by Tana Stone
“There does not seem to be another option. Zarda and I are not wearing shirts, and the other dead soldiers were wearing the same thing.”
She shrugged and let him lower it over her head then tighten the side straps so that little of her skin showed. The metal pinched her breasts, but she didn’t care. She preferred anything over the feel of D’Vos’ rough hands.
Vrax let out a dark rumble, and she realized that he was probably picking up on what she was thinking about.
“New rule,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “No more messing with my brain.”
“I am not messing with your brain,” he said. “Mating has made our bond stronger. I cannot help but feel what you are feeling.”
“Considering that both of us have awful tempers, this isn’t going to be a problem at all,” she muttered.
“Is everything okay, friend?” A voice called down from the top of the stairs.
“On our way up,” Vrax called back, taking her hand as if it was breakable and leading her.
She didn’t object to holding his hand, the warm buzz of his skin on hers comforted her and made her feel safe, which was a new sensation. When they reached the top of the stairs, she saw an alien with dark-green skin standing amid a pile of bodies.
“You’re from the fighting ring,” she said when she remembered where she’d seen him.
The creature gave her a small bow with his hand on his chest. “Zarda, son of Kartok, at your service.”
She glanced at Vrax and did a double take. In the light, she could see that he was hurt—part of his forehead looked like it had been badly burned. “Wait… What happened to you?”
“A Lantherian,” he said, pulling his hand from hers and holding his red palms face up.
So D’Vos hadn’t been completely lying. That explained why he moved his hands so gingerly when he’d untied her and taken the armor off D’Vos. Her chest constricted at the thought of Vrax fighting the toxic creature and being burned all so they could get money and get off Kurril. “Did you win?”
He gave her a cocky grin. “Of course. Your mate always wins.”
She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips. “You’re still an arrogant ass.”
“And you are still an impossible female.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vrax poked his head out of the door behind Zarda. The air had changed since they’d been inside rescuing Tori. Instead of the usual heat that hung over the city, the temperature had dropped, and dark clouds covered the single sun. Instead of the puffs of white he was used to on his home world, these were swirling and gray, spinning quickly and forming cone shapes that dipped low to the ground, before rising again.
“Asaras,” he whispered. He’d seen these clouds only once before, moving across the rocky ridge that separated the sands from their enemy back home.
“Black twists,” Zarda said, adding when Vrax glanced at him. “That’s what my people call them. Very dangerous if you’re under them.”
It didn’t take long for Vrax to understand why, as he saw a cloud lift tiles off a roof and spin them around in its wind funnel. He looked over his shoulder to the dead bodies littering the floor of the house. No matter how deadly it was outside, they couldn’t stay there for much longer.
“We need to get out of the city,” he said, as Tori pressed up next to him.
“We need to lay low,” she countered. “You’re injured. I’m weak. We’ve still barely eaten. We’re in no shape to steal Mourad’s ship like this.”
He saw her gaze shift to Zarda, her hesitation evident. He didn’t entirely blame her. This alien was unknown to her—and virtually unknown to him, as well—but he had never sensed deception from Zarda. And the creature had walked with him into a house with heavily armed mercenaries without thinking twice. He knew instinctively that he could trust Zarda with his life and that of his mate.
“I know where you can lay low,” Zarda said. “A place where no one will look twice at you and no one will give you up.”
Vrax clasped a hand on the creature’s arm and nodded. “We will follow you, my friend.”
Zarda motioned for them to fall in behind him as he started down the street, hugging the stone walls of the buildings. People were scurrying past, darting panicked looks over their shoulders, as the noise of the storm grew louder.
Vrax tightened his hold on her hand, even though his was burned. The twinge of pain was nothing compared to the comforting feeling of her skin against his. She put her other hand on his forearm and stayed close to him, her body heat warming the bare arm pressed against his.
They rounded the corner, dodging a large male. Tori jerked back, and when he turned, the alien in body armor had a hand on her shoulder.
He could tell they were the same species, the arch of bumps over their eyebrows a dead giveaway. The two Zevrians also shared the same menacing glare.
“I thought I recognized that hair.” His voice was so low it barely carried over the wind. His gaze flicked to her hair sticks covered in dried blood. “And those.”
“MaVon,” she said, uttering his name like a curse. “Or, should I say, Captain?”
This must be the captain she’d mentioned. The one who’d given her passage off her home world, but had made her an indentured servant on his mercenary ship to pay off her debt.
“I believe you owe me something,” he said moments before he gaze fell to her armor, and his eyes widened.
Vrax stepped between them, forcing MaVon’s arm down. He was taller and broader than the Zevrian, but he did not wear the body armor of the captain. He also did not have a blaster like the one he saw hooked to the captain’s belt. That did not matter, he told himself. He could take the warrior down before he touched a finger to the blaster.
“That female belongs to me,” MaVon said, his eyes on Vrax.
Vrax growled. “That is where you are mistaken. She is my mate and belongs to no other male but me.”
