The Dark Prince's Prize (Curizan Warrior Book 2)

by S. E. Smith

  “Don’t get used to this,” she softly warned, peeping up at him.

  “Never,” he promised.

  She sucked in a breath when he captured her lips in a passionate kiss that made her toes curl.

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the moment Samara climbed into Bear’s truck she knew this was a mistake. By the time they reached the restaurant and bar, she had buried her misgivings and forced herself to relax. They had chatted about their high school days, her brothers, the weather, and a dozen other topics to pass time during the drive into town.

  She smiled as he helped her out of the truck. As they entered the bar, Bear called out to a few guys as they weaved their way around the tables to their seats. Samara glanced around the dim interior.

  “Thank you,” she murmured when he pulled a chair out for her.

  She removed her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair while Bear ordered a couple of beers and some chips and salsa. Between the band playing, the crack of pool balls, and the noise of everyone talking, it made it difficult to hear. She leaned forward and tried to listen as Bear talked about the newest temporary ranch hands Mason had hired.

  “I’m glad you came out with me tonight,” Bear said in a loud voice just as the music died.

  “Nice, Bear,” someone yelled.

  “Shut up, Carl,” Bear replied with a good-natured grin.

  “Well, well, well,” a familiar voice sneered, “if it isn’t the runaway. Where’s your scarred bodyguard?”

  Samara covered Bear’s hand when he started to rise to his feet. Casper wasn’t a huge town, and Cattlemen’s was a popular hangout for the locals. Turning in her chair, she looked up at her brother with a raised eyebrow.

  “Do you miss him? I’m sure I can arrange another lovely man-to-dipshit chat with him if you’d like,” she sweetly retorted.

  “You’re a real bitch sometimes. Does Bear know that?” Jerry responded.

  Bear pulled his hand away and rose to his feet. “You shouldn’t talk to your sister that way,” he angrily replied.

  Jerry smirked. “What are you going to do about it, Teddy Bear?” he inquired.

  Samara rose from her chair and angrily turned toward her brother. She wasn’t going to let him pull Bear into a fight. The mocking gleam in his eyes told her he was itching for a brawl.

  “Back off, Jerry. Don’t forget that I won’t be there to bail your ass out of jail,” she warned.

  “I’ll back off when you give me the money you promised,” he goaded.

  She waved her hand. “That deal died when you stole my truck,” she snapped.

  Jerry’s hand shot out, and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She winced at the bruising grip. Behind her, Bear muttered a curse and came forward to help her.

  Jerry shoved her, and she gave a cry of surprise as her heel caught the edge of her chair, making her fall back against the table. Jerry swung a punch at Bear, who ducked and caught him around the waist.

  Samara pushed herself back to her feet in time to watch Bear toss Jerry onto a nearby pool table. Jerry lifted his legs and kicked out at Bear, sending him backwards into her. The force of Bear’s momentum sent them against one of the load-bearing wall beams. Her head snapped back, hitting a sharp corner.

  Shock ricocheted through her before the pain hit. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes from the impact. Lifting her hand to the back of her head, she winced when she felt blood.

  “Samara…,” Bear said, twisting around and catching her as she slid down the post.

  Her lips parted to let him know that she was alright, but no sound emerged. She tried to blink away the darkness, and turned her head, looking at her fingers through a growing haze. Dark red blood coated her fingertips.

  Adalard….

  She didn’t know why his name slipped through her dazed mind, but it did. Bear’s arms wound around her before a different pair lifted her limp body and warmth surrounded her. Her head rolled sideways as her eyes closed.

  “You… came,” she whispered.

  “Always,” Adalard vowed.

  Moments before:

  Adalard stared out at the darkened landscape. He flexed his fingers, forming different items at random. After Samara left her new living quarters, he had returned to his transport.

  That was a mistake, he darkly thought.

  His fruitless search for whatever was draining him of his energy had left him feeling weak and disoriented. Eventually, he was forced to abandon the search out of fear of being stuck inside the ship, drained of life. As much as he hated to consider the possibility, he might have to abandon and destroy the transport.

  Even Arrow was at a loss. Unless Adalard could find the device and show his brother, there was no way to figure out how it worked.

  Worst of all his problems, though, was knowing that Samara was with another male. It was driving him insane.

  It was then that a silent cry from Samara echoed through his mind. Adalard shimmered, his cells drawn to her through her voice and a brief image of blood on her pale fingers.

  The room around him faded and another appeared. Samara’s aura reached for him through the crowd of people. He pushed through the bystanders, ignoring the hissed breaths of irritation and low curses that died on their lips when they saw him.

  The man he met earlier in Samara’s living quarters was lowering her to the ground. He stepped forward and slid his arms around her, pulling her from Bear’s grasp.

  “Hey! Oh, it’s you. Where in the hell did you come from? I… she needs a doctor. She’s bleeding,” Bear said.

  “I will care for her,” he replied.

  Adalard locked his gaze on Jerry. Two men were holding him by his upper forearms. He noticed with grim satisfaction that Jerry’s face paled when he saw him. It wouldn’t matter how far the man ran or that he was Samara’s brother. His attack on Samara this time would not be forgiven.

