Warrior Enflamed: Alien Warrior Science Fiction Romance (Archans of Ailaut Book 2)

by S. A. Ravel

  “We move tonight,” Lans said, terse, from a darkened corner of her bedroom.

  Perrine crossed the floor and sat on her bed, sighing. “Your timing is piss poor. There are angels and patrons crawling all over the grounds.”

  He strolled forward out of his corner and a bit of moonlight coming from the window illuminated his face. “You don’t know much about breaking and entering, do you? That’s why tonight is perfect. If anyone sees us, they’ll think we’re stragglers from the party.” He smirked. “And send us on our way.”

  “And how were you planning on hiding the stolen art?”

  He waved a hand. “Don’t worry your pretty, treacherous head about the details. I wonder what your Archan would think if he ever found out you betrayed him?”

  Perrine thought about it a second. “He would probably think it was an amusing trick—and then kill us both.”

  “Don’t try anything tonight,” he said. “Or I will kill you. The men have their instructions.”

  “Whatever.”

  She changed out of her dress and into a black skinsuit—so cliché, but there was nothing so well suited to the crime she was about to commit.

  “Remember, Lans. All debts cancelled after this.” She would be her own woman. And since she was strong, she would endure the guilt over deceiving the man she was coming to… love. She swallowed. Perrine supposed it was a good thing she wasn’t quite a good girl. A good girl would never have been able to go through with this. Wouldn’t have the strength.

  “Let’s get this night over with. My feet need to soak.”

  She knew the grounds well enough by now to lead the small, silent group of professional thieves on the best route to the halls and galleries where the open, unsecured art lay. Only an Archan would be so arrogant as to have his treasures out in the open, assuming no one would ever dare try to steal from him. It was why they would get away with this—because Archans were, ultimately, as stupid as regular men. So powerful, they always underestimated the ants beneath their soles.

  Lans grabbed her upper arm, keeping hold of her to ensure she wouldn’t run while his men worked. They stripped the room efficiently, packing away treasures in a way that told Perrine they’d been well briefed on the content of this gallery—and not just by her. She was certain Lans had somehow verified her information. Probably this very evening, under the cover of the showing. There was just enough light through one of the tall glass windows for the men to see by—none of them used so much as a pen light from their wrist units.

  Until the overhead chandeliers burst into brilliant rays of artificial sunshine.

  Lans jerked her arm, the only sign of his shock, as Davingelo strolled into the room, a wine glass in his hand. He halted, surveying the men who dropped their goods and withdrew weapons. Davin lifted a single wing in an Aikalah shrug.

  “Really, weapons are so gauche. Mine is still put away, after all.” He smiled, pleasant. “Perrine. Fancy meeting like this.”

  11

  She said nothing. What was there to say? Davin’s lazy lidded gaze flicked over the hand clenching her arm, but he said nothing. And she had enough pride not to make excuses. She was no damsel.

  But the sickness in her stomach churned. He would hate her after this, never trust her again. If he even let her live.

  “I’m a little disappointed I wasn’t invited to the after party, my dear. But... I suppose I understand under the circumstances. It would have been awkward.”

  Davin downed the contents of his wine glass and dropped it to the floor, the tinkling sound of shattering glass striking in the silent room. He stepped forward.

  A press of cool metal at her temple. “I’ll kill her,” Lans said. “Stay where you are.”

  The Archan halted, and frowned. “Do you have any idea how much the maintenance company charges to wax these floors by hand? The blood…” he shuddered. “They would double the fee. Triple it.”

  “Davingelo—”

  “Oh, do shut up, Perrine. I’m sure we’ll have lots to discuss later.” Davin sported a thin, sharp, darkly amused smile of an Archan. “Really, pasanzi, did you imagine I didn’t know? That I wasn’t with you, every step you took?”

  “The relationship dynamic here is fascinating,” Lans said. “But since we’re all here—I have a wonderful idea.”

  Davin’s golden brow rose. “Really? Because the only ideas that count are the fun ideas. Now if it’s fun, I want to hear it.”

