Warrior Enflamed: Alien Warrior Science Fiction Romance (Archans of Ailaut Book 2)

by S. A. Ravel

  By two in the morning, Perrine was dead on her feet. She pushed the flirting with the angel man aside, shedding her suspicions that he’d seen through her ‘Madam’ exterior and was amused. It didn’t matter; she had work to do and was no closer to a plan that wouldn’t shred what was left of her father’s public face. There was no point in trying to force her mind to work in that state. A good night’s sleep might make it easier to think, and for once, she had the luxury of a day or two to plan her next move. She grabbed her things, slid on her heels and went downstairs to lock up for the evening. But as she set her finger on the biometric lock outside the door of the club, arms grabbed her from behind.

  Oh, diable.

  Perrine kicked off her heels again and pressed her feet against the wall. The extra leverage put her attacker off balance, but his friend caught them both and pulled them upright before they tumbled to the ground. He grabbed her jaw and held her head steady in his steely fingers.

  “Relax, Lady Parodie,” he said as he slid a four-inch black plasticize cylinder out of his sleeve. He pressed the small button on the side, activating a blade of burning gas from the hilt. “We’re just gonna take a little ride. No call for trouble.”

  “Business hours are over, sugah,” Perrine said. “Stop by tomorrow and we can talk.”

  He smiled. “Sorry, Mr. Madson has urgent business with you.”

  Before Perrine could respond, or even contemplate exactly how screwed she was, the thugs shoved her into the back of a transport.

  They flew her across the island in silence. In the back of a cheap hydro-powered van with nothing to look at, Perrine had nothing to do but run the variables. She was sure her father told her they had five days. He wouldn’t mix up their due date. Lans was calling the payment in early. That could only mean one of two things: either he already knew they didn’t have the money, or he was in as dire financial straits as everybody else.

  When the van finally came to a stop, one thug grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out. It wasn’t until her feet touched the cool, smooth surface of the warehouse floor that Perrine realized she was still barefoot. On the far side of the warehouse, beneath a glaring overhead light, a tall, slender human man leaned back against his desk. His skin was pale, a rarity for residents of Nevhana with its perfect weather and blazing sun. His dark, lank hair hung on either side of his cheeks like a ruffled curtain.

  Unlike most of the mid-level bosses in the city, Lans Madson kept to himself. It wasn’t until he came to an event at Parodie that Perrine found out why. Madson didn’t look like a man to be feared. The only muscle he had came in the form of his bodyguards and he couldn’t hold a conversation about anything other than business for more than a few minutes. He didn’t have the personality to command power on his own, and he preferred people didn’t know that. If he didn't have money and angel connections, he’d just be another loser in paradise. But he did have them, so he was one of the most powerful men on the mainland and on Ishaiq’s island.

  Perrine held his gaze as the thugs walked her over to him. His face was a blank canvas, devoid of any emotion. Every muscle in his body was relaxed, but that didn’t mean anything.

  She sized him up, realized she would have to speak first. “Well, you called. I came.”

  Lans stared at her for a few seconds more. She raised a brow. His voice was higher than Perrine expected, almost nasal. “Sorry for the escort, Perrine. What Freddy and Teddy lack in finesse, they make up for in strength.”

  Perrine glanced over her shoulder at one of the men. “Let me guess, you’re Teddy.”

  “Actually, the name’s Michael,” he said as he let go of her arm. “He pretty much calls us whatever he wants.”

  Okay, cold and crazy. That was a bad combination. Perrine increased the wattage of her smile. Lans was a man, like any other, and she suspected he only saw pussy if he paid for it. A little feminine charm might go a long way with him.

  First things first, she needed to figure out how bad her situation was.

  On a hunch, Perrine let her hand rest on her hip, accentuating her curves. “I understand we have some business to discuss?”

  To his credit, Lans kept focus on her eyes for a few seconds, but eventually he let his gaze wander shamelessly over her figure. Good. If she flirted with him enough, he might get distracted and tip negotiations in her favor.

