by Alison Aimes
“Dirty thief,” shouted a green-skinned male with a large purple mane and a snout, “you won’t get away with it.”
“I see you’re angry.” DaKar kept his voice calm and confident. “But I am not guilty of those things. You’re making a mistake.”
“He lies.”
A voice from the back.
DaKar glimpsed a hooded wide-shouldered figure right before the speaker melted into the crowd.
Not a grunt domer like the rest. The speaker’s accent and clothes marked him as élithe.
Peller?
Whoever it was, he’d disguised his voice. But something about it sounded familiar all the same.
Such mysteries would have to wait.
“I speak the truth.” DaKar told the crowd. “Someone is framing me. Just as he is using you to advance his own cause. If you disband now, I will allow you to go unharmed. Otherwise, you will not be so lucky.”
A few worried murmurs swept through the crowd. Taking on a Martian Warlord was not something done lightly.
“He’s dangerous. An out of control predator preying on our females.” It was the same voice as before, stirring up more trouble. “We cannot afford to wait. He needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to pay. Justice must be served.”
Unleashed by the frenzied command, the men tumbled up the first set of stairs.
DaKar crouched, ready.
The air at his back stirred.
“You won’t take him!” One of his Earther footmen, a nephew of Tom’s, rushed by with a roar.
DaKar stretched out a hand to grab the overeager fool, but it was too late.
The murmurs from the crowd became a bloodthirsty roar.
Broken glass met flesh. Blood spurted. The young man crumpled and was dragged deeper into the frenzied mob.
“Hold.” DaKar jumped into the fray. He hadn’t been able to save Tom that night so long ago, but he could save his kin.
Martian instincts kicked in, his horns jutting straight as his chest thickened and his fangs elongated. The urge to tear and rend a blood beat in his veins.
But his uncles had trained him well. Fighting off the deadliest of his instincts, he kept his body low and struck back with measured force, knocking men aside until he found his exuberant footman.
The unconscious male was on the ground, his body jerking this way and that as several males used him as a kicking bag.
With a roar, DaKar knocked three heads together. Elbowed the rest hard enough to send them flying.
Then, hoisting the unconscious male across his shoulders, he started back toward the house, shoving as many out of his path as he could.
Once he got the young man to safety, he’d deal with the mob.
Tom loomed just ahead above, swinging a planter he must have grabbed from the stairs, his expression as fierce and determined as always. This time, others stood by his side, too. They were fighting together to come to his aid.
An old and deep wound inside his chest knit itself back together.
A stinging pain slashed across his arm.
Snarling, he swiveled, ready to respond in kind, arm already raised to strike.
“Look out.” A brawny figure brandishing a board rushed to his side, absorbing a blow meant for him. “Stop attacking him. He’s not the murderer.”
The mob, startled by the defection of one of their own, stilled.
DaKar blinked to make sure he was seeing correctly. Now, this was unexpected.
He secured the unconscious footman more securely across his back and stood straight. “Saman. I am surprised to find you party to this. We usually conduct our combat matches one-on-one.”
The male’s face reddened. “Sorry about that, Agha. I did not know you were the male the fancy gent was going off about. He came to the Forbidden Zone offering money to anyone willing to put down a murdering, thieving pervert. The more drakani ale he bought, the more appealing his suggestion became.”
“And now?”
Saman sighed. “I’ll have to find another way to earn extra chits.” With a wink, he faced his peers. “You know me and I can tell you quite clearly. This male is on the up and up. He’s not a murderer or a thief. No matter what some high flier says.”
Tom and another floater driver shoved through the crush.
“Easy now,” DaKar told his men. “Saman and I have things under control. But Tom, your nephew could use some help.”
With a nod, the two men grabbed the unconscious Earther and headed back the way they’d come.
There was some grumbling, but the crowd let them through.
Once his men reached the safety of the entrance to his home, DaKar addressed the crowd. “Saman speaks the truth. I think the gentleman who said the opposite had best come up here and explain.”
The crowd searched for the male in question.
The instigator had disappeared.
The murmurs began—as did the mob’s slow shuffle out of the yard.
In a matter of minutes, the area was clear.
“Thank you, Saman.” He clapped the male’s back. “Your words did the trick.”
“My pleasure.” Mischief danced across the male’s face. “Some of those fools owe me money. I’ve seen you fight and I knew what they were in for if they attacked. I’d never have collected—and you know how badly I am trying to stockpile all the blunt I can.”
DaKar couldn’t help it. Despite the madness of the rotation, he laughed. “I appreciate your effort nonetheless. I have to take care of some other business at present, but if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few more questions about this mystery ringleader.”
One thank you speech to his staff—along with a promise to double everyone’s pay—a call to the medic for the now conscious, sheepish nephew of Tom’s, and a plea to find Rhagghest in whatever closet he was hiding, and DaKar was striding back through the door where he’d left his guest.
Miss Stanthorpe jumped away from the chest at the end of the room, a drawer still slightly ajar. He wished her luck. She’d find nothing of interest in this room.
“I, ah, is everything alright?” Her gaze flew from the cut on his arm to his torn trousers.