  She could hear Lans grinding his teeth and nearly smiled. Davingelo at his playboy best was… irritating to say the least. But she knew there was a predator lurking beneath.

  “This is the deal. If you want the prime pussy to walk out of here intact, you’ll create me an original Davingelo. Right here, right now. And I walk out with it and when I’ve sold it for the astronomical sum on the black market, I’ll send the woman back. In one piece—professional courtesy.”

  Davingelo tapped his chin with elegant fingers. “That is a generous deal. You’ve made just one miscalculation.”

  “Yeah?”

  His smile was almost gentle, belying a queer, mad glitter in his eyes. “I am an Archan.”

  She felt the instant before his power gathered, would have flared.

  “No!” Perrine shouted, throwing out an arm. “No, Davin. He’ll have a trip plan. If you kill him, he’ll have plans in place to do something to Parodie. To my family.”

  Lans laughed as Davingelo paused. She shuddered, the open malice in Davin’s eyes striking her to the core. But it wasn’t focused on her—it should have been, but it wasn’t.

  “Very well,” the Archan said. He held out a hand. “Come here, Perrine.”

  Lans stiffened. “She stays right here.”

  “Are you stupid? The only way I could create again was because of her. If you want your original, you’ll release her. You have my word as an Archan.”

  Lans weighed the words, then nodded, and pushed her forward.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, taking Davin’s hand.

  His eyes didn’t leave hers. “You could have trusted me.”

  She could have. She hadn’t trusted anyone besides herself for so long. She took a deep breath. “I owe you.”

  “Yes. You do. I’ll collect, Perrine.”

  He said nothing else and she sang, beginning on a high, clear note, gathering the strange power that flared between them. And flung it at him.

  Davingelo’s wings flared, his eyes bursting with power like twin suns. He stepped away, face stark, light moving under his skin. Hands spreading, a rainbow of light flowed from his fingertips.

  It was easier this time. The wrenching exhaustion crept on her slowly. Maybe she was stronger—maybe he didn’t need her as much. Tall potted plants with wide frothy leaves lifted from their corner pedestals. The plants flew towards him, leaves crumbling into dust and reforming. Before her eyes, he created a canvas, the transmutation an effortless show of his power. She wanted to gasp, but couldn’t break the rhythm of her song; it was the most important performance of her life.

  Perrine watched, struggling with her own awe-tinged sorrow as he seemed to pull molecules from the air and form them into concrete colors. It took her awhile before she recognized the shape his painting took. But soon, her eyes followed the abstract shape of a female, body lushly curved, surrounded by bursts of light, a song emerging from her mouth. Colors blended and swirled, danced on the canvas until she almost thought the painting was the song and the song was the painting.

  As he slowed, Perrine became aware of her own fatigue. It hit her, bringing her focus sharply back into the present. Her notes began to warble, throat dry. Knees shaking, and a fine tremble though her limbs. Davin’s wings shuddered, and dropped to his side like stones.

  He turned to her just as her knees gave way, and darkness descended.

  He caught her, and the burst of speed to keep her from tumbling face first on the hard marble floors drained what was left of his strength. He’d done the imposs
ible—created something from nothing, powered purely by the feed of her song.

  Davin looked up as footsteps approached, power stirring malevolently inside him.

  “Take it and go,” he said softly, not bothering to disguise his hatred.

  The man stared down at him, thoughtful. “You don’t look like you could defend yourself from a gnat right now.”

  The insolent maggot. Davin would grind him, would take the powder of Lans’ puny human bones and mix it into his paints. Then he would put the painting on display as a warning of how enemies of Archan Davingelo would end up—immortal. He fought to hold onto consciousness, grim as his vision slipped away.

  “But, I’m a man of my word,” Davin heard. “You have to be in this business. Trust is so important, isn’t it? I’ll just take Perrine—it looks like you need some nap time, anyway.”

