“A gown. It was quite difficult to obtain, but it’s rather lovely, wouldn’t you agree?”
She dropped it back onto the bed as though it bit her. “A bit presumptuous, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m a realist and a pragmatist.”
She stared at the gown.
Great, just great.
Not only was she cursed to be in close proximity with Roden, she’d have to dress like a Draeken harlot. “I’d rather go naked than wear this.”
Roden smirked. “That’s your choice, but that may prove distracting.”
Nalea glared.
“We must be convincing. A Draeken lady would be expected to look the part.”
Sephian women were adored for their strength. They’d no need to wear the fragile, colorful pieces of fabric Draeken women flaunted to attract lovers. If she wore this gown, most of her
soullare
would be on display for all to see. “How am I to hide any weapons under this thing?” she asked, holding the flimsy material before her and seeing
too
much light through it.
Roden barked out a laugh. “And give you a chance to cut my throat like you did to old Lord Homs? I don’t think so.” He shook his head as he said the last part.
Her breath froze in her chest. “What are you talking about?” she asked, the question barely a whisper. That had happened on Blood Night. As far as she knew, there’d been too much chaos for any records to be tracked that night. She’d never told anyone about that night. Not even Apolo.
Roden rubbed his temples. “Will you always doubt my resourcefulness?” He then gave her a hard look. “Homs was a good man, you know. He didn’t deserve that.”
Her lower lip quivered, and she bit it. “It’s not what you think,” she said in a rush when he tilted his head and his lips tightened.
“So you didn’t slice Homs’s throat while he slept peacefully in his bed?” He rubbed his neck. “Hm, somehow, I think you could do
exactly
that sort of thing to an unarmed man.”
“You’re right. I killed him,” she admitted quietly. “I went into his room, picked his sharpest dagger, and slit his throat while he slept. He died while still deep in his dreams.” She stepped forward, placing her palms on his desk. “But did your source also tell you that a Sephian death force had broken through his gates and were about to execute him using blood whips, just as they’d done to the three other Lords in the area?”
Roden looked a touch surprised but said nothing.
She leaned forward. “Do you realize how much he would have suffered? Blood whips tipped with barbs coated with anticoagulant and poison, he could’ve burned and bled for days, even at his age, before the poison would’ve reached his heart.”
“I assure you, I am quite aware of the pain caused by blood whips … as well as other Sephian weapons,” Roden coolly replied. “Your people have developed quite the harsh arsenal.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “
My
people have done what they needed to survive. No thanks to
your
people. But that’s beside the point. What I did for Homs was an act of mercy.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He returned to typing on that infuriating computer.
She slammed her fists down on his desk, forcing him to look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes narrowed upon her. “I think you have a talent for survival, and to hells with anyone who gets in your way. Especially if that person happens to be a Draeken. You didn’t come to this planet to save humans. You came here to kill Draeken simply because they were born with wings. You don’t care if they’ve no blood on their hands. You hate that you’re half Draeken, and you bundle up all that hate and shoot it at all of my people as punishment for Hillas’s sins. Face it, my dear, you’re a bigger hypocrite than me.”
Nalea snapped back. “Homs was the closest thing I ever had to a father. He treated me and my mother as though we were family. So you can take your godsdamn righteousness and stuff it.”
One side of his lips curled upward, but there was no hint of humor. “Ah, so cold Nalea can care for a Draeken. You better get damn good at showing that side if you want to convince Hillas.”
“You’re not Homs,” she spat out.
“No, I wasn’t incompetent enough to let you slice my throat.”
Her jaw clenched as he stood and side-stepped around her.
“I was twelve.”
Roden glanced back. “What?”
“I was twelve years old. I would’ve done things differently now, but at that time, I wasn’t strong enough to stand up against the death force. I would’ve been whipped right alongside Homs if I’d stood up for him.” She winced at the memory.
Such a straight cut, yet so much blood poured out. The blue sheets, the dark crimson.
