Cold Attraction

by Zoe Ashwood

The hover sled.

  Taron looked at the control panel in front of him, then appraised the sled’s pointed nose. It was made of the same titanium alloy as the armor the Rendian soldiers wore, light but hard and durable. With enough speed…

  He glanced back up, calculating. If he crashed— He stamped down on the thought, flicked a switch, and reversed the sled away from the palace wall. He couldn’t afford for doubts to creep in. There was no time: if he tried fighting his way through the palace corridors, only the ancestors knew how long it would take him to reach Adriana. His face was probably plastered on every guardsman’s tablet, and until the regent’s private force was dismantled, every soldier had the potential for being an enemy. He wouldn’t even know who to fight.

  At the distance of fifty feet, he stopped, assessing. If he hit too low or too high, the obsidian wall would shear off either the bottom of the sled or his head. The vehicle would be a ruin anyway, but he thought his head might be worth protecting. Even if it was currently spewing all sorts of warnings at him.

  But his heart beat for one woman only, and she was in there, injured, maybe dead. He needed to get to her, and this was the fastest way to do it.

  He hit a button on his wrist cuff to activate his full armor. It covered his head, molding around his neck and jaw. Then he typed the trajectory into the sled’s autopilot system and took up the stolen spear. It held enough charge for five stuns—or three kills. Taron kept it set for stunning, because dispatching as many guards as possible would take precedence over killing them. After that, he’d have to stab and fight them in close combat.

  Shit. His brothers would tell him he was being an idiot. But he thought that deep down, they might understand. They weren’t as immune to their human protégées as they pretended.

  With a deep breath, Taron hit the ignition button, then threw himself on the floor of the sled. The vehicle accelerated to full speed in under three seconds, hurtling toward the palace wall.

  Taron kept his head down, praying he’d calculated the distance correctly. In another breath, he could be nothing but a bloody splatter on the black obsidian wall…

  Crash.

  Glass flew, shattering around him, and Taron threw his arms up to shield his face from the shards. They landed on his back, his legs, but didn’t hurt him; the armor did its job of protecting him.

  Shrieks followed, yelps of terror and surprise, and then his hover sled crashed against the far wall of the chamber. He was thrown clear and flew, but rolled at the last moment to break his fall.

  Taron crouched, spear still clutched in his hand. A quick mental check told him he hadn’t broken any bones. Then he surveyed the scene around him.

  Most of the human delegation appeared unharmed; they’d been squished in a corner before he landed, so they were out of the shards’ way. But the big engineer lay on the floor, a large splinter of glass stuck in his thigh.

  “Shit!” the human doctor yelled from next to him. “Are you insane?”

  His shout broke the spell of silence in the room. Two Rendian noblewomen shrieked, jumping up and escaping out of the room. Taron let them go, even though he noted who they were and would make sure they suffered for having allied themselves with Gilmar.

  Mika hollered, “Get the fucker!”

  Taron would have grinned, but that would have taken his focus away from the regent.

  The man deposited his goblet and activated his armor with a sigh. “Oh, Taron,” he said. “Such a waste. Your little plaything is dead, and now you’ll join her. Then I’ll find your idiot brothers and make sure they never trouble me again.” He snapped his fingers. “Guards.”

  What incited Taron’s rage the most was the bored cadence of Gilmar’s voice. As though none of them were important enough to get riled up about. He’d said that Adriana was dead…

  No. He couldn’t let himself be distracted. His objective was to reach her first. One step at a time.

  He didn’t dare turn his back on Gilmar—a mistake like that would cost him his life. The guards were advancing on him, their gazes wary but hard. He didn’t want to kill them, but with time running short…

  He attacked, putting his back to the wall so the guards had little space to move. They got in each others’ way, which told him they weren’t used to fighting together. He mowed one down with a vicious blow of his spear and rammed the butt of the weapon into the man’s face. The sickening crunch reverberated down his arm, but he didn’t stop. The next guardsman landed a glancing blow to his leg; he was lucky his armor was activated, or he might have lost a kneecap.

