted the urge to sniff for fresh paint, because the light tones of the hall were in sharp contrast to the dark outside. Even the air was cleaner – nothing like the usual suffocating staleness common to warships.
There were two sofas for them to sit on and a small table with drinks and food. Zoey dearly wished she knew what those things were and whether it was safe for her to consume them.
"Sit," Daegon said.
Even a simple request like that sounded like an order from the warlord. Zoey found her body obeying before her conscious mind agreed and sat on one of the couches.
"Are you hungry?" the warlord asked, gesturing to the table. "You don't have to worry, the Terrans on the holy world have eaten the same and it's fine."
Out of politeness more than hunger, Zoey reached for a small pielike snack and tasted it. She closed her eyes and smiled, savoring the flavors. Even the looming Wraith seemed distant when faced with the memories it brought back. It was nothing like the food from her childhood and yet, it reminded her of it so vividly.
When she opened her eyes again, Zoey saw Daegon looking at her with curiosity. She couldn't be certain, but it seemed to her that the harshness had softened a bit around his striking blue eyes.
