With those words spoken, Trajen got up and left him alone with the badge.
Jullien pulled it toward him and swallowed. The black patch had the ghostly image of a screaming skull. Legend said the Canting symbol was originally chosen by the Snitches who founded The Tavalian League to represent the sound their souls had made when they learned their daughter and her crew had been wrongfully seized and slaughtered by a corrupt government who'd wanted their cargo.
He knew that sound. His own soul had made it when he'd awakened to the shrieks of his mother. Drowsy and confused, he'd left his room, desperate to find out what was wrong.
"Matarra? What's happened?"
Screaming with hysteria, she'd turned on him with a vengeance. "My precious Nykyrian is dead! It should have been you who died, but you're too stupid to have gone to school with him. You couldn't even get in! God help this empire with you as emperor!"
Stunned, he'd stood there as a mere, innocent child, trying to process those words and the heartbreaking grief in his heart, while his mother had continued to rail against him.
His twin was dead?
Bitter agony had stolen his tongue as his soul screamed out for his brother. Nykyrian couldn't be dead. They were twins. They were supposed to live out their lives together. Forever. That was what twins did.
Wouldn't he know if something had happened to his brother? Weren't they supposed to be so close that he'd feel it in his bones if his brother died?
Then Tylie had turned her own wroth on him. She'd slapped him so hard, he could still feel the sting of her hand. "Where are your tears for your brother? Do you feel nothing for him? He was your twin!"
Still, he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. It was as if all the breath had been violently sucked out his body.
Hissing, Tylie had wrenched him by the arm to drag him from the room.
"Matarra!" he'd cried, trying to reach his mother.
She'd turned her back on him as Tylie had shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door in his face, and locked it.
Then the tears had come. Fast and furious until he was sick from them. He'd wanted to go to school with Nykyrian. But as his mother had said, he was too stupid to get in. Even though he'd studied and taken the admissions test three times, he hadn't been good enough. He'd never been as good as Nykyrian, at anything. No matter how hard he'd tried. He'd always been lacking. Always second best.
"Don't you dare cry for that hybrid bastard!"
Jullien had shrank away as his grandmother and cousin Parisa had neared him. Knowing better than to let her see his weakness, he'd wiped his tears and drawn a ragged breath. "M-m-my brother's dead."
"I know. Who do you think killed him?"
Eyes wide with cold-blooded terror, he'd looked from his grandmother to Parisa and back again.
"That's right," his grandmother had said without any feeling whatsoever. "And if you don't behave and do just what I say, it'll be Parisa's son I see on my throne. Do you understand?"
"Yes, mu tadara." Horrified past any rational thought other than survival, he'd started for his room.
"And Jullien?"
He'd paused to look back at her.
"You breathe one word of this to either Tylie or Cairistiona and I will see you buried in the crypt beside Nykyrian. And your death won't be nearly as painless. That I promise you. You will die in pieces, screaming in agony."
Wincing at the memory, Jullien took another drink as he tried to put his grandmother and her never-ending threats out of his mind.
Ironically, he'd never wanted that minsid throne. All he'd wanted was his parents' time, and to stay alive.
He'd gotten half that wish. Though in retrospect, he should have just let them have his life, too. It didn't seem worth the pain of it most days.
His thoughts drifting, he glanced down at the tattoo on his arm.
Indurari. Through blood misery we conquer and endure. Out of the bad, comes the good. By our challenges, we are strengthened. Ever strong. Forever onward. That was the War Hauk legend and family motto, which was certainly better than his family's--lie and murder your way to the top. Take whatever you can grab. Fuck everyone who gets in your way.
And as he stared at the patch, another image came to his mind. For once, it wasn't the horrors of his past. It was the image of a beautiful blond angel with silvery-white eyes and lips that tasted sweeter than honied nectar. One with hair of the softest silk. Even though he knew there could never be anything between them, that he wasn't worthy of someone so untainted and beautiful, it didn't stop his fantasies from torturing him with a dream he knew could never be.
Females like Ushara always chose males like his brother. Celebrated heroes who were respected. Those who'd been wanted and treasured by the world.
Everyone followed Nykyrian. They listened to him when he spoke. Jullien was too scarred and broken. Too screwed in the head by his psychotic family--he always had been. No one had ever listened to him. And his past sins were far too grievous to be forgiven. The stories for his kind were always the same.
Horrible life. Bad decisions. Grisly demise at an early age.
Unforgiven by everyone around him.
Creatures like him were never allowed a way out. They always died horribly.
A dog returns to its vomit. That was what his grandmother had quoted and used to justify her evil against others. Why she never gave anyone a second chance.
Why she'd always been so hard on him.
You're just a worthless, half-human byblow.
Still, he wanted to change. He was sober now. No longer a pawn or a victim of Merrell and Chrisen, or Nyran. He'd broken away from his grandmother's stranglehold.
For the first time, his life was his own.
Yeah and you've done such a stellar job with it. Homeless. Broke. Wandering and lost. Starving.
He reached for the bottle, then stopped himself. Any more and he'd be loaded. He knew from experience that would lead him to a fight and lock-up.