  The guards’ faces and weapons blended into a blur, and he became a machine, his mind blank and his every strike deadly. The two men left standing exchanged wary glances—they had their orders and would kill him, but they’d seen him bludgeon five of their colleagues.

  What they didn’t know was that Taron’s weapon had lost its charge. He could pick up any of the fallen soldiers’ weapons, but it would cost him…

  “No!” Hanne’s yell splintered his attention.

  She and Mika were standing over Adriana, guarding her lifeless body on the floor. Now the regent stood in front of them, a menacing figure a head taller than either of them. He pushed Hanne out of the way, took Mika by the collar, and flung her onto a table by the wall. The tiny human scientist landed with a crash and collapsed.

  Then Gilmar grabbed Adriana.

  Taron’s thoughts blanked. His limbs moved on pure instinct, some ingrained reflexes guiding him until he dispatched one guard with a stab to his throat, the blow so powerful it pierced the armor. He took hold of the other and broke his neck like a twig.

  “Stop,” the regent shouted. “Stop or she dies.”

  He had Adriana in a choke hold, his armored hand around her slender throat.

  Taron blinked, returning to himself. If he gave the regent time to act, the asshole would crush Adriana’s windpipe. She was alive, that much was certain, her eyelids fluttering. Something cracked open in Taron’s chest. She was alive and breathing, yet caught. He would do anything to save her.

  “Drop your weapon,” Gilmar commanded. “Now.”

  The spear clattered to the floor, useless. He couldn’t risk throwing it at the regent as he’d intended—the man was fast and could turn Adriana into the spear’s trajectory.

  From somewhere behind him, Taron registered the panicked chittering of the trade delegates. One of them was clearly trying to communicate with their spaceship in orbit, but this fight would be over long before any reinforcements arrived, either from the little green men or Taron’s own brothers.

  “Let her go,” he growled at the regent. “This isn’t her fight.”

  Gilmar shook Adriana without looking at her. “Yes, but she made it her fight the moment she helped that bitch escape. I’ve had to listen to her whining for weeks, and now she’s gone?”

  Adriana blinked again but remained limp in the regent’s grip. Taron met her gaze for the briefest second, then focused his attention back at her captor.

  “Think of what you’re doing,” Taron said. “The delegates—”

  “Fuck the delegates,” the regent spat. “I’ve been working on bringing this forsaken planet out of this rut, to establish new trade routes, and bring in more money. All at the cost of a couple of villages’ worth of fucking peasants who wouldn’t know their own shit from platinum. Do you have any idea how rich the ore is in those mines?”

  He was breathing hard, gripping Adriana. Her face was turning red—surely that couldn’t be good. From the corner of his eye, Taron saw the human doctor creep closer to Mika, who now stirred on the floor. Hanne was crouched beside her, pressing a napkin to a gash on her friend’s forehead.

  Adriana’s eyes glittered, though, and her hand inched slowly upward. Did she have a plan?

  “You can’t think the nation will accept you as their ruler,” Taron said to stall Gilmar. “Even if the queen disappeared, you’d have to wait for a year to have her declared dead. And then Lhet
t is the next in line.”

  Clearly, the regent didn’t hear the shouting from the streets. It was nothing more than a distant hum, but Taron expected the protests would grow in number before morning. Gilmar would have nowhere to run.

  “I’ll find her and then I won’t have to wait for a year to have her declared dead. I’ll kill all of you.” The regent’s voice grew cold, and he squeezed Adriana tighter. She gasped. “Starting with her.”

  At that moment, Adriana reached inside the front of her dress and swung her arm up. The movement was too fast for Taron to see what she did, but Gilmar howled and dropped her to the floor.

  Blood gushed from behind his hands, and his screams echoed from the vaulted ceiling.

  Adriana knelt on the floor, gasping for breath, and the regent’s boots caught her in the side as he flailed and kicked around.

  Taron leaped forward, whisking her to safety. Then they both stared down at Gilmar, whose hands fell away—and Taron saw that one of the wooden sticks she’d used to pin up her hair was lodged in his eye.

