He started climbing the steeply inclined floor, shifting as the ship rocked and shimmied, moving with surprising agility for such a large man. She could feel his muscles flex beneath her and was glad for his size and strength, the latter having left her some time ago. While she’d be reluctant to admit it, she was also glad for his uncompromising, take-charge attitude—the swats on her backside notwithstanding—because his assessment had been dead-on. She couldn’t have crawled, let alone walked out of there on her own.
Hanging limp and utterly useless down his back, she couldn’t do anything other than cough, her head spinning wildly, as her rescuer—or new captor or whatever he was—carried her with impressive speed through the shuddering crippled ship.
When they left the semi-darkness and entered the coolness of the air lock, Aurelia craned her neck, trying to see her new surroundings. The sudden brightness hurt her eyes. Squinting, she couldn’t make out much, but she had no trouble hearing him when he shouted, “Disengage!”
With a bang and the unmistakable teeth-gritting sound of metal on metal, the doors shut behind them and the grappling hooks released.
“One more time,” he warned her, as he shifted her off his shoulder to slide down his front until her feet touched the floor. “Hold on tight.”
She didn’t have time to react before he wedged her between the hard wall and his equally solid frame. Next, he grabbed hold of a vertical beam with each hand and braced. She knew why when he gave his next order.
“Get us out of here, now, before she blows. Engage hyper speed.”
The engines hummed, and the wall at her back began to vibrate as they shot forward. In moments, as they gained speed, the dizzying effect of hurtling through space faster than light altered her equilibrium. She let loose the material of his silver suit and snaked her arms around his neck, holding on tight.
“I’ve got you, Princess, and will keep you safe from harm,” he murmured, his deep rumble of his voice sending vibrations through her chest and down her spine.
She didn’t know him, but for some reason, she believed him.
With her face buried in the throat of this stranger, she clung having no concept of what was in store for her next. After nearly freezing to death to start out the day then practically roasting later, after being manhandled, stripped, leered at by strange beings, and locked in a cage, she’d reached her absolute limit. Her body and mind gave in to the stress brought on by one harrowing event on top of another. With the disorientation of impending unconsciousness taking over, for the third time that day, she knew nothing but blackness.
STANDING AT THE FOOT of her bed, Darios stared down at his unlikely guest, unable to pull his gaze from her delicate beauty. His equally stunned crew stopped to stare as he carried her through the halls of the ship. He couldn’t fault them—the silver fire blanket he’d used to cover her nudity didn’t conceal her long silver-blonde hair that fell in waves over his arm and her fair, flawless skin. Both stood out in stark contrast next to his sun-darkened complexion.
It wasn’t only her appearance that made them halt in their steps and gawk rudely, but the utter disbelief of having Aeldorian royalty on board a Voltarrean ship.
As few as three solar orbits ago, she would have been a means to an end, a political tool, or perhaps, a weapon to be used against their enemy. But they were at peace now, thanks to the truce negotiated between him and her father, King Aziros. This cease-fire in the eons-long war had lasted longer than any other.
Darios was determined for it to continue, war being much too costly. Not only in tangible terms, but in the emotional and physical stress on his people. Since it had been going on long before he drew his first breath, the same for his father, and his father’s father, and their fathers before them, he was sick and tired of it. The Aeldorian king had come readily to the negotiation table, indicating he felt the same way.
For all their differences, the warring peoples were more alike than not. And they should be considering they shared both history and ancestry.
Darios was a direct descendant of Atagan, the first overlord of Voltarre. Aziros could trace his royal lineage back to Auvryd of Aeldor, a king of the same era.
Their ancestors had even more in common. They played together as children, learned from the same tutors, and were groomed to become leaders when they grew to be men. Then their paths diverged drastically. One was beloved by those who knew him, the other looked upon with suspicion, which in hindsight appeared justified. They had one more irrefutable similarity, they both called the same man father.
Yes, nearly a millennium ago, their two peoples had been one. To see them together now, as different as daylight and darkness, or, more appropriately, fire and ice, no one who didn’t know the lurid tale would ever guess they were the same.
What happened had sprouted out of petty sibling rivalry.
Auvryd, the eldest and heir to the throne, resented his younger brother’s popularity among the people, and had since an early age. When the old king died, and he ascended to the throne, the new king changed, becoming paranoid and seeing treachery at every word or gesture. Mostly, his suspicions fell on his younger brother who he believed was plotting to overthrow him. He devised a scheme, a staged assassination attempt, which implicated Atagan. After a mockery of a trial, where Atagan had been found guilty, his brother sentenced him to death.
The people were incensed; rumors spread rapidly about the king’s erratic behavior. What Auvryd feared most happened. A movement started growing to declare him unfit and see his younger brother crowned in his stead.
When the new king tried to squelch this undertaking, he employed the force of his army. Civil war erupted. With the planet in upheaval, Atagan escaped on the eve of his execution, helped by group of loyal supporters. On a stolen ship, loaded with supplies and pilfered Aeldorian technology, they secreted him away to an uninhabited, and much less desirable, world nearby.