  “I warned you,” Adalard said.

  Jerry sagged between the two men.

  The crowd parted as Adalard strode toward the door. Before he even reached it, he was fading, all thoughts of protecting his identity dismissed as he focused on Samara.

  “What the hell…? Where’d they go?” Carl breathed out as he vanished.

  “Ow, that hurts,” Samara muttered.

  Her voice was muffled against Adalard’s shoulder. He held her close, trying not to jostle her. He was surprised when he didn’t feel the energy drain as he strode through the storage bay of his transport.

  “It will soon be better,” he promised.

  “What would make me feel better is for my brothers to grow a brain,” she groaned.

  He chuckled. Despite the fact that her brothers were the lowest form of life, he could still sense her compassion for them. She was a better person than he was. He felt no regret at his half-brother’s death and wouldn’t think twice about killing her brother, Jerry, the next time the opportunity presented itself.

  “I’m afraid that is not likely to happen any time soon,” he dryly replied.

  He carried her through an open door and gently laid her on the bed. She hissed and lifted her head off the pillow, wincing as she tried to sit up. He placed his hand on her shoulder and scowled at her. She glared back and pushed his hand away.

  “Do you have any idea of what a bitch it is to get blood out of fabric?” she growled.

  He looked at her with an expression of disbelief. “You have a gash in your head, a possible concussion, and you are worried about my bed linens?” he exclaimed.

  She closed one eye and winced. “Yes. I’m worried. Where are we?” she asked.

  “My transport. I need to get the medical kit. Please remain here until I return,” he answered.

  “’Kay,” she responded, peering around the room with only one eye open.

  He hesitated, worried about leaving her. The medical kit was in a cabinet on the bridge. He backed out of the room, casting a wary look at Samara once more before he turned away and start
ed down the corridor.

  The moment Adalard left the room, a wave of fatigue hit him. A dark gray film greedily surrounded him, making him feel as if he were trudging through thick sludge. He braced one hand against the wall to keep his balance as he forced his feet to keep moving.

  The journey to the bridge seemed to take forever though he knew it was only minutes. The vein at his temple throbbed as he gritted his teeth to keep from groaning. The gray matter felt like it was literally trying to pull him apart.

  “Dragon’s balls,” he muttered as he opened the cabinet.

  He pulled out the emergency medical kit, almost falling into the chair from the weight of it. In his peripheral vision, he saw gray strands devouring his aura. What puzzled him was that he didn’t feel or sense this draining fatigue when he was with Samara.

  Clutching the medical kit to his chest, he focused on returning the short distance to the only sleeping quarters on the transport. By the time he made it to the doorway, he was breathing heavily and shaking from fatigue. He looked at Samara leaning back against the hull with her eyes closed and the sleeve of her dark red blouse pressed against the cut on the side of her head.

  He stepped into the room—and was surrounded by a surge of energy. The dramatic difference from mind-numbing weakness to feeling like he could take on a hundred Sarafin and Valdier warriors at once almost knocked him off his feet. The impact was so intense that he needed a few seconds to deal with the excess power flowing through him.

  He turned and looked back at the doorway. The gray energy shrank away from the entrance as if terrified. He lifted his arm and studied the patterns of colors swirling around him. Bright white, red, violet, and various shades of blue formed an almost honeycomb barrier. He followed the pattern back to its source.

  Samara, he silently breathed.

  What? she responded, opening her eyes. “Wow! You’re coated in like a colorful bubble wrap. What’d you do—run through a rainbow or find Lucky Charms?”

  “It is you,” he said, stepping forward and placing the medical kit on the bed beside her.

  “Me?” she exclaimed in disbelief. She started to shake her head and winced. “Ow. I hope that box has some serious pain killers in it.”

  He knelt on the floor in front of her and opened the case. “You will be healed in a few minutes. I need to make sure that there was no serious brain damage.”

  Samara released an inelegant snort. “Wilson would argue that you were too late,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again.

  “Who is Wilson?” Adalard asked.

  He pulled the scanner out and held it next to her head. At the same time, he reached out and connected with her, blocking the pain she was feeling. She sighed with relief. A sense of remorse filled him when he felt the sharp, throbbing pain he had taken from her. He should have blocked her pain sooner.

  “Wilson? He’s the second oldest out of the motley crew of Lee-Stephens, and was, until I left this morning, the smartest one of the bunch of us,” she shared.

  Using a combination of technology and his own energy, he healed the wound and cleaned the blood from her hair.

  “The spot will be tender for a day or two.”

  She opened her eyes and stared into his. An uneven smile curved her lips. He breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed that her eyes were clear and her pupils looked normal.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  In one of the few awkward moments of his life, he wasn’t sure what to say or do. Clearing his throat, he replaced the scanner into the medical kit and closed it. He rose to his feet and held his hand out. She grasped it, scooted off the bed, and stood next to him, looking around with wide, curious eyes.

  “You know I plan to kill your brother for this, don’t you?” he said.

  He almost winced at his unexpected confession. She laughed and shook her head. He looked down at her hand when she patted him on the chest.