  For the second time that week, Perrine woke up in a room that wasn’t hers. She was too exhausted to panic, so she reached for her memories of the evening. Perrine couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. They had done it! She and Davin had replicated the duet. She opened her eyes, expecting to see Davin grinning at her in triumph because he was right. In the end, she kept up her end of the deal. But when she opened her eyes, she wasn’t in Davin’s home. She was in Lans Madson’s warehouse office.

  Perrine sat up and groaned as the room turned on its side.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living,” Lans snapped.

  She turned to glance at him. He looked as pissy as he sounded. It wasn’t the best situation to wake up in, but Perrine was sure she’d been in worse. She couldn’t think of any, but she was sure there had been at least one.

  “We have got to stop meeting this way, cher.” Perrine kept her tone as light and breezy as she could, given the fact she was barely able to hold herself upright. The energy returned to her limbs, but not fast enough for her to outrun Madson.

  “That might be easier to manage if you told me the truth on occasion.” Lans grabbed a data pad from his desk and tapped the screen. He turned the pad around so that Perrine could see the screen, which displayed a photo of the courtyard performance. Davin stood at his easel, adding the finishing touches to his angelic rendering of Perrine. She sat at the piano, streams of light and fog swirling around her.

  “You became quite the celebrity last night.” He turned the data pad back around and read from the screen. “‘A triumph of artistry and magic unlike anything seen before.’ You never told me you were Davingelo’s muse. I thought you were just his whore.”

  Perrine shrugged. “You never asked. Besides, you seem to have landed on your feet. Don’t you have your original art now?”

  He crossed the room, knelt beside the couch, and reached out to caress her cheek. “That’s the only reason you’re still alive, Perrine.”

  There was nothing tender or loving in his touch, nothing sensual or arousing. He looked at her the way a man looked at any flashy possession, with dull eyes and a smile of pure anticipation of being able to show it off. Davin never looked at her that way. Not even that first night, when he’d been half mad with the frenzy of creative energy for the first time in years. He always looked at her like she was a treasure. Something to be possessed, yes, but also savored and nurtured. She expected all that was gone now, and the ashes of her loss filled her mouth. Reaching out with her mind, there was nothing but silence.

  “He’s not going to come for me,” she said. “You might as well kill me or let me go.”

  Lans stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Funny. You’re far more valuable alive than dead. And besides, your angel is in no condition to do much of anything right now. How do you think I took you form him?”

  Her heart sank. She’d just assumed… had Davin passed out as well? “If you hurt him—” She cut the words off, pressing her mouth into a thin line. Merde. She didn’t need to reveal anything more than she already had.

  He rolled his eyes. “I’m not in that kind of business. I deal in profit. Murdering an Archan? Not profitable. The whole horde would descend to hunt the killer.”

  Perrine held his gaze. If she let him see any sign of weakness, she would never make up that ground again. It was a battle of wills, and if she wanted her freedom and her man, she needed to win.

  “So, what are your plans? Rape? I would never let you touch me willingly.”

  Lans fixed his jaw and clenched his fist. “You’re a haughty bitch. I wouldn’t touch an angel’s whore if it meant not touching pussy the rest of my life.”

  His fingers dug into the flesh of her arm as he dragged her deeper into the warehouse and down to the basement. The basement hallway was darker than the main floor, Perrine could barely make out a line of four rooms.

  Perrine wanted to be brave in that moment, but every instinct she had told her that if she let Lans shove her into that cell, she would never get out again. So, she fought like hell, thrashing, scratching, and biting at every piece of Lans she could reach. It didn’t help. He had leverage on his side, and he used it to knock her off balance and send her crashing to the floor inside the dark room.

  Lans slammed the door and slid the lock in place without a word. Perrine could only listen to his footsteps as he went back down to the ground floor. She closed her eyes and fought to keep her breathing under control. High octane adrenaline pumped through her veins, spurring her to run her hands over the walls, searching for a weak spot. She found nothing, which only made her panic more.

  No! I’m not dying in a cage. I will NOT die in a cage!