Rather than return to the war-torn and often cruel world they left behind, Atagan’s people stayed to help him start anew. The continually warm arid climate, the opposite of their cool, icy home, took some getting used to, but they quickly adapted.
More disgruntled Aeldorians followed as time passed. They sought refuge from constant strife and a treacherous king. Their families came with them, and, soon, they had a small, but thriving society with Atagan, their trusted and beloved former prince, embraced as their overlord.
Considering their volatile history, the princess being aboard their ship posed many problems, least of all putting their peace in jeopardy. Her father likely wouldn’t believe it a coincidence, any more than Darios believed Callae’s near simultaneous abduction by the Ophigs was a fluke. Many questions would need to be answered, and quickly, or the tentative truce would crumble, as it had so often in the past.
Darios stood quietly watching the rise and fall of her chest, relieved the harsh coughs no longer racked her small body though he wouldn’t describe her breathing as easy. He could hear the slight wheeze with each inhalation even behind the oxygen mask. Like all of her race, she had creamy white skin, but her face was flushed to a rosy pink as though scalded from the heat of the ship and the fires that had crept dangerously close to her cage by the time he arrived.
Beneath the mask that helped her breathe and also pumped healing medicine into her smoke-damaged lungs, purplish bruises were visible on her cheek and along the length of her jaw. His gaze moved to the bulky bandages around her wrists, and the anger that had abated somewhat since recovering their females reignited into a seething rage.
“We have flammable gases in use here, my lord.”
The man at his elbow was barely visible through a cloud of smoke—one of Darios’ making. He drew in a calming breath. “I am aware and in control, Crynar.”
One of the healer’s brows quirked ever so slightly, as if he’d doubted this were true until he said something, but he nodded. His eyes shifted to the still figure on the bed, and he moved toward her.
&n
bsp; “She’s responding well to the treatments.” After laying a small metal disc on her chest, he studied the readings on the clear, floating screen over the head of the bed. “The inflammation is decreasing. If she continues to improve, I’ll be able to reduce the sedation and allow her to wake soon.”
“Are the sedatives necessary?”
“She was exposed to toxic smoke and intense heat for far too long. You or I would have bounced back by now. Aeldorians aren’t as robust. They can’t tolerate extreme temperatures—at least on the upper end of the heat spectrum. She needs to rest to heal.”
“But you expect her to recover.”
“There are no indications she will not.”
“You will have someone alert me when she wakes. I’d like to find out what she knows of this.”
Crynar waved his hand and shifted the monitor up and out of the way. “I shall do so myself. I’m treating her personally. If war breaks out between our worlds, it won’t be because she lacked the best care Voltarrean medicine has to offer.”
Though Darios didn’t take his eyes from the sleeping princess, he knew when the healer left and entered the adjacent cubicle where Callae lay, Daryk keeping constant vigil at her side. With much the same injuries as Aurelia, the other women had already been released. That Callae hadn’t, spoke of the caution Crynar was taking with the mother of his brother’s first child, the same child, who, with Darios as yet unwed and without issue, was second in the line of succession.
A movement in the doorway drew his attention to Cogar, who stood waiting.
“How fares the worm?” he asked.
“He is unconscious.”
“Still? What is the problem?”
“Due respect, my lord, but you crushed his windpipe. That tends to interfere with breathing and getting needed oxygen to the brain, which is essential for, well...consciousness.”
“Hell’s fire,” he muttered.
For several long moments, the two men stood quietly staring down at the motionless woman, each lost in his own thoughts. Cogar broke the silence. “What is your plan for her?”
“I’ll need answers before I can decide. Until then, she comes with us to Voltarre.”
“As what, our prisoner?”
“Until I have assurances Aeldor isn’t up to something and the princess inadvertently got tangled in the web, yes, but a pampered prisoner, and she need not know. We’ll call her our guest. Assigning guards to a visiting dignitary isn’t unusual. We don’t want to give a different impression or suggest that the truce is in jeopardy, or she’ll need them for real.”
“If King Aziros and the prince learn she is on Voltarre, they won’t be as accepting of her guest status; retaliation can be expected.”
Darios nodded at the grim prospect. “I’ll send a message to the king that we have rescued his daughter. It should buy us time to figure out what has happened here.”
“Or have us waking to an Aeldorian warship bearing down on us come morning.”
“I’ll be tactful and reassuring in my wording.”
“As always,” Cogar acknowledged, “but coming from us, it will be greeted with suspicion regardless.”
After heaving a sigh, he grumbled, “I suppose three full annums of peace was too much to ask out of a thousand.” He tore his gaze from the beautiful ethereal creature who’d fallen without warning into his keeping and turned to leave, grimacing when he got a whiff of smoke. “I need to shower; I reek. I’ll stop by communications on the way to my quarters.” As he moved to the door, he issued his orders. “Tell Crynar I need the prisoner alive and able to speak as soon as possible.”
“I heard,” the healer called from inside a cubicle. His head appeared a moment later, a frown gracing his features. “You expect miracles now, Lord Darios?”
“I expect to avoid war, my friend,” he replied without breaking stride. “And I have faith you will help me to do so.”
His grunt was his only response as Darios exited the medical suite.