  “We need to discuss your loan, Miss Despre. Things have been tight on the island and I’ve had to re-evaluate some of our riskier deals.”

  His tone was flat, brisk, but his eyes continued to rove her curves. Perrine thought back to her plan from earlier in the night, her last resort. If there was ever going to be a chance for her to test her theory, this was it. She opened her mouth to contradict Lans, to tell him if he checked his paperwork, he would see that Narcisse Despre’s name was on the loan, not hers. It was a way out, right in front of her, but Perrine couldn’t bring herself to betray her father.

  She tilted her head to the side, letting her bronze curls spill over her shoulder. “Sending your boys to collect me for payment seems a little over the top. I would have come for you.”

  “It might be over the top if I didn’t have reason to believe you plan to stiff me.” Lans folded his arms across his chest. “Do you plan to cheat me, Perrine? I can say that wouldn’t be in your best interests. It would be a waste of—well. A waste.”

  The words left his lips with little emotion attached to them, but Perrine heard the warning.

  “Lans, would I still be in Nevhana if I were trying to cheat you?”

  “You might if you thought shaking your ass at me could get you out of it.” Lans pushed forward from the desk and rose to his full height. “But I accept your terms.”

  Perrine blinked. “What terms?”

  Lans stepped closer to her, so close she could fill the gust of his breath against her skin. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along the exposed flesh of her arm, drawing goosebumps as he passed. “Don’t play coy, Perrine. Come midweek I expect to see you back here. Ready to pay me with whichever currency you prefer. Gold credits or gold—” He lifted a lock of her hair, and said nothing else.

  4

  I accept your terms.

  Perrine heard the words clearly in her mind, playing in a taunting loop as Freddy and Teddy led her to the exit. Her mouth set, grim. How did he even know she didn’t have his money? She hadn’t known for sure herself until earlier in the night. Her father probably hadn’t even figured it out until that day. He wouldn’t sit on news like that for even an hour.

  They pushed her through the door and slammed it behind her. Fifteen minutes and a litany of curses later, Perrine found her way out of the labyrinth of warehouses back onto the road. Her encounter with Lans left her system way too amped for sleep which was a blessing, because judging by the angle of the moons, she was on the other side of the city from her apartment.

  The walk gave her plenty of time to dwell on just how screwed she was. There was no way to get the money from the club. Even if Parodie had the three biggest nights in its history, the money would just barely miss the mark. But climbing into that asshole’s bed just wasn’t an option she wanted to go through with. She didn’t have anything of value to sell to make up the difference. Club Parodie was her only asset. And it wasn’t even the one Lans was most interested in.

  She needed a plan, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her emotions in check. By the time she reached the arts district, her shoulders were trembling from the exertion of keeping the tide at bay. What she needed was a distraction, and she found it in the massive gardens that flanked the Art Institute.

  The inner courtyards of AINA were made of neatly manicured lawns and wading pools that shimmered in the moonlight. But the outer gardens were another story. Walking down the cobblestone path that curved through the outer garden, was like stepping into a fantasy world. Whoever designed the landscaping around the museum had opted to leave much of the land wild with only sparse handfuls of
cultivated plants to add visual interest. It was her own little wonderland, and the deeper she wandered, the more it enchanted her.

  The path ended in a stone gazebo. Purple ivy crept up the pillars along the sides and streamed over the wall. The closed buds of the flowers glowed, giving the whole structure a rhythmic pulse of dim light. For one beautiful moment, Perrine forgot about everything. Lans and his goons, her mother and father, the club, her future, all of it melted away from her mind, lifting a weight from her shoulders.

  Perrine hummed quietly as she walked to the bench and sat down, lips turning up in an ironic smile. After all, the founder of the AINA was Davingelo Avramchelli.

  Her hum deepened and soon the notes spilled from her mouth of their own volition.

