Ferexian Raider

by Kym Dillon

  “Hi,” she said brightly. “Clan Mordra?”

  “Yes. I'm here to...”

  “That won't be necessary. Change of plans.” she said sweetly. “Right now, all I need is the use of your cloak.”

  Bemused, he handed it to her, and she ducked back inside, letting the door behind her lock again. The cloak was large enough to cover her, and when she threw the hood over her head, she was completely concealed. Heart beating in her chest, she made her way to the main area.

  The last thing she wanted was for Zan to be distracted by seeing her in the crowd. This was too important. Yes, it was. Far too important for her to miss this moment, this most important moment of the most important person in her life.

  This time, the choice to stay or go was hers, and she was making it.

  10

  When Stella reached the main center of the council of the clans, she was shocked to see that it looked like an arena where gladiators fought. The image made her heart sink, and that was before she saw two figures march out to the center of it. The stands were full of people, and for the first time, the women outnumbered the men. Some of them were dressed as she had been, others wore tunics that were far simpler. She remembered what Zan had said about harems, and she tucked herself into one corner of the seats, shivering a little.

  Zan was easy to spot looking strong and powerful in his armor, but the other man in the arena wore armor that was as black as coal, and he looked larger than her upra. They both carried sabers, and she had to stop herself from hiding her face. It wasn’t easy, but she made herself watch.

  “To the field combat comes the upra of Clan En, Lasan, accused by the dispossessed upra of Clan Mordra, Zan,” cried a man from a tall podium at one end of the arena. “They come to settle the matter of the destruction of Clan Mordra by right of combat, to the first blood!”

  To the first blood, that's not so bad, Stella told herself, but then she gasped as the two men lunged for each other.

  They were so quick and so strong that that first blow could very well be fatal. She resisted the urge to cover her eyes as her lover traded blows with a man who was taller and heavier than he.

  She watched as Zan forced Lasan to one knee as the other man growled loudly, rolling away…

  She watched as she was sure that Lasan’s swing would decapitate Zan entirely, but Zan dodged away, sure-footed as a cat…

  Oh Zan, please, please be careful... I love you, I can't bear to watch your death...

  She hadn’t said it aloud, but she’d thought it. It occurred to her almost absently that that was true. She loved him. He had taken her away from everything she had ever known, and he had shown her a world that was far beyond anything she had ever dreamed. He touched her, he made her smile, he was a man of honor, and yes, she loved him with all her heart.

  She gasped as Lasan pushed Zan back with a flurry of blows, so powerful and fierce that Zan nearly tripped and fell onto his back. Then, with a roar that echoed through the stadium, Zan rose up under the blows, kicking the man hard in the belly. Zan's sword flashed down, and with a sprinkle of blood, there was a gash laid open on Lasan's face.

  “First blood to the upra of Clan Mordra! The matter has been decided!” shouted the announcer, and the crowd burst into applause.

  Zan looked stunned as he gazed around at the crowds, as though he was shocked that so many would cheer his victory. Stella's heart felt full to bursting. This, she knew, was the beginning that Zan didn't think he would ever have, that beginning that he deserved. And she was going to be there beside him because it was a beginning for her as well.

  Lasan staggered to his feet however, the blood on his face livid against his pale skin. He roared like a wounded rhino and the crowd fell silent in surprise.

  “It was no legitimate match!” he shouted. “Only an upra may challenge another upra, and there is no upra that stands before you now.”

  Zan turned back to the man, murder in his eyes, but someone else took up the cry.

  “He is a raider!”

  “He does not know our ways, he has been exiled!”

  Fierce debate broke out on all sides, and Stella's heart was in her mouth. She could hear the voices all around, but all she could see was the wildness in Zan's eyes. She could hear his thoughts almost as if he had been standing next to her and spoken them aloud.

  Is this how it ends? Everything I've done, everything I've fought for?

  Help came from an unexpected quarter. Suddenly, the man that they had met before, the upra of Clan Tahl stood.

  “He has earned his place by right of combat,” the man thundered. “No one can say otherwise!”

  It turned the tide. One man speaking for Zan became two, then four, then ten. Lasan would not be denied, however, and he turned to Asla.

  “What upra stands without an upra-sa? Where is his mate, the one who will give a true heart to his home? He has no one here, he won entry through a con, no more than a slight of hand.”

  Stella didn't think twice. She stood up to her full height, casting off the cloak.

  “She is here!” she shouted. “I am the upra-sa of Clan Mordra, and you will not take this victory away from my upra!”

  Her voice echoed throughout the arena, and then the cheers were deafening. Lasan had no choice but to conceded, and limped away before he was mobbed by an angry crowd. Stella was led down to the sand where Zan awaited her with open arms. She was waiting for the questions, but he only looked at her wide-eyed in wonderment.

  “You stayed,” he said, touching her as if he couldn't quite believe she was real. In the middle of that thundering arena, they might have been the only two people in all the world.

  “I did,” she said simply. “I was given the choice and I made it. I love you.”

  Zan caught his breath, and then he did drag her into his arms, coming just short of crushing her in his grip.