Tori’s irritation was almost palpable and he could nearly hear her furious words in his head, protesting about being claimed by both men like livestock.
As they faced off, neither flinching, a spinning column of air touched down behind them. Dust whirled around and a wooden door flew off its hinges, striking MaVon squarely in the back.
He and Tori jumped back as the Zevrian hit the ground, knocked out cold by the flying object.
“Come on,” Zarda yelled, his voice high and thin over the roar of the wind.
Vrax tugged Tori behind him, casting a final glance back at the inert body of her former commander. He hoped the warrior was dead. If not, he was one more person on Kurril who would be looking for them, especially if he discovered that his first officer and a number of his crew had been murdered steps away from where he’d seen them.
They ran through the city as debris whipped around them, Vrax keeping her tucked behind his body. The dirt stung his face as it was lifted off the ground, and he was briefly reminded of the sand storms on his planet.
Zarda took them around the center of the city and through back alleys, which was fine by him. All the most popular cantinas, pleasure houses, and fighting rings were in the center, and he’d had his fill of all of them. The farther away, the better.
By the time they’d reached the outskirts of the city where the streets were wider and the buildings further apart, they were all breathing hard. Few people were on the streets there, and Vrax felt some of the tension leave his body. The chances of Mourad’s crew or anyone from Tori’s old crew being outside the city were slim, although it also struck him that they were far away from the ship yard and the only way off Kurril. He decided to worry about that later.
Zarda pointed to a cluster of metal pods huddled past the last city building. They didn’t look like permanent structures, more like things that could be moved, which was confirmed as they got closer by the wheels underneath each capsule-shaped pod. A large battered space ship was parked off to the side, its hull rusted and
covered in dents. Even though it looked ancient, it also appeared large enough to carry all the mobile pods.
“What is this?” Tori asked.
“Travelers,” Zarda said, a smile cracking his face.
“Like space gypsies?” Tori asked.
“What are space gypsies?” Vrax looked from Zarda to Tori, noticing how different their reactions were to the phrase.
“Aliens who are not accepted by their species for one reason or another,” Zarda said. “They band together to form a safe traveling unit.”
“They’re criminals,” Tori said.
Zarda frowned at her. “Misinformation meant to scare people and create distrust. They do not commit crimes. They make money by performing, or providing services not usually available.”
“Freak shows and sorcerers,” Tori muttered, her eyebrows pressed together as she eyed the metal caravan.
Zarda shrugged. “Many creatures with special abilities are not accepted. They don’t ask for anything but to be left alone and allowed to make a living.”
“How do you know them?” Vrax asked.
“I am one of them. I was taken by a slaver when I wandered into the wrong part of Kurril.” Zarda resumed walking toward the community, his head high.
“You made friends with a gypsy?” Tori asked him.
“I made friends with an honest creature.” Vrax followed Zarda, and pulled Tori along with him. “It does not matter to me if he is a traveler or a gypsy. I thought your own crew was made up of different types of females.”
She muttered something he couldn’t hear, and he knew he’d made a point she didn’t like.
A few aliens emerged from the pods, beaming when they saw Zarda, their expressions faltering when they spotted him and Tori. Zarda embraced them, talking quickly and gesturing behind him.
Vrax nudged her as he smiled. “Try not to look like you want to eat them.”
She shot him a look, but attempted to smile. He almost laughed. Her forced grimace was almost more terrifying than her scowl.
A creature that reminded Vrax of a sand mantis stepped forward to greet them, his jaw shifting and his thin, jointed arms rubbing together. “Welcome. Zarda says you are the reason he has returned to us and is not dead in a fighting ring.”
Vrax inclined his head slightly. “We helped each other.”
“Then you are welcome here.” The creature’s voice sounded like a series of clicks, and Vrax was once again glad for the translator device hooked behind his ear that Tori’s crew had given him.
Zarda rejoined them, waving for them to follow. “I have explained that you need to lay low and rest where no one would think to look for you.” He led them to a unit with metal steps leading up to a rounded door. “That is here.”
Vrax thanked him again and walked up the steps, opening the door and holding it so Tori could enter before him.
“If you say ‘ladies first’ I’ll rip your nuts off,” she told him as she walked inside.
He exchanged a look with Zarda, who only grinned at him. “I wish you all the luck in the universe, friend.”
Vrax sighed. “I suspect I will need it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Let’s get a few things straight,” Tori said, spinning around as she heard the door close.
She’d walked almost as far as she could go inside the compact space, and her legs were hitting up against the large bed that took up the entire back half. Her hair brushed the top of the ceiling, and she saw that Vrax couldn’t stand up straight.
Despite how cramped it was inside, with only a bed, a pair of low fabric poofs she assumed were used for seating, and a small, half-moon table, the place was neat, and it smelled clean. The furniture—what little there was—looked well-used, but the air held a flowery scent. The surface of the wooden table was polished to a sheen, and a brightly colored blanket was smoothed flat across the bed.