  Summertime…

  The bright, brassy notes of a melancholy saxophone sounded in her head, accompanied by the lush notes of a full orchestra. Her skin remembered the heat of high noon and the kiss of a sea breeze. She closed her eyes, and was carried away to place far away and a time long ago.

  Davin’s head snapped up.

  Hush, lil bebe…

  He knew that voice. So different from the drums and reed thin pipes of his youth. His mother singing in her airy voice, bending over a humble garden of vegetables. For a moment, his heart went back in time, and broke into a few more pieces. But what was Perrine Despre doing on the grounds? He dismissed the thought that she sought an assignation. That wasn’t her style. Exiting his workroom onto the open-air balcony, he unfurled his wings, and lifted off, following the strains of unearthly music to their source in one of the tiny inner gardens.

  He landed several feet away, not wanting to startle her into silence. And was caught, immediately. The quality of her voice was different, the tone, the feeling behind it unfettered, raw.

  Davin inhaled, eyes closing, and allowed it to wash over him, through him, bringing bumps along his skin. He saw the notes in color, a wild symphony of emerging hues.

  For the first time in years, an old familiar feeling welled in his gut. His fingers itched, and he opened his eyes, looking around wildly. No paint, no brushes. No canvas. He didn’t dare leave and lose the lifeline she flung to him.

  Davin flung out a hand, his power ripping flowers from a nearby bed, dirt with it. A shower of bird’s berries fell to the ground. He dropped to his knees, crushing the foliage with a single thought, turning organic matter into tiny dabs of different paints. Dipping his fingers in the paints, seeing nothing but the natural canvas of the white stone beneath him, he painted.

  He painted.

  Perrine opened her eyes as she continued her song. She didn’t need the darkness behind her closed lids to feel the music now. She didn’t need her imagination to visualize the notes floating through the night air. She could see them, each one of them shimmering in the bio-luminescence from the flowers on the vines.

  An Aikalaan man knelt several feet away, his wild gold hair a curtain around his hunched shoulders. His wings hovered just over the ground, his hands scarped at the stones, leaving wild trails and swirls of impossible colors and shapes, a masterpiece unfolding before her eyes. A glow under his skin, an unearthly glow. She faltered and his head snapped up, sun bright eyes pinning her. Instinct ruled; Perrine sang.

  Reason told her that it couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Music notes couldn’t take physical form and float through the air like butterflies. But she couldn’t deny what she saw. There they were, tiny balls of light that twinkled sadly as they gathered beneath the roof of the gazebo before floating away to parts unknown.

  She could hear the music now. Not in her imagination, not in her mind. The strings and piano swelled in her ears as clearly as if there was a band behind her. Invisible singers rose around her, a trio forming a perfect harmony beneath her voice. Each sound mingled and formed a wave of light and emotion that crashed over her. For a second, she thought she would drown in it.

  But Perrine didn’t drown, and her voice never faltered. The melody ebbed and flowed around her, like the gentle crash of the tide. As a girl, she’d loved to play and dance in the surf that surrounded the island. Now, as a grown woman, Perrine danced in the musical waters, letting her arms and legs move through the lights.

  She had long since run out of lyrics to the song she had been singing, but more lyrics came to her mind to replace them. Was it even the same song anymore? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Any idea she tried to bring to her mind vanished in the wake of a new lyric or change in the melody.

  As the new song reached the bridge, another wave formed. Perrine’s eyes darted around the gazebo, searching for evidence of the wave but seeing only the stones and the lights. Not being able to see it didn’t change the fact that she could feel it, and when the wave crashed over her again, Perrine felt no fear.

  Until the music overwhelmed her senses.

  No... no, this isn’t right… Davingelo!

  And against all reason, his voice responded in her mind. Sing. I am here.

  No choice but to obey. No time to wonder at the connection she saw weaving in midair, the twisting rope birthing an inch at a time, twining to life and stretching between them. She feared what would happen when the ends of that rope reached them both, bound them.