“Just a minor inconvenience. It’s over now.” He turned the conversation to what interested him. “Let me ask you two more question. First, what will you do with this information if I don’t accept your terms?”
She drew back slightly, as if she could not quite believe such a thing might be possible. “Why would you not? It is an excellent deal without any cost to you.”
“Well,” he disagreed, “there would be a cost.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “A minor expenditure easily outweighed by the fact that you will have the benefit of screwing over Peller as you screw me. I know Peller always found that notion in relation to your father rather stimulating.” Her gaze dropped to his ripped trousers. “And I am very used to rough play. You should accept my deal. Otherwise, to answer your question, I will sell the papers back to your family, who will no doubt destroy them.”
His mind flashed to the female who had been in his arms only a few hours before. Could it only have been a short time ago he’d experienced something so erotic and pure at the same time?
“I am nothing like my half brother or father.”
“I know. Your kind’s sexual voraciousness is well known. I’m looking forward to keeping up.”
His cocksto didn’t even stir. “How did you obtain these oh-so-important letters related to Peller?”
Her eyes slid away. “What does it matter?”
“It was stolen, then?”
She shifted in her seat. “I did not sneak in and take it. I am not a thief. It fell into my lap through a series of fortunate coincidences.”
Stolen. Of that he was sure. Goddess, he hated liars. “Alright. I will not push you further on the subject. As I said, I will need a few hours to consider your proposal.”
She rose as he did. “Would you like a chance to see how well we suit? I
could fix your bruises—or you could give me ones to match. Whatever you like.”
He seized hold of her elbow and hustled her toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Once he’d fobbed her off on Rhagghest, he returned to his study and settled into a chair that actually fit his size. His gaze drifted over the flames in the fireplace.
Stanthorpe’s offer was genuine. As was her fear of Peller. He was sure of it.
But he was less certain whether the mob attack while she was here had occurred by coincidence or design.
Had that been his half brother, Peller, in the crowd? It was hard to know. The voice had sounded familiar.
Deep in thought, he rubbed his fingertip along his upper lip and was instantly transported back to the feel of another’s warm, silky skin against the same spot.
He pushed the memory aside.
Thought instead of Tom and all the others counting on him. All those who would be in trouble if his claim to the Starlight estates and shares were overturned and Peller and his stepmother were given free rein once more.
Now was not the time to be selfish. If he agreed to Stanthorpe’s proposition, he would have information that would help his legal case. An outcome that would impact not only him but the people who worked for him. Good people. Loyal people, who believed in him enough to risk their lives.
Plus, he’d already determined that, mating heat or not, staying away from Aurora was the best way he could take care of her, too.
Accepting Miss Stanthorpe’s proposal really was a win-win situation.
Shooting up from his chair, he stalked across the room. The damn fire was making him hot and uncomfortable.
Except, even on the other side of the study, the smothering feeling remained.
He wrenched a window open. His hands gripped the windowsill.
Why did he even hesitate? He needed to accept the offer. As the mob’s presence had just underscored, his unknown foe was growing bolder. He needed to discover his identity before the situation worsened and those he wanted to protect found themselves in greater peril. He couldn’t afford to let selfish desires rule.
Emerald eyes and shimmering golden threads flitted through his mind once more.
He slammed the window shut.
Decision made.
20
This time he chose a more secluded spot along the riverbed to throw away his trash. The damp chill cut through his cloak as he drew close to the bank edge, drawing a scowl. Even the irritating weight of the burden in his arms wasn’t enough to ward off the cold.
With a grunt, he heaved her over the side. She flopped awkwardly into the green sludge. Ripples exploded across the smooth surface making the long hair and white fabric of her dress sway.
A snort escaped. She hadn’t been nearly as graceful in life. The bitch had even tried to bite him. But he’d shown her. He’d been in no mood for rebellion. Not after the slights he’d suffered. The disloyalty he’d witnessed. The stupidity of the mob and the way they’d turned against him.
He clutched his cloak tight around him and shuffled into the wind. Still, it was a valuable lesson learned.
He’d have to destroy his enemy another way.
21
Aurora nodded toward the other females in her row and settled into the plush red velvet theater seat as gracefully as possible, her white lace gown, a sleeveless confection that clung tight to her breasts and ribs, making even that simple movement difficult.
The barrette inlaid with tiny danashe stones lifted from a careless female fixing her hair in the ladies room was snug in the small skirt pocket she’d sewn for just such occasions. There’d been no time to leave a note, but she hoped the fact that the theft had occurred in an all-female gathering space would undercut the idea that Warlord Volkan was the thief. The opportunity had just been too good to pass up.
On stage, a chorus of Androdian singers performed, their tails thumping while their voices emerged in both glorious sound and splatters of vivid colors that snaked and twirled through the air in dazzling synchronicity.
Aurora barely noticed. Skin crawling, she did her best to appear indifferent to the heat of her stepfather’s stare. Seated in the row behind, he loomed over her, the memory of his hand on her breast a horror she could not shake. Even when she reminded herself of another’s welcome touch, a remembrance she clung to with every bit of her terrified soul.