Belligerent when sober, he became obnoxiously belligerent while drunk. Worse, he tended to turn his self-hatred into acts of violence against those charged with enforcement roles, or anyone with an ounce of authority.
Make the right decision for once.
Jullien capped the bottle, got up, and put the badge in his pocket. With one last, longing glance at the alcohol, he headed back to his meager accommodations and went to bed so that he could get up early and clean his only set of clothes for his new job.
*
Dripping wet, Jullien froze as he heard a knock on his door. He drew his weapon from the counter by his side before it dawned on him that assassins didn't knock. They just attacked.
Still ...
No one ever visited him. That would require him to actually make and have a friend. What the hell?
Convinced it was a mistake, he ignored it and finished rinsing off.
Until they knocked again.
"Jullien?"
His heart sped up at the lilting sound of Ushara's sultry voice though the door. And it sent the blood crashing to his groin.
Damn. He was so hard, it was painful. Growling at the aggravation, he got out of the shower and pulled on his clothes, then double-checked that his erection wasn't too obvious before he went to the front door and opened it. Then wished he hadn't as the sight of her beautiful face in the hallway light only made him even harder and hornier. Something he wouldn't have thought possible.
"Hi." Holding a large bag in her arms like a small child, she smiled up at him.
It took a second for enough blood to return to his brain that he could answer such an unexpected, friendly greeting. "Morning." He frowned at her. "What are you doing here?"
She held the bag toward him. "I thought you might like some fresh clothes to wear when you start your new job. I guessed your size, but if they don't fit, the clerk assured me there wouldn't be any problem exchanging them."
Stunned by her gift, Jullien sputtered. He wasn't used to anyone giving
"I know. Brace yourself, Jullien ... that's the whole point of a gift. You don't do it because you have to. You do it because you want to."
Yeah and that was why he couldn't believe this was happening. No one had ever wanted to do anything for him before. Except kick his ass and insult him.
Ushara hesitated at the sincerely shocked expression on his handsome face as he continued to stare at her in utter disbelief. Cocking her head, she frowned. "Gracious, you act as if you've never been given a present before."
"I haven't. At least ... not like this." His hand actually trembled as he took the bag and true appreciation shone in his eyes. "Thank you, Admiral."
"Ushara."
Suddenly bashful, he cradled the bag awkwardly to his chest and inclined his head to her.
She glanced around his cramped quarters. While clean, it was so paltry and meager. And though he was thin from starvation, he was still a large Andarion male. It had to be hard for him to move around in such a small living space.
Even so, he didn't say a word of complaint. If anything, he really did appear grateful for it.
"Have you had any breakfast?"
"Um ... no. I just got out of the shower."
She gestured toward the door. "I was headed that way before my shift. Would you care to join me? I can show you where the dining areas and shops are in the mall district."
Suspicion furrowed his brow. "Why are you being nice to me when there's nothing to gain from it? You've more than repaid whatever debt you think you might owe for what I did for your son."
Ushara snorted at his tone. "Am I not supposed to like you?"
Wow, that baffled look on his face was something else. How could anyone be so stunned that someone liked them?
"You'd be the first in history to do so."
She laughed, until she realized he was quite serious. "C'mon, Jullien. You have friends and family who like you ... right?"
He rubbed at his ear in a gesture of discomfort. "Then I must have been taught the wrong definition for that word. 'Cause I always thought it meant that you had a fondness for something."
Sobering, she wasn't sure what to make of that. Surely, he was teasing. "No one has any fondness for you, at all? Seriously?"
"Well, they all liked one thing about me."
"And that is?"
"My absence."
Ushara started to force him to deny it until she remembered that he had no record of any calls on his link.
None. And that his own family had issued a death warrant on him and abandoned him to it. He truly had no one in the entire universe who cared about him.
Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear. "I have fondness for you, Jullien. Come and join me for breakfast. I'll wait for you outside."
Jullien couldn't breathe as he watched her withdraw from his small quarters and close the door.
I have fondness for you ...
Those words sent a shiver over him. It was the first time anyone had said something like that to him before. Definitely no one who possessed female body parts.
Baffled and amazed, and harder than he'd ever been before, he opened the bag to find two pairs of black pants and gray shirts and a new pair of socks. He quickly tried the clothes on. They were a little baggy on him--something new for him over the last couple of years since he'd been on the run.
As far back as he could remember, he'd always been overweight. And had been mocked relentlessly for it.
By everyone.
Even his father. He'd tried to lose weight to get them off his back. But the starvation diets invariably ended with him eating twice as much, and gaining more. A vicious circle of physical and psychological abuse that still left him cringing anytime he neared a mirror of any kind.
For that matter, dull pots and spoons, or anything with a reflective surface gave him hives.
Jullien reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his broken comb for his damp hair. Unlike other Andarions, he'd never been allowed to braid his. As a despised hybrid and bastard child, he was forbidden from joining their military. It didn't matter that he'd been prince or heir.
And since he couldn't be a warrior like his mother, his grandmother had insisted he keep his hair cut shorter than other males--just below his collar--another way to embarrass him for his mother's crime of screwing a human male. Another way to segregate Jullien from his peers and to remind them all that Jullien wasn't like them.