  “Ancestors, but I love you,” he whispered. “My love, my life, the heart of my home, my upra-sa...”

  She could feel their future in his arms, strange and wild and so far from any life that she had ever pictured for herself. Ferex was her home now, and this Ferexian king was her man.

  She had no longer had any qualms about giving up her planet of birth for her a new home, and new future, one she would make with the raider who had stolen her heart.

  THE END

  CLAWED (Sneak Peek)

  Were-Dragon Warriors Book 1

  1

  Jessica Delaney took a deep breath, and did her best not to lose her cool with the grinning, portly, older man in front of her dressed in safari khakis. He topped her by a full foot, and looked utterly unimpressed by her urgency, her World Health Organization credentials and authorizations, or anything else she brought to bear.

  "Look, love," he said. "I can't help it, can I, that some earl or duke or something from bloody Hungary decided that he wanted to go big game hunting and offered me treble what you did?"

  "We had an agreement," Jessica said heatedly. "Do you not understand that this is a matter of life and death? People are dying! An entire native tribe just wiped off the face of the earth. I cannot express the urgency with which I must get these supplies…"

  "Into the hot zone, yes, yes, you've told me that a time or two, as I recall."

  Jessica looked at him impatiently, her blue eyes blazing fire.

  "Might I remind you that my organization chose you because you claimed to be a professional. Now, I need you to honor our signed agreement get me where I need to go!"

  For a moment, it looked as though the pilot was going to give in, but then he just grinned a little wider, seemingly amused by Jessica’s tenacity.

  "Your agency chose me because there are precious few pilots foolhardy enough to attempt to fly the route between Kilimanjaro and Lake Victoria," he said. "Cool your heels. Head into Dar es Salaam. It'll take a little longer, and you'll pay a little more but it'll get you to whatever little backwater you've been babbling about."

  She
gritted her teeth, glaring at him.

  "Too much time. Too much money," she said. "I have lives to save. The WHO needs this information. The Tanzanian government needs this information. You would be doing an enormous service..."

  The pilot laughed outright at that.

  "Love, when the WHO or the Tanzanian government does a damn thing for me, that’ll be the day when I bend over and take it up the arse for one of them. Until then, I suggest you and your little medical satchel high-tail it down to Dar es Salaam and..."

  He trailed off, which was a good thing because Jessica was distressingly close to pummeling him with her little medical satchel. She followed his gaze off to the right.

  The small, dusty, private airfield off the coast of Tanzania was desolate to say the least, but it was not deserted. There was another white man, tall and broad shouldered, standing in the cool shadows of the hanger. He was under the wings of a small plane that most certainly looked as though it had seen better days. As Jessica watched, she saw the tall man hand a wad of cash off to a black man, who walked away shaking his head.

  What the hell am I seeing? she wondered, and then the pilot next to her grinned.

  "All right, you want a ride, love? You for-sure want to get out to the middle of nowhere in Tanzania?"

  Jessica scowled at him.

  "Stop calling me love," she said automatically. "And, yes, that’s the gist of what I’ve been saying. So glad we’re finally on the same page." She had a bad habit of being completely unable to curb her sarcasm at times.

  "All right, then. Let's see what I can scare up. Just remember, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart, right?"

  She sighed and nodded, watching with some apprehension as he sauntered over to talk to the man who had apparently just bought himself a plane.

  There was something about the tall, broad shouldered man in the shadows that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As he turned, she could almost see what appeared to be a strikingly handsome face, his tanned skin dark against the light tactical gear he was wearing. Jessica was reminded of her training. She’d been warned about the European soldiers of fortune that haunted eastern Africa looking for bodyguard work or less legal, more lucrative opportunities. These men were to be considered highly dangerous, especially to a short, slight woman wandering the earth doing good work for global health organizations, but there was something else about this man that made it impossible for her to tear her eyes away.

  She saw her portly pilot pull the taller man into conversation, and at first, it didn’t seem as if the conversation was going in a favorable direction. The man was resistant to whatever her pilot was proposing, putting up his hands in an attempt to stop the man, but then something the older pilot said made the taller man look up at her.

  Jessica shivered. Even from where she stood, she could see that the man's eyes were a bold pale green, glittering like glass. If she were back in New York, she would have guessed expensive tinted contact lenses, but who the hell would wear something like that out here?

  She gripped her knapsack and medical bag tighter. So many things had gone wrong since she took off from New York. Please, please, couldn't something finally go right?

  "Whatever you want, the answer is no, Bernie," Marcus said shortly. "I don't have time for your bullshit scams right now."

  "Hey now, is that any way to speak to an old comrade in arms?" grinned Bennie. "Don't you forget, I was there when all that malarkey went down in Johannesburg..."

  "You ran away from Johannesburg like someone set your ass on fire," Marcus retorted. "Don't make me laugh."

  It was probably better that Bernie had been a coward, though, Marcus had to admit. There had been a few humans mixed up in that cluster fuck, and when the dust had settled and everything was sorted out, the Shifter Council had stepped in and dealt out a generous round of memory cleansing and recriminations for all. Bernie had never gotten close enough to the truth, and for that he was lucky.