“The danashe inlaid choker I gave Lady Aurora suits her well, don’t you think, Inglebrooke?” Whetherton’s possessive tone sent shivers up her spine.
“It does indeed, High Executive,” simpered his lackey. “It’s as magnificent as the wearer.”
She swallowed hard, the leash around her neck tightening. She hated the gaudy necklace. Everything inside her screamed to wrench it off, or at the very least fling it atop the pile of trinkets intended for Denard. Unfortunately, Whetherton always demanded the return of all jewelry he forced her to wear.
Goddess help her, she was terrified of what else he’d demand from her soon.
“Do you see that?” Lady Maitland, seated to her right, pointed her fan across the theater’s expanse.
Aurora did not bother to look. She was in no mood for another salacious tale.
“Outrageous,” hissed her aunt from the next seat. “But not at all unexpected. It is after all the Warlord Volkan. His kind has no propriety.”
Her indifference vanished.
She leaned forward, following her aunt’s line of sight. Her eyes feasted on DaKar’s tall, strong frame as he made his way to the front of his theater box. The heat of his presence had slammed into her the instant she’d entered the theater, the vibrations humming across the golden threads curling through her chest, but she’d promised herself she would ignore them from here on out so that’s what she’d been attempting to do.
Still, he looked amazing in his black formal evening wear, his dark beauty and golden skin a stunning foil to his pale, red-haired companion.
Companion?
Aurora jerked upright, suddenly all too aware of the lovely woman pressed against him.
Her fingers curled around the armrest, the velvety press of the tufted upholstery a stark contrast to the emptiness sweeping through her.
As if he felt her eyes upon him, DaKar’s head turned. His gaze honed in on her with astounding precision.
Her back slammed into her seat. She stared at the stage.
“Do you think that foolish slut realizes the danger she’s in? He’s a murderer.” The obnoxious comment came from one of the ladies seated to her left, her play glasses pressed to her eyes for a better look.
“Do you suppose Executive Peller knows his mistress has thrown him over for his brother?” Her Aunt Cecilia was just as obvious.
“I don’t know,” answered the first, “but I do know Volkan has never had an Earther mistress before. This cannot be simple coincidence. He has probably been planning it for some time.”
The woman’s words lashed against Aurora’s heart.
It was foolish. The male had made no claims. Neither had she. He could rut with whomever he wanted.
But the sensation of being discarded cut beneath her skin, making her bleed. Her mother had tossed her aside for her precious medicines and Whetherton’s false smile. Her aunt had cared far more for her plants and seeds than for her own flesh-and-blood niece. Even Cecilia preferred a madman.
Now the Warlord had chosen someone else.
Foolish or not, it stung.
But she was a big girl. And, frankly, it was for the best given the current mess of her life and the fact that she’d been the one to frame DaKar as the thief in the first place. Hadn’t she already made the same decision as him?
The lights in the theater dimmed. The curtains parted and the show began. She tried to concentrate on the actors below. Usually, she loved the theater. Tonight, she barely heard a word. The heat of her stepfather’s stare burned like a poker against the curve of her neck while visions of the intimate touches lik
ely being shared in the Warlord’s box caused her heart to hemorrhage with every painful, sluggish beat.
Was he growling the same dirty words in the redhead’s ear? Working her body until she screamed and trembled?
The urge to flee thundered through her. Instead, she sat rigid, one breath away from shattering. Pretending her attention was fixed on the stage.
And still those damn golden threads wouldn’t disappear. Even now when he’d so clearly moved on to someone else. No, they continued to pulse against her skin and burrow into her chest, frustration, anger, lust pummeling her with every breath. Hers or his? She couldn’t tell. She wanted to experience none of it.
She proved successful at keeping her attention elsewhere until right before Act Two. Then, she couldn’t bear it anymore. A sharp flood of lust and longing sizzled along the golden thread and hit her hard. She had to look. She had to see if they were sitting as close as she imagined. She risked a quick glance back at her stepfather. Whetherton was engaged in conversation. Now, was her chance.
Her gaze swung across the theater.
As if DaKar had been waiting, as if his gaze had never wavered from her seat, their eyes locked.
Her breath caught, longing and heat flaring inside her as heat and possession glittered in his golden gaze. Images of his arms around her, his palm skimming along her thigh, his masterful fingers working her body into abandon crashed over her.
His companion’s hand cupped his cheek and wrenched his gaze away.
Aurora started, anger at herself surging to the fore.
He belonged to someone else now. Martian heat or not, whatever had been between them was best shelved as a foolish moment that would not happen again. His choices were his own. Her sole focus, her one concern, should be stealing enough jewels to escape her stepfather.
For the rest of the play, her eyes never strayed from the stage.
22
DaKar strode from his box, smacking his gloves against his thigh as he prowled the silent theater hall. He needed air.
He should be pleased. Miss Stanthorpe hadn’t been lying. The letters were invaluable. His claim to the title assured once he cleared his name. Tom and the other servants’ futures one step closer to being secured.
