Page 38 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“Bad things happen to those who try to protect me. Iwillprotect them back. That includes you, Aral Mawndarr—you and Kaz—as capable as you are.” She poked her chest. “I want to live—I do. I want to see this through as badly as you do. But as for more deaths on my conscience, I have about a billion weighing on my shoulders at the moment, thanks to my dear, sadistic father.”

Her hands shook. He could practically feel her heart crashing against her ribcage, could feel her skin on fire. If he touched her now, if he snatched her hand, if he pulled her close, she might detonate.

And he too.

He shoved away an explosive image of them in his bunk, tearing off each other’s clothing, fucking until they were too spent to move.

He stifled a groan and winced. He really needed to stop doing that.

“After her marriage, my mother would have been in my father’s control. It doesn’t seem possible he would allow us to come here. She must have run away. Did she leave me behind, change her mind, and go back?” Wren tried to push on glasses that no longer existed. Then she pulled in a breath, her fury seeming to dissolve. “My eyes gave me away. Not the eyes of the warlord’s daughter. The eyes of Lady Valla.”

He dragged his sleeve across his sweaty brow, a frown pulling on his mouth, and threw one last look down the road. No pursuers that he saw, but this was a disturbing turn of events. In certain quarters, Wren would be recognizable because of her unusual eye color. And what had he gone and done? Encouraged her to go without glasses. She would have been better served hiding her eyes. But it left her too vulnerable if those glasses shattered.

They stomped up theResilience’s gangway. Wren fell into her seat and pulled out the pendant, silent as he and Kaz readied the ship for an immediate launch. She stroked her thumb across the face of the pendant, and his heart softened a fraction.She feared for your life, did she?It wasn’t a profession of undying love by any means, but he’d take it.

Kaz called from her station, “All systems ready for launch.”

He stormed across the bridge. “Launch this blasted crate—now. Come hells or high water, we’re going to Ara Ana.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

“Run,boy. Show me what a coward you are.”

Bloodied, shaking, Aral climbed to his feet—again. He would not flee his father’s fists. Never run—that was his mantra. Face the man and fight. For all his determination, it only made things worse. But he’d rather be beaten and defiant than cower in fear of his father’s wrath.

Karbon grabbed his shirt collar, lifting him off his feet to throw him against the wall.

Aral found his way back to his feet, swaying some, his head spinning. The key was not to let Karbon see. The more weakness he showed, the longer the beating.

“Fool boy, you need to learn when to stay and when to give up.”Karbon was slapping him with both hands—alternating top, bottom, left, and right—so Aral never knew from where the blow would come. Instinctively, he tried to use his hands to protect his head, face, and gut.“Don’t you see the lesson I am trying to teach you? Worthless piece of freep—go. Get out of my sight, I say. Run away!”The back of his father’s hand sent him crashing to the ground.“You won’t ever beat me. One day, you’ll learn.”

Slowly, his body a million points of agony, Aral picked himself up once more. Sometimes a week or a month would go by without provoking his father’s rage. More than that when his father was on duty far from home. Each time, Aral hoped he wouldn’t return from the war. But the man always did. Just as Aral survived the beatings when his father, drunk on sweef, let his temper go too far, Karbon enjoyed victory after victory over Coalition ships. He seemed invincible.

Perhaps his father thought himself invincible too.

“Run! You have to know when, boy. Know when to give up.”

Aral once more stood. His nasal passages were swollen nearly shut. Blood ran down the back of his throat. One eye was so puffed up he couldn’t see out of it. The other turned his father’s face into a blurred purple rose.

“Again, Aral? I’m giving you the chance to get away. To retreat. Back down and this will be over. Why don’t you?”

Because running would give his father power—over him. Over everything. His father wanted him to flee, but his legs refused to take him. His father wanted to break him, but he was no longer whole. He wanted him to weep, but the tears had dried. He was closed up, safe inside. No one could open the door.

“Aral!”

The scene shifted to an unfamiliar building. Wren stood at the opposite end of a passageway. A bright light shone above her head. Then four more lights, one by each shoulder and foot.

Her eyes were haunted and wide. Afraid.

“Aral, please!”

She needed him.

“I’m coming, Wren.”He started to run to her, limping at first, then faster. The passageway seemed infinite. The longer he ran, the farther away she was and the brighter the lights, until they had all drowned out the small silhouette of her body.

White light engulfed him. It was too late. He should never have let her go. His sweet sprite. His wife.He’d lost her now. Lost her forever…

“No,”he bellowed, falling to his knees.“Wren, don’t leave me. Don’t—”

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