Page 41 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“What kind of sick tyrant was he? He wanted to break you—why? His own son.”

“Because hecouldn’t. He tried for all the years I was with him. I think he realized the only way he could do so was to kill me. He always stopped short of that.”

“Karbon must have abused your brother just as viciously.”

“He didn’t dare.” Aral clenched his jaw, warding off the flood of guilt. In an ironic twist, he’d been the one to send Bolivarr to his death, not Karbon. “If he’d laid a hand on Bolivarr, he knew I would have killed him.”

She seemed to take a beat to absorb that. “How did you survive from then until now?”

“Nanjin’s murder was the turning point. I made the decision to stop him, toend him. I set out to punish him like he punished us. I made it my life’s goal to take away his power, his status, his empire. I was on guard the day the warlord and your half-brother died. I’d been passing intelligence all along, for years. I knew the Coalition prince-consort was desperate to rescue his wife from their clutches. I allowed the prince-consort’s ship through the perimeter. Kaz was at my side, my second-in-command. After the surrender, I knew where the battlelords had run to hide. I gave the Coalition—the Triad—their locations, every last one. Karbon’s included.”

“You told me you were a traitor. You’re a hero.”

“Bah. I did what I did for vengeance.”

She came up on her elbows. “It matters not the reason. You defeated evil. You’re a hero.”

“I changed the course of the galaxy, I suppose.” But it had required terrible deeds. “If you could have seen the warlord when he learned of the defeats I’d orchestrated… He was enraged. Battlelords were executed on his orders for the so-called lapses thatIcaused. Sadistic men—their passing didn’t sadden me in the least. I used the opportunity to become indispensable to him. I became a favorite. He thought he’d befriended me—as much as that man was capable of having a friend.” Aral pulled in a breath. “I left my morals at the door when I stepped into that palace. I cheered him in his victories and shared in the celebrations. I turned my cheek to all manner of depraved behavior carried out within those palace walls. I tried to do it all without compromising myself, but at times…” He swallowed. “At times, it was difficult.”

She sat up and grabbed his wrists. “If you’re asking for my forgiveness, it’s not necessary. You did it for the greater good.”

“I could have committed my treason without becoming the warlord’s best friend. Easily. But there was more I wanted. Another reason drove my actions.”

“Me,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes.

“Aye. One day, everything I’d worked for, and hoped for, came to be. He offered me his daughter—you. I took it.” He brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek. “That, my sweet sprite, I did for you.”

A held-in breath, no words, just stillness as she considered him. Then her fingertips lifted to his face, following the length of his nose, the jut of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. The dimple denting the center of his chin seemed to stop her. Her fingertips hesitated there before she slid her hands behind his head. Then she pulled him down to her mouth and kissed him… slowly… thoroughly.

If forgiveness could come in the form of a kiss, here it was. Absolution communicated through touch, hands caressing, tongues stroking.

He lowered her to the mattress, and it was as if they’d stepped off a cliff. She sighed into his mouth, grabbing a handful of his T-shirt, her knuckles scraping against his bare abs as she pushed it higher. It made quick work of his flagging resistance. The next thing he knew, their hands were all over each other’s bodies, finding their way under clothing in search of bare skin.

A moan slipped out of Wren. She wedged her fingers between their bodies, found his cock, and took possession, encircling the hard ridge, his sleep pants the last flimsy barrier between him and everything he’d always desired.

“Wren,” he said on an explosive breath and pushed away, his head hanging, his breaths ragged.

Her lips, rosy and kiss-swollen, were pressed together, her eyes narrowed. A dark look, that. “All right