As if they'd ever let him forget the fact that he was half human.
Sighing, he slid the comb back into his pocket and belted his blaster to his hips. He shrugged the coat on and left the small condo to find Ushara waiting for him just outside the door.
Ushara froze at the sight of Jullien in fresh clothes. Damn, he was edible. With sharp, patrician features, he had a quiet elegance to him. And at the same time, a boyish quality. A beguiling dichotomy of arrogant bashfulness. Confident insecurity. Her large male was a walking contradiction.
And she found him completely irresistible.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward to straighten his oversized coat around his body.
An adorable blush stained his dark cheeks. "Am I acceptable now, Matarra?"
She laughed at the Andarion word for mother. "Sorry. I can't help it. Vasili does the same thing. He always shrugs his coat on sideways, and leaves part of the collar up, part of it tucked under ... just like you." Her smiled faded as she accidentally brushed her hand against his chest and the hardness of his muscles there. She was completely unprepared for the sudden and overwhelming jolt of desire it sent through her entire body. Clearing her throat, she stamped that down immediately. "The clothes are a bit large. Sorry about that."
"Don't be. I'm extremely grateful to have something fresh and new to wear. It's been a long time since I've had anything that didn't come out of a charity donation bin."
Because a regular store would want an ID for purchase, and they'd have cameras and imprints that could be used by assassins to trace him. Things she didn't have to think about. But they could end his life.
"How have you survived so long on your own?"
He shrugged. "Carefully, and with a great deal of skill."
She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. Then her gaze dipped to the neck of his shirt that fell low to show off how defined his pecs were. Even worse, they were dusted with an inviting amount of dark hair. Not too thick, just enough to be masculine and sexy, but not so much as to be off-putting or gross. She'd always been a sucker for males with chests like that. Chaz's had been bare like all Andarions.
But Jullien's ...
Stop it!
Forcing her thoughts away, she stepped back as he wrapped his scarf around his neck.
"The first restaurant district is this way." She led him toward the hangar and to the east. "You're in luck that it isn't very far from here, and one of my favorite restaurants is just on the corner."
He didn't speak as he trailed along after her. Yet she was well aware of his seductive lope. The way he kept his thumb hitched in his belt, near his blaster so that he could quickly draw it should he need to. He kept his head down, yet missed nothing around him.
A true predator.
It sent chills over her, especially given the massive size of him. Standing a bit over six feet herself, she was used to meeting most Andarion males at eye level whenever she wore her heeled boots. And she towered over the majority of human men. Jullien was a full head taller than her, and made her feel tiny in comparison.
She liked it a lot more than she should have.
When they reached the restaurant, he stepped around her to open the door so that she could enter first.
"Thank you."
He inclined his head to her.
Ushara greeted the cook and hostess as she grabbed two menus from the holder near the register and made her way to her usual table.
When she started to sit, Jullien hesitated. "Would you mind if we sat over there?"
She frowned until she realized why he wanted it. "Back to the wall where you have clear line-of-sight for the entire restaurant, but no one can see you sitting at the table. You've got eyes on both doors to know who's coming and going, and you're underneath the security camera?"
He nodded.
"Sure."
Without another word, he unlocked his holster before he sat down and made sure his coat didn't block his access to it. Likewise, he kept one leg out so that he could spring from the booth if he had to.
Sadness choked her over his hyper vigilance. "You ever relax your guard?"
"I'm still breathing." He didn't even look down at the menu, except in quick glances.
"Hi, Misha." Ushara smiled at the waiter as he joined them.
"Admiral ... you got first shift again, I take it."
"Do, indeed. This is my friend, Dagger. He's new to our party, so I'm showing him around. I trust he'll be treated well here."
"Oh absolutely. Any friend of yours is family to us. I'll make sure and tell Petya. I know she'll want to meet him." He pulled out an e-tablet. "What can I get for you?"
"My usual. Dagger?"
"Unopened bottled water. Uncut canolay fruit."
Misha hesitated. "And?"
"That's it."
Ushara scowled at the paltry order. "Breakfast is my treat."
"Thank you. But that's all I want." He handed the menu to Misha.
Passing a wide-eyed stare at her, Misha gathered their electronic menus and left them.
Jullien stroked his whiskers before he caught the expression on her face that must have betrayed her shocked thoughts. "What?"
"You can't live on that. No wonder you're so thin. Why didn't you order anything else?"
"Have you any idea how many times I've had my food poisoned or tampered with? I'm lucky if they just spit in it."
"You're the tiziran."
"Yeah. The most hated tahrs in the history of Andaria and Triosa, combined. Remember? They took a poll. I won hands down. Ten years in a row on Andaria. If not for Justicale Cruel and my grandmother, I'd probably be the most hated royal in all Ichidian history. Which is weird given that my cousins committed far worse crimes than I ever did. I mostly assaulted inanimate objects. I never raped anyone or shot someone's dog, but what the hell? Why discriminate based on a belligerent drunk and disorderly criminal history?"
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