  Perrine backed away from the walls and sat down on the floor in defeat. There was no exit, no lock to pick, no method of escape. Why would there be in a prison? Madson had been after her the entire time; she wouldn’t put it past him to have built a jail cell for her in case his first plan came apart. It was a hell of a counterattack, and one she couldn’t get out of on her own.

  She took a breath and forced herself to think of a plan that didn’t involve letting Madson make her his personal pet. Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t easy to plan an escape with no resources and only a handful of people who would even notice she was missing.

  Davin. Davin must know I’m missing… if they left him alive.

  No, she wouldn’t go there. Davin had to be alive. Lans wasn’t stupid enough to kill an Archan—she believed him. Which meant Davin was alive, maybe even awaking himself by then, and sooner or later, he would look for Perrine. He might not love her or trust her anymore, but he still needed her. He would know she was in trouble, and he knew who with. If there was anybody who could save her ass just this once, it was Davingelo.

  He awoke enraged. His power flared, and Davin throttled it back at the last moment to avoid destroying the gallery; the entire hall. He knelt over, gasping as he absorbed his own fury, then surged to his feet, strode out of the hall, and burst into the sky, heading toward the glittering diamond Skyhall in the distance.

  12

  A storm threatened to blow Davin out of the sky. Not just any storm, but the power of an Archan who controlled sea and wind, warning him away.

  “I know I haven’t properly announced myself,” Davingelo shouted into the wind. “I need your help.”

  He wasn’t at full strength, and because he’d never formally taken his place as an Archan with a Skyhall, he did not have a Vicelord, or a complement to go with him to rescue his pasanazi.

  Ishaiq, a former patron, was his only option.

  The wind lessened and Davingelo pumped back into the sky, approaching the tower balcony and landing without any more protests. He snapped his wings closed and waited. He wouldn’t bow—it wasn’t required. But he would wait in silence until Ishaiq approached.

  He didn’t wait long.

  A panel slid open and the Archan exited, stormy eyes pining Davingelo.

  “So,” he said, “are you ready to take up the mantel?”

  “You commissioned a piece of art from me,” Davingelo said.

  Ishaiq’s brow ros
e. “This is an unusual method of delivery.” His gaze roved over Davin, ironic. “But I see no artwork.”

  “It is yours, even though it is worth easily ten times what my Director charged you.”

  “So.” Ishaiq’s gaze shuttered. “You are here to ask me a favor.”

  Davin controlled his response. It wasn’t the time to let the artist reign. “There is a villain on your island conducting business which you would find objectionable. He has my mate.”

  The other Archan stilled, glancing up at the sky thoughtfully. “I have sensed no… disturbance among my humans.”

  “You wouldn’t. His concern is profit—the attention of an Archan is not profitable.”

  “I see.” Ishaiq unfurled sea-colored wings. “My pasanzi was not invited to your latest showing.”

  Davin’s eyes widened in horror. “What?” He pressed a hand to his chest. “My Director was remiss. Your mate will have a private tour, with all due honor, as soon as I can personally arrange it.”

  Ishaiq’s smile was sardonic.

  They took to the sky, Ishaiq allowing Davin to lead, but not flying behind. Davin followed the tug of Perrine’s presence in his mind. Faint, but growing, and then abruptly, the connection flared to life. He exhaled, relaxing—just a little. The human hadn’t killed or incapacitated her. There was always a risk with humans—sometimes their stupidity outweighed even the project of ill-gained riches. And Perrine, if used as leverage properly, was perfect. Lans could beggar Davingelo, and he would pay the ransom to get her back.

  Or he’d just descend on the maggot’s stronghold, storm it with an Archan and Archan’s escort by his side, and raze it to the ground. And take his woman back.

  Davingelo grinned, blood warming with the thought of battle, despite the grimness of the situation. He would paint the walls red with blood, leaving a masterpiece they would never be able to mask unless the building was pulverized into dust.

  The building was a simple one, near the docks, with a weathered sign proclaiming it to be a storage facility. How… cliché.