Page 40 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

He started forward. He wasn’t used to accepting comfort. He’d always seen it as weakness. Yet the lure of holding Wren in his arms, if only for a little while, was suddenly too powerful to ignore.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

Aral joinedWren under the sheets. She dropped her head on his chest and snuggled. Fates help him, he wanted to do more than cuddle. He tucked her close, carefully at first, as if handling an unstable explosive, then with increasing relief. It felt good to have her there.

“So, were you really besotted?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes.

Wren tapped him on the chest. “And your answer is…?”

“Aye, I was besotted. There. Satisfied?” He ruffled her hair.

“Head over heels in love?”

“That too, aye. You were all I talked about after I got home from the palace. Kaz will tell you. Wait—she did.”

Wren pushed up, her hair tickling his chest, and he smoothed it away from her face. “You thought me small and shy. Like a little mar-mouse, eh?”

He winced. “You heard that too.”

“For the record, I’m small, but not shy.”

“Indeed. I’m the shy one, as you now know.” He clasped her chin between his fingers. “Since we’re going on the record, let it be known I thought you beautiful. Not small, not shy—beautiful.” Wren looked pleased, and that in turn pleased him. “Your eyes, your hair, all of you. Not just outwardly, but what I sensed inside you. Desperation, yes. But strength too. Resilience. You inspired the name of this ship. I wanted to run away with you, Wren. That very day. I wanted to steal you away from the palace and escape with you, somewhere far across the galaxy where we’d never be found.”

There, he thought. It was said.

“We’ll find a way out” she whispered, tracing the outline of his lips with her fingertip. “All those battlelords, rubbing their hands together at the prospect of me as their wife, their trophy for their good service to the warlord. Then I saw you. It was a horrible day. You were the one good thing. You looked so unhappy, and I imagined you saw the same in me. We both didn’t want to be there. I always wondered why you didn’t speak to me at my reception. Sabra explained you were too young, an untried cadet, and the warlord would never have chosen you. Is that why you didn’t say hello? You thought you couldn’t compete?”

“Hells no. If not for Karbon, I’d have walked into that reception and charmed the pants off you.”

She laughed. “Or a diamond-encrusted gown. It likely weighed more than both of us.”

“I was stronger than I looked.” He tapped her on the nose. “A figure of speech. No pants—or dresses—would have come off you at thirteen. And at sixteen, I had no business trying.”

“I told Sabra we’d wait until I was of age, but she still wouldn’t hear of it.”

His smiled faded. “It mattered not. I couldn’t pursue you. If Karbon figured out I wanted you, he’d have competed for your hand—and won it.”

“I wouldn’t have given it to him.”

“It wouldn’t have been your choice. It would have been the warlord’s choice. I wouldn’t have been able to bear to witness your suffering. Karbon would have married you and broken you—or worse.”

She rolled onto her back. “I’d have survived until I escaped him. I’d have fought back. I wouldn’t have let him get the best of me.”

“He was good at it, Wren. Crushing souls. He lived for it. He raped and murdered my schoolteacher, if only because Bolivarr and I loved her.”

“Aral…” His name spilled out with Wren’s gasp.

“I tried to save her, and he slit her throat. Then he went after me.” Aral focused on the ceiling, feeling her horrified eyes on him. Hatred simmered in his gut, stoked by the old memories. “I almost died. Even with nano-meds, I was in a coma for a time. When I did regain consciousness, he was already gone—back to the war. He stayed away for more than a year. It was the longest he ever remained away on assignment. It coincided with some of the worst Coalition defeats, the bloodiest campaigns. He took his fury out on the enemy. I don’t know why he was so angry all the time, what really drove him—what happened in his past or his childhood. Something must have turned him. I’ll never know. He was a sweef addict. Maybe that was it. But, again, was it the cause or the reason? Maybe substance abuse damaged his brain. Or perhaps his behavior was the result of madness. I’ll make no excuses for his cruelty.”

She nodded. “A panth. That’s what he reminded me of. The way he looked, standing next to you in the palace.”

“A panth?”

“It’s a predator on my home world. A gorgeous creature with a dark, shiny coat and hypnotic eyes. I was cleaning buckets down by the river when I saw it. I was maybe eight years old. I didn’t have my fishing knives close at hand, and I was alone. It was just me and that panth. It had caught a fat woodsmunk—the little thing was half-dead already in its mouth. A nice meal, eh? But the panth kept its eyes on me. Those cold, mesmerizing eyes. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I knew it was weighing dropping the woodsmunk to gobble me upinstead. Something bigger, tastier. But then it turned away and carried its meal off into the woods. It was as if it had decided to hold on to the sure thing—the creature who couldn’t get away—rather than take its chances with me. I never forgot that fleeting look of cold calculation.” She shivered, her skin pebbling. “Karbon’s eyes looked exactly the same when he changed his focus from me to you.”

“He was gauging my reaction to you. If I were to have shown any interest, he would have used it against me. We were locked in mortal combat by then—him, seeking to break me. Me, refusing to be broken.”

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