  “Trust me. You’ll have to stand in line, not to mention he just isn’t worth it. Karma will bite him in the ass soon enough without your help. So, is this your broken-down bike?” Samara teased.

  Adalard frowned before he understood what she meant. With a sheepish grin, he nodded. He had forgotten about her misconception.

  “Can I look around?” she curiously asked.

  “What? I… Yes, but…,” he said, his voice fading as he looked at the doorway.

  She tilted her head and looked in the same direction before looking up at him. He could see the dark gray aura swirling outside of the doorway. He instinctively wrapped a protective arm around Samara, pulling her closer to him.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Yes. A very dangerous device was placed on the transport that is causing issues. I haven’t located it yet,” he grimly admitted.

  She looked back at the doorway and frowned. “Does it have something to do with the gray swirling smoke?” she inquired.

  He started with surprise and looked at her. “You see it?” he demanded.

  She gave him a funny look and nodded. “Yeah. For a moment I was worried your ship was on fire until I noticed there wasn’t a smell. Then I thought it was the lighting, some kind of breathing chemical, or just a weird alien thing.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even saying that.”

  He shook his head. “The issue appeared on my journey to your planet,” he explained.

  “Is it another alien?” she warily asked. “I mean, you know—could it be like a virus or some kind of creature that wants to take over your body?”

  “No, the bio-filters would destroy any such thing,” he said.

  She frowned. “Well, have you followed the gray swirling things?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “N-o. Until now, I didn’t notice the gray aura attacking me. All I felt was the intense energy drain, as if it was sucking the life out of me. I’ve been searching the ship, but I grow dangerously weak—except when I was carrying you,” he admitted.

  She bit her lip and looked out into the corridor. “Well, maybe my superpower is keeping the bad aura away from you. If that‘s the case, maybe I could help you find it,” she suggested.

  He caressed her cheek. “I would appreciate your help,” he said.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “It’s the least I can do for helping me out tonight—but, there is one condition,” she warned.

  “And what is your condition?” he inquired.

  She patted him on the chest and grinned. “You can’t kill Jerry, no matter how tempting it is,” she cheekily replied before stepping out into the corridor.

  He scowled at her before a calculating gleam appeared in his eyes, and a slight smile curled his lips. She had said he couldn’t kill her brother. She didn’t say he couldn’t make Jerry wish he were dead.

  Wishing is okay.

  He blinked in surprise at her amused response to his thoughts. She looked at him over her shoulder with a mischievous expression. Desire hit him hard. Wicked thoughts danced through his mind. Her soft gasp told him she caught what he was thinking.

  “You are a very dangerous alien, Adalard Ha’darra. You should be focusing on finding your device, not mentally undressing me,” she quipped with a shake of her head.

  “Undressing you is much more pleasurable,” he stated.

  She rolled her eyes at him and turned away. “Men! I swear evolution made a mistake giving them two heads and expecting them to use the one with the brain,” she retorted.

  He burst out laughing. Samara was different from any other woman he had ever met. Of course, the main difference was the way their auras connected, giving him a sense of completion, but it was more than that. Most of the women he met were too busy eyeing him as their next toy or anticipating the prestige that being with him would bring them. Samara wasn’t impressed with his status—or his physique.

  The last thought doused his amusement somewhat as an unexpected and definitely unusual feeling of uncertainty washed through him. What if she didn’t fin
d him attractive? He touched his cheek with the scar on it. Maybe he should erase the mark he received years ago.

  Now you’re just being ridiculous. I think you’re cute.

  Her response reminded him that his thoughts were open to her. An uncharacteristic blush rose in his cheeks. Once again, she made him feel like an untried lad on his first outing with a beautiful woman.

  He was pulled from his uncomfortable self-reflection by a sense of weakness. While he was lost in thought, Samara had ventured toward the bridge of the ship. Less than ten feet separated them, but the malevolent gray fog attacked him with a vengeance. He bowed his head, swaying at the force of the assault, and braced a hand against the inner wall of the corridor.

  Samara turned and looked at him, her eyes widening with horror. He lifted his head and shook it.

  “Come toward me slowly. I… need to see what happens so I… can share the information… with my brother,” he haltingly instructed through clenched teeth.

  She bit her lip, nodded, and began to walk slowly toward him. The gray fog parted as if someone drew a line down the middle of it. He counted the steps before her aura surrounded him in a protective cocoon.

  Pulling her into his embrace, he breathed deeply, enjoying that she held him tightly against her body. She caressed his back with soothing strokes as the weakness faded. He leaned back against the wall and watched the gray fog swirling in a semi-circle around them.

  How can I protect her when I cannot even protect myself? he silently wondered, making sure he kept a barrier between them so she could not hear his worried thoughts.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Samara stood still with her eyes closed. There was something very comforting about holding and being held by Adalard. His touch was gentle but strong at the same time.

  Opening her eyes, she stared at the gray fog that had encircled him a moment ago. A thin film of bright light surrounded them in a bubble. Whenever the gray film tried to move closer, tiny sparks were ignited. The gray matter hissed. The sound reminded her of water landing on a hot burner. Bits of the fog evaporated when struck.