  "Yeah, well, have I got an offer for you today, mate..."

  Marcus shook his head with a short laugh.

  "Don't need you to sell me a girlfriend, either," he said, and Bernie made an offended sound.

  "Hey, this one's all right. She's a doctor or something, a do-gooder, on her way to save lives out in the bush. You'd be getting yourself some good karma along with picking up a paycheck. Chance like that doesn’t come along every day."

  Marcus started to turn the man down again, but then, almost as if his head was on a marionette’s string that had been pulled up, he glanced over at the girl that Bernie was referring to.

  Marcus felt as if he’d taken a blow to the chest, knocking the breath right out of him. He had to consciously make his lungs force air into themselves. After he realized he was staring, he looked away.

  Bernie was still going on and on about how she was going to save indigenous tribes from some strange affliction or deadly disease or something, but Marcus wasn't really listening.

  Some of his kind did their best to hide their primitive instincts, to live amongst humans with their senses dulled down as much as they could be. Marcus, on the other hand, had sharply honed his instinctual senses, which were much needed in his profession. Right now, his instincts were firing off like mad.

  The girl wasn't much to look at. She was short and slender, not the type to catch the attention of a man who liked his women tall and lush, but once he saw her, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Even as he tried to focus on what Bernie was saying, he found his glance drifting back to her.

  She looked vulnerable but proud standing straight as an arrow in the middle of the field, her black hair cut short as if hacked with a machete. She was dressed for the country at least, wearing a long green linen skirt and a pale green shirt that covered her arms. She had the look of a lost traveler, but then he glimpsed her eyes. They were a blue so bright that for a moment Marcus wondered if he had run into a woman of his own kind somehow, all unawares. Then, reason and his senses reasserted themselves. This woman was human, but in those eyes, he had glimpsed something determined almost to the point of madness. She was going to get what she wanted, and damn whoever stood in her way.

  "I wouldn't try it, mate," Bernie advised. "Someone invited her for a drink just a bit ago, and she nearly chewed his head off and spit it down his neck hole. Not really the huggy type, you know?"

  "I think I do know." It was in that moment Marcus came to a decision. There were a few legitimate reasons that could back up his decision-making, but in the back of his mind, he knew that those reasons were just retroactive excuse-making. The truth was, something inside him wanted to be close to the small, dark-haired woman. Something that refused to be denied.

  "All right, we'll see how this goes."

  2

  Jessica felt a wave of apprehension snake up her spine when the older pilot headed back to his own plane and the tall stranger made long, purposeful strides her way. As annoyingly slimy as the older pilot was, she almost wanted to turn and catch him. At least he was a known quantity. She stood up straight and met the stranger squarely in the eyes. It meant that she had to tilt her head back to do it.

  God, he was tall. And broad. He had to be at least four or five inches over six feet, and the military gear, banned in this country if she wasn't mistaken, made him appear even larger. He had thick, sandy hair brushed back from a face that was surprisingly stern and angular, but his lips were full and curved in an appraising smile as he approached her. Something about just looking at this man sent sensuous tingles through her. He was so masculine, so raw male, so animalistic. She quickly repressed the thoughts, because being distracted in an environment such as this one sure as hell wasn't safe.

  "So, what's your story?" he asked, gazing down at her from his superior height. "A woman alone on an airstrip in Tanzania, asking to be flown into the butthole of the African continent, what gives?"

  "My name is Jessica, and I’d like to know to whom I’m talking before I delve
into my life story," she said stubbornly. Jessica had learned not to give a single inch while she was traveling, especially when it came to men, but her curtness didn't seem to deter this one at all.

  He just grunted and raked his eyes up and down her build, as though trying to evaluate her out. "Marcus Van der Berg," he said after a few moments. "Does that satisfy you?"

  This time, she could detect a slight hint of an accent in his voice. There was something bright and sharp to it that made her think of the patois spoken in South Africa, but that wasn't all, was it? There was something else she couldn’t put her finger on.

  "I'll be honest, not really," she said. "Can’t you do any better?"

  He paused for a moment, and she could see him sorting through any number of things. Jessica knew that whatever came out of his mouth next was going to be a lie, and at this point, that bothered her less than it probably should have.

  "Let's say that my specialty is anthropology," he said with a shrug.

  “You’re an anthropologist?” It wasn’t a very good lie, she thought. Not for a man alone dressed in military gear flying into a volatile region in the butthole, as he put it, of the continent.

  He hesitated. "I'm not in the field officially, but I've worked with plenty who are."

  "I see," she said slowly. "Just tell me one thing."

  He looked more amused than she would have preferred, but he nodded. It struck her that it had been a while since she had seen a man this attractive, and she had spent time in New York during Fashion Week. God, how long had it been since she’d had a boyfriend?

  "All right."

  "Just please promise me that neither the Tanzanian police nor Interpol are after you."

  That surprised a laugh out of him at least, but he shook his head.

  "No, they're not after me at all. I promise."

  She noticed that there was a slight emphasis on the word they’re, but at this point, she was a beggar who couldn't be choosey.