Vrax took a step toward her, closing the gap between them and making her wish she could back up. “You have objections to how I saved you?”
She curled her hands into fists. The man was infuriating. “I’m grateful that you saved me. I have objections to the idea that you have some sort of claim on me; that you own me.”
“This again?” he reached for her armor, fiddling with the straps on one side.
She swatted at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He stopped, but did not move his hands. “Do you plan to sleep in this?”
She glanced down at the metal plating. “Well, no, but I don’t need you to take it off me.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You think you can get these off? They require two hands and your hand cannot reach under your own armpit.”
She hated that he was right and lifted her arms. “Fine, but don’t think this changes anything.”
“I would never think that,” he said, his hands working slowly, but expertly, to unhook the straps.
She suspected he was being a smartass, but she also didn’t know if the barbarians did sarcasm.
He worked quickly, considering his raw palms, and she was grateful for that. She didn’t want to be in D’Vos’s armor for a moment longer than she had to. Although he barely brushed her skin, the contact felt electric. She clenched her jaw to keep from shuddering, but he didn’t make a comment.
After he lifted the armor over her head and dropped it to the floor, he sucked in a breath. “What did he do to you?”
Tori looked down at the bruises blooming across her breasts and the scrapes around her nipples. That explained why her chest was so sore. She crossed her arms over herself, her cheeks warming. “I told you, I’m fine.”
The hands that had been reaching for her dropped. “I shouldn’t have killed him so quickly.”
“You should have let me kill him,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion she didn’t know had been bubbling under the surface.
“I am sorry.” Vrax touched her hair gently.
His soft tone and careful touch were almost worse than the bruises. Her hand snapped up, and she met his eyes. “I’m not fragile, you know. I’m a warrior who’s been through worse than this.”
He shook his head. “No battle is as bad as what he did.”
Her throat constricted. Vrax was right. She’d take a thousand bloody battles over feeling powerless while that asshole had violated her. She tried to jerk away, but Vrax pulled her into his arms.
“You are safe now. No one will ever make you feel like that again. I won’t let them.”
She let her body relax against his, although she shook her head. “You can’t promise that.”
His hands caressed her bare back, but his voice was deadly. “I can vow to you that I will die before I let anyone lay a hand on you again.”
She’d never been able to trust a man, but as much as she didn’t want to, she trusted this one. She knew he was telling her the truth. She could sense the absolute honesty of his words. “I know you would, but I don’t want anyone to die for me.”
He made a clicking noise in the back of his throat. “That is not something you get to choose. You are my mate. A Dothvek only gets one mate they truly bond with, mind and soul. You are mine. You were always meant to be mine, and it is my duty to defend you.”
Wow. Zevrians didn’t have anything close to that when it came to partners. It was more like everyone for themselves, and sex only for release. For a moment, she wondered who the barbarians really were. Not these gorgeous, empathic aliens who would die for honor, that was for damn sure.
She swallowed, but her throat was thick. “Then it goes both ways. If you die for me, then I die for you.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “That is not usually how it works.”
“That’s how it works with me, pretty boy.”
He laughed. “Then that’s how it will be, my wild mate.”
Rubbing her hand over his chest, a pulse of heat throbbed between her legs. As much as she hated the idea of anyone possessing her, there was
something sexy about being called his mate. She dug her fingernails into his firm flesh, and felt him stiffen.
Bracing herself for him to bend her over the table or tear her pants down, she was startled when he scooped her up in his arms and lay her carefully across the bed.
“What the fuck was that? I thought I told you I don’t break.”
“Just because you are tough, does not mean I always want to take you rough,” he said, lowering himself so that his arms were on either side of her. His voice was a dark purr, the sound sending shivers skating down her spine, and his hair cascaded over his shoulders.
Her stomach did a flip as he locked eyes with her, his gaze hot. Her mouth went dry. She wasn’t used to men who didn’t like it hard and fast. She didn’t know how to respond to tenderness, and it made panic flutter in her chest.
She hooked her legs around his waist. “I thought you wanted to fuck me.”
“I do,” he said, not rising to the bait, but instead lowering his lips to hers and giving her a slow, sensuous kiss that left her breathless. “But not yet.”
He kissed her again, his tongue teasing her with slow circles. She clawed at his chest to spur him on, but he took her hands and pinned them over her head.
“I thought I made it clear that I want to take my time,” he said when she attempted to pull her arms from his grasp. “I did not get to explore you well enough in the dark or on the dirty floor.”
He moved his mouth down her neck, nipping her skin and making heat roll through her body. His tongue traced a line down the hollow of her throat, and his face hovered over her chest.
Despite her bruises, she wanted him to touch her. She needed his touch to remove the invisible marks D’Vos had left on her and replace the feel of those cruel, callused hands with the warmth of his mouth.
He growled low, obviously sensing what she wanted. He released her hands, and she buried them in his hair.
“You are sure?” he asked, the barely controlled restraint evident in his voice.
“Very,” she said, arching her back so that one nipple grazed his lips.