  The man pulled it out, pressed the heel of his palm to his eye, and rolled to his feet.

  “How is he still standing?” Adriana whispered, her voice cracked and barely audible.

  Taron drew her farther back, wary of what Gilmar might do. He picked up a spear from one of the soldiers. The rest of the people in the chamber remained motionless: the three delegates armed themselves with short clubs and were glaring at everyone, the humans stood rooted to the spot in the corner, and the Rendian nobles who hadn’t escaped wore matching masks of disinterest. They wouldn’t help the regent, who was clearly losing.

  He walked to stand in front of Gilmar. “Will you surrender honorably and stand trial for your crimes?” he asked.

  Gilmar spat in his face.

  Taron sighed and wiped the spit off with his palm. “The outcome will be the same for you, but your family might—” He ducked a blow the regent aimed at him. “Think, man. If you keep—”

  Again, he evaded a punch. Gilmar’s hits were slowing. He would likely go into shock soon. The wound wasn’t fatal. He would lose an eye, but that would only matter until Queen Zeema held a trial for him. Taron had no doubt that she would sentence her tormentor to death.

  The regent plucked a small dagger from his belt and launched himself at Taron.

  It was time to end this.

  With a swipe of his spear, Taron knocked the disgraced man onto his back. He caught the flash of surprise in his eyes the second before he flicked the weapon’s setting to killing force and slammed the point into the regent’s chest.

  Gilmar twitched once, then went still.

  The room around him erupted in noise, some of the humans escaped, and a guard groaned feebly on the floor. But Taron only saw Adriana.

  She leaned on the table, her dress and hair disheveled, her throat and cheek already bruising purple. But she was looking at him.

  He stepped forward and knelt in front of her. With a flick of his fingers, he deactivated his armor’s helmet and hung his head.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.”

  His human dropped to her knees and hugged him. Her warm, soft arms wrapped around his shoulders, and her head came to rest against his chest.

  “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she mumbled. “I was so worried.”

  He held her close for a moment, until she gasped. He gently pried her away from him to check her injuries. “Woman, you’re crazy. I don’t have a scratch on me, and still you worry?”

  He touched the bruise blooming around her eye, carefully, but she flinched in pain anyway.

  “Who did this to you?” he growled.

  Adriana shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead.”

  “Did you…?”

  “No. Zeema killed him. He’d been torturing her, so she cut off his hand and stabbed him.”

  Taron raised his eyebrows. “Good.”

  Adriana nodded, but her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated so much the brown irises were barely visible. “Yeah. And I, um, stabbed the regent,” she added.

  Taron took hold of her shoulders and peered at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  She swayed and would have toppled over if he weren’t supporting her.

  Taron turned to where the human doctor was tending to Jean’s injuries. “Help me,” he called. “She’s…”

  Adriana passed out. Taron cradled her in his arms, swiping her hair away from her face. Then Ben was at his side, checking her pulse.

  “We’ll take her to my suite,” he declared. “I’ll need to do some x-rays to see if anything’s broken.”

  He went as if to take her from Taron’s arms. Taron snarled at him, and the human lifted his hands up in surrender.

  “Fine, you bring her. Do you think you could have someone help carry Jean as well? He’s a big guy.”

  Taron faced a Rendian man standing by the wall. He was clearly uncomfortable and trying to sneak out of the room, but Taron pinned him with a glare.

  “Carry the engineer.”

  “Do you have any idea who I…” the nobleman began, but Taron cut him off.

  “You’ll be dead if you don’t help.” He had very little patience for these traitors, and he was certain Zeema would strip them of their titles for supporting Gilmar.

  The man grabbed Jean, though, and motioned for two of his friends to come help as well. Together, they formed a procession that wound its way through the palace halls toward the humans’ quarters. The uninjured members of their crew shut themselves into their own rooms, their gazes frightened.

  Taron suspected they might petition for a ship to return to Earth sooner than planned, but that was a worry for tomorrow.