She lifted her chin. “I did what I thought was best for Homs. I was trying to protect him.”
“Remorse does nothing to untangle that knot in the heart, though, does it.”
Nalea turned around to face Roden. It was the first time she truly saw a softness to his features, his silver eyes tinted with compassion. She frowned. “No, it doesn’t.”
He stepped closer then. “We all have regrets. It’s what we learn from them that maps our future.” He lifted his hand as though to comfort her but then jerked away. He grabbed a pillow and blanket and walked past her.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “I thought we have to go see Hillas.”
“Not until sunset,” he replied curtly. “It’s late. I need some sleep. The bed is yours as long as you don’t talk.”
She stared at him as he sat down, kicked off his boots, fluffed the pillow and gave her his back. His wings formed a wall, making it quite clear that the conversation was over. He pulled the blanket over him, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and other than the blades I have on me, the others are safely locked away. You’ll find I’m not as easly to kill as Homs.”
With that he rolled back over, and silence filled the room.
Nalea lay down on the bed and watched him for several moments. Deep breaths were his only response. She rolled onto her back. Every night since Blood Night, she’d thought of Homs and what she’d done to the only other person she’d loved as much as she’d loved her mother. But, for the first time since that night, she no longer felt absolutely, abysmally alone.
She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped free. The truth sat like a stone in her stomach.
The man who lay on the floor several feet away had done horrendous things.
So had she.
He would do anything to accomplish his goals.
So would she.
She could no longer deny why the
tahren
bond sought Lord Roden Zyll as her soul mate. Everything she accused him of, she was guilty herself.
They were both monsters.
They were kindred spirits.
“At least you’ve finally decided to wear a shirt,” Nalea muttered under her breath in Roden’s direction as she tugged at the delicate gown once again.
Roden didn’t understand why Sephian females chose to cover their bodies with drab clothing. Their golden skin, with hues of the
soullare
, was meant to be on display. He could’ve mistaken his passenger for a goddess, if he believed in that sort of thing. After giving her a full once-over, he flashed her a grin over from where he piloted the small ship. “You prefer me without?”
“Hells, no,” she said far too quickly to be convincing. “And keep your eyes on the flight path. You’re going to get us killed before Hillas gets his chance.” She pointed ahead. “Watch out!”
He reluctantly turned back to piloting the ship, pulling up just in time to avoid an exceedingly tall tree. Roden had to fly the ship at full power, making the speed too fast for a human eye to make out enough detail to know that these ships weren’t native to their planet. If he slowed down, humans would find it odd to see ships with the smallest of wings, used only for steering. Bullets came to mind, the small piece of metal shot from human weapons. While bullets were far less effective than the blasters Roden used, bullets did have their value. His ship, shaped like one and moving like one, felt like a bullet right now. And he’d have to be careful so as not to end up shot into the side of a mountain.
Draeken ships flew much better in the higher altitudes, where the oxygen levels were lower and fewer obstacles posed risk. Unfortunately, the humans had developed a rather robust radar system, and Roden was forced to fly low — too low for his preference — to avoid detection. A lesser pilot would have crashed by now.
Flying fast and low required careful focus, a task made more difficult with Nalea’s movements out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t used to such pleasant distractions while flying. Too bad he couldn’t set the ship to auto-pilot, so he could watch his passenger wriggle in her garb. She’d no idea that every sensual movement of hers only served to make him harder.
Just as he expected, the gown fit her beautifully. He’d chosen classic silver for the color. A perfect contrast to her golden skin. Her gown matched the threads woven through the fabric of his loose fitting shirt and kilt, not to mention his eyes and hair. A black silken scarf, with his royal lineage emblazoned in silver. He wanted to make it quite clear Nalea belonged to him and no other.