  The music was too strong now. The piano, the strings, the voices, all of it rose over her, drowning out the sound of her voice in her own ears. She wasn’t playing in the surf anymore, it drained her. The light that had given her inspiration turned on her, leeching energy from her cells.

  Again, she reminded herself that what she experienced couldn’t be real. Not a single detail of it conformed to anything she knew about the way the world worked. Maybe she couldn’t believe what she saw, but she had to believe what she could feel.

  This wasn’t just music… and it wasn’t coming from her. Where was it coming from?

  She didn’t know. So, she did the only thing she could to take control of the situation... she stopped singing.

  And it felt like she’d reached inside her chest and ripped out her heart.

  The music crashed to a halt. “What are you doing?” he snarled, reverting to his physical voice. “Sing!”

  She half-rose to her feet, eyes wide and he flung out a hand in her direction. His power nearly bowled into her; Davin had to snap it back at the last moment to keep from harming her, but she must have understood. She sat, abruptly, mouth trembling.

  He needed her song. “Sing! Sing!”

  She inhaled, notes tumbling from her throat. A dim part of his mind, the small part left that was still rational, told him to be careful—he could hurt her. He was still an Archan, and she was only human.

  Davingelo ignored the voice and turned back to his work, ignoring the scraped raw tips of his fingers, the broken nails. None of it mattered. Her song grabbed him by the neck and shook him like an orphan’s cloth doll; he was as helpless to the tide of her music as she was to the tide of his power.

  She sang; he painted. The whirlwind caught them both.

  Perrine watched Davingelo as he painted, shock trembling through her limbs. He was wild, the air around him crackling, his eyes glowing with power. His pale hair whipped in the wind surrounding him, the strands glittering like moonlight against his sun-kissed skin. She watched his chiseled chest heave with thinly checked emotion.

  Had the magic notes come from him? Maybe, he was an Archan after all. The first settlers had called them archangels, and the name stuck even though the creatures hated it. The moniker wasn’t just a clever reference to their wings. Archans could do things humans and other Aikalah couldn’t do. Most people called it magic. Perrine never liked that word, even if it was the best word she had to describe what was happening.

  Whatever was happening, Davingelo seemed to be just as swept up in the magical tide as she was. But as it scared her, it consumed him.

  She changed her song, exerting the only control she could. There was no use in even pretending she was in control this time. He knelt on
the stone floor of the gazebo, holding her gaze as his fingers danced in the air. The lights in the vines sprung to life again, but this time they ripped free from the stalks and leaves, gathering in the air around his fingers.

  It wasn’t just the lights from the vines that answered his call. The notes formed in the air, just as impossible, but real as they floated toward his hand. Even the moonlight seemed to solidify and crumble into pieces, as it also joined the swirling light.

  As Perrine sang, the tiny lights seemed to melt and liquefy, mingling in separate lines of color along his finger. He swept his palm over the stones, leaving the impossible pigment behind in elaborate shapes and patterns. Davingelo, the most famous artist on Nevhana, rumored to be as mad as he was dissolute. Now he knelt on a stone floor, creating an impossible painting from her song.

  The lyrics came just as easily, without her even thinking about them. The words came in the common languages of Nevhana, in the sweet creole French of her parents, even the singing language of the Aikalah. The wave built again, but this time he was there to share the burden. It crashed over them, draining the energy from her just as it had before. But with him there, the fatigue wasn’t as bad. Perrine could continue the song.

  Davingelo’s arm moved in time with the song, drawing short, tense strokes for staccato rhythms and long, languishing strokes that only broke contact with the living pigment when she took a breath.

  By the end of it, all she could do was lean back against the bench as the song moved through her. It wasn’t her song. It may not even have been his. But it was too beautiful to stop. Even when she saw the way his body sagged from the exertion. Even when her eyelids became too heavy for her to hold open. Exhaustion took her and everything faded away. Everything except for the shimmering painting and sound of approaching voices.