  Tonight, he needed to care for his Adriana.

  Ben assumed command the moment they entered his medical suite. Jean was deposited on one bed, Mika on another, and Taron laid Adriana down on a stretcher by the wall. The human doctor put on a white coat and washed his hands, then told Taron to wait outside.

  “No. I can help.”

  Ben sighed. “Ugh, fine. But only do what I tell you to do. And scrub your hands with that soap first. Twice.”

  Taron stepped to the door of the suite long enough to call a friendly guard, whom he sent out to find Lieutenant Anilla and Kol. Hanne was sitting at Mika’s bed, holding her friend’s hand, but retreated to the corner when Ben approached Mika with a needle.

  “I don’t do well with, um, that,” she stammered, pointing at the doctor’s hand.

  “You don’t have to watch,” Ben told her in a surprisingly kind voice. “Go wash that blood off you, and I’ll send someone for you when it’s done.”

  The astrophysicist fled the suite, the door sliding shut behind her. Now Taron and Ben remained alone with the three unconscious humans.

  “I’ll stitch Mika’s wound up first to stop the bleeding,” the doctor informed Taron. “Then I’ll take their x-rays and maybe an ultrasound to make sure no one is bleeding internally.”

  Taron glanced down at Adriana’s limp form. “What can I do?”

  “Get some ice for her bruises. She’s breathing well, so her windpipe probably isn’t too badly injured, and her lungs are okay, but I want to check her as soon as possible. She might have broken ribs.”

  Taron nodded and found an ice pack in Ben’s refrigerator. It didn’t escape him that his planet was frozen solid, yet he was cooling Adriana’s cheek and neck with an Earth-made pouch filled with a blue gel. He swiped back her hair from her forehead and tried to quell his worry. Her breaths remained steady, her heartbeat strong.

  “Wake up,” he whispered. “Please.”

  “Can you pass me the bandages?” Ben asked.

  Taron sighed and positioned the ice pack so it was pressed against Adriana’s cheek, then went to help the doctor. Together, they worked on Mika’s forehead, then Jean’s leg, where a long, deep gash was still pulsing out blood. Ben
pinched his lips into a tight line at the sight, and they performed a minor surgery to repair a nicked vein. Some very creative cursing was involved in the procedure.

  Then it was Adriana’s turn: her ribs proved to be cracked, not broken, and her head injuries were just bruises.

  “We’ll see how it goes when she wakes up,” Ben told him. “But don’t worry too much. I think she’s sleeping now.”

  He filled a syringe with a clear liquid and injected it into the bag of water hanging above Adriana. A thin clear tube led down to her arm; the doctor had explained how it worked, and Taron had shuddered at the thought of having something like that attached to himself. But he deferred to Ben’s judgment when it came to Adriana’s health.

  This was a serious problem he hadn’t considered before.

  He glanced at Ben, who was now putting ointment on Jean’s burn, the spot where the guard had struck him with the electric spear.

  “Would you be willing to stay here?” he asked. “If…if she does.”

  The doctor looked up, surprise written all over his face. “I didn’t think you’d let me. Not after…” He waved a hand toward the refrigerator. “You know, the blood.”

  Taron grimaced. “I’m not saying I like it. But…if she decides to stay, she’d need someone to take care of her. In a way I can’t, I mean.”

  It hurt his pride to admit it. But human bodies were so fragile—and just different enough from Rendians that their doctors wouldn’t know what to do with them. They might even hurt Adriana if they tried treating her. And if she ever wanted to have a child… He couldn’t even fathom what that would mean for her.

  “I could stay,” Ben said, his expression pensive. “But…” The gleam in his eyes turned calculating.

  Taron frowned. “What would you want in return?”

  “A chance to study Rendians.”

  He couldn’t help it: a low growl escaped him. But the doctor didn’t seem scared. He shrugged and went back to nursing Jean.

  Taron thought about it. “You can study me in exchange for teaching me your art.”

  “You would do that?” Ben’s eyebrows went up.

  “I’d do anything for her. But you must keep your research…within reason.”