As possessions went, she was glorious. The deep neckline plunged nearly to her waist, revealing her small but perfect cleavage. The thin straps hid nothing and begged to be ripped. And the length of the nearly transparent gown … it covered her thighs. Barely. The narrow seat back and thick seat belts didn’t help her but were a boon to him. The straps pulled at the fabric, revealing almost everything — and not nearly enough for his taste.
His only concession was to ensure her shoes were somewhat practical. They were heels, not too high that she couldn’t run if they met danger, and most definitely not high enough to use the heel as a deadly stiletto.
She spent the next several minutes of the flight fidgeting and tugging at her gown.
When he hit the point of seriously considering landing so he could seduce her properly, he grabbed her hand. “Stop that.”
“Why?”
“It’s distracting.”
She yanked away. “You really think this is funny, don’t you? You picked the skimpiest dress ever.”
He shrugged, his wings rustling behind him.
Yes, I did.
The seat back was narrow, designed specifically for the Draeken anatomy, giving him plenty of room to flex his wings. He stretched his right just far enough to brush against Nalea’s bare arm. She shivered, and then scowled, pushing his wing away. He reluctantly tucked his wing back in, although he much preferred the tactile contact.
He sighed. “If you’re wearing something that is clearly for fashion and cannot hide the smallest blade, then Hillas will have nothing to fear from you.”
If only the fool knew how dangerous you were without weapons.
He cast a sideways glance her way. “We’ll be there soon. You ready to play your part?”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s see. Hang on your every word. When Hillas tries to kill me — being his daughter and all — you come to the rescue and are forced to kill him.”
He nodded. “Good.”
“Or, more likely, I’m pegged as the assassin. And you’re forced to take down the assassin. All the Draeken people will love you for the hero you pretend to be and sympathize with you for having to kill your so-called lover.”
He jerked. “Why do you say that?”
“Don’t play me for a fool, Roden. This isn’t my first dog and peony show.”
“It’s
pony
show. You know, I find it ironic that Hillas also struggles with the English language.”
She punched him in the arm, and the ship swerved. As he regained control, she scowled, and then spoke. “Listen, I get the end game. I’m not playing along to help your career. I’m doing this because Hillas is an evil bastard who needs to pay.”
“You’re incredibly sexy when you’re angry.”
“And you’re incredibly great at changing the subject any time it gets uncomfortable for you.”
Roden sighed. “I gave you my word you’d be free, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” she replied, albeit begrudgingly.
He reached out and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “If you don’t survive, that means this whole thing went to hells, and I won’t be left breathing, either. Personally, I’d like to stay alive for a few more years. If we can’t count on each other, we’re dead already. We have to trust each other if we’re going to succeed.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “I’ll trust you as much as you trust me, how about that?”
He smiled. “I accept.” As long as she played along, it didn’t matter what she believed. He’d already admitted to himself the fact that he intended to break his word. He would never let Nalea go. While the end game was important, it went beyond that. If he had to keep her in a cell until she realized that they were better together, then so be it.
They were further north now, somewhere over Canada, with only a couple hundred more miles of forest to cover before they reached Hillas’s Earthside base. A light bleeped on the panel. His fingers flew across the screen as he punched in the entry access codes. “We’re here. Are you ready to do this, lover?”
She blew him a kiss, the action looking more hostile than friendly.
After they docked, he typed in a special code to secure and hold the ship on standby, should they need to make a quick escape. And then he typed in one more code, one that no one knew. He’d made some special modifications of his own to his ship. Even Hillas couldn’t bypass this code, without destroying the ship in the process.
Nalea stood and stepped toward the door. He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her against him. He pressed his lips against hers. Her only response was to push against him. He stepped back and held out a hand. “Shall we?”
Her glare would’ve shredded a lesser man’s confidence. Fortunately, Roden was no insignificant man. He held up a pair of silver-rimmed dark glasses and waited until she snatched them from his hand, slid them on, and then — finally — slipped her hand into his before he entered the code to open the door. Her grip was firm, as though she desired to break his fingers. He ran a thumb over her skin, and her lips formed a hard line.