Chapter Four
DRIFTING ON A FLUFFY cloud, her limbs floating weightless, her body surrounded by warmth, Aurelia didn’t have a care in the world. She breathed in deep and sighed long in contentment until a tightness crept into her throat. When it became a tickle, she coughed weakly.
Her eyes fluttered open as pain jolted her away.
Enter reality.
She hurt everywhere, especially her chest and a tender spot on her side over her ribs. There was something covering her face, smothering her. With intensifying anxiety, she reached up, encountered a hard-plastic mask over her nose and mouth, and tore it off.
Confused, Aurelia glanced around, but the nondescript room—the walls, ceiling, and the linens all in stark white—didn’t give her any clues as to where she was. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pang pierced her side just under her arm. Curling her hand protectively over the pulsing ache, she eased back on the bed while images of the horrors she’d endured replayed in her head.
She remembered everything—the abduction, the auction, the explosion, choking on smoke as the flames drew nearer, and her body slamming repeatedly against the unforgiving bars of the cage. With trembling fingers, she rubbed her temples, trying to remove the heaviness of sleep that lingered. When they brushed her cheek, she hissed in pain, and the backhand the foul-smelling Ophig had given her came rushing back along with the fear that, through it all, she was going to die, but also that she wouldn’t.
Lastly, she recalled a man covered in silver breaking her out of the awful cage, saving her from an inevitable fall into a wall of fire and then carrying her onto his ship. But to what end?
Had she merely switched captors, going from greedy mercenaries to slavers, to something even worse? She shivered as she imagined worse—a horned, fang-toothed red devil.
This subtle movement hurt too. In fact, lying on her back was terribly uncomfortable. Rather than sitting up, she tried shifting onto her side. This time, she guarded her tender ribs while she grabbed the rail and pulled herself over.
This new position wasn’t without discomfort, either. Suppressing a groan, she closed her eyes, hoping if she didn’t move her chest would stop burning, her muscles would no longer ache, and the cuts and bruises beneath the thick bandages encircling her wrists would cease their incessant throbbing.
“You’re in pain. I will call someone.”
Her eyes flew open, and she twisted her head to the right, trying to locate the deep voice, but the abrupt movement only made her misery worse.
“I’m here, Princess.”
More carefully, she dipped her chin to her chest and stared down her body past her feet. A huge man watched her from the doorway. He wore the same silver suit as her rescuer except the helmet was gone revealing dark, short-cropped hair, a face deeply bronzed from the sun, and inky-black tattoos snaking up the sides of his neck.
Aurelia had never seen a native of the fire planet other than in digital pictures and political sketches where their features were cartoonish and exaggerated, but she knew in a glance, this man was of Voltarre.
Realizing she was alone with a long-time enemy of her people, she raised up on an elbow, darting her eyes around for an avenue of escape or a weapon of some sort.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Aurelia. I mean you no harm.”
Demanding how he knew her burned on the tip of her tongue, but he took a step closer, his movement activating the lights overhead. She could see his eyes more distinctly now. They weren’t as dark as she’d first thought. With little flecks of orange and gold, they gleamed, almost like they were glowing, as if lit by an inner fire.
Tales she’d heard as a child, as well as threats, came to mind.
Beware the brutes of Voltarre with their fire-eyes. They steal naughty children who don’t do their lessons.
This warning had come from her tutors. Her nurses had said much the same thing, although they changed the qualifier at the end to misbehaving girls who don’t go to sleep.
Both th
reats induced frightening images of giants with flames shooting from their eyes used commonly as a deterrent to bad behavior or a tactic to earn compliance. For Aurelia, they had the opposite effect, distracting her from her lessons and keeping her awake at night. How could they expect her to sleep when she expected one of the savages to come into her room at any moment and carry her off?
And now, one stood in front of her.
As she stared at him, she had to conclude unequivocally, the sketches, threats, and stories were way off base. He wasn’t an ugly, hulking brute, but strikingly handsome, with a powerful build beneath the snug-fitting flight suit, and with his height, seemed perfectly proportionate all over.
“Are you able to speak?”
“Yes,” she replied, but with her throat dry and scratchy, she croaked. “Is there water?”
He came alongside her and, after punching a few buttons, filled a glass from a recessed wall dispenser. Moving carefully, she took a sip, but immediately grimaced.
“It hurts to swallow?”
“Yes, but that’s not it. It’s warm.”
Moreover, she felt warm, feverish. What she wouldn’t give for some ice.
As soon as the thought took shape in her brain, the metal cup grew cold, and the liquid inside froze solid. She stared at it in surprise. Her abilities had been muted since leaving Aeldor. Why had they come back now?
“Allow me,” he offered. Not waiting for a reply, he took the cup from her trembling fingers and curled his large hands around it. A moment later, he passed it back. “Try now.”
This time when she took a sip, it was a combination of water and slushy ice.
Perfect.
She drank greedily, her thirst, not pyrokinetic ability, or his intimidating presence, the priority, right now.
“I imagine your powers are a little off, considering what you’ve been through,” he observed.
She didn’t answer until only ice chips remained in the glass and after using the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. “I suppose.”
Claimed by the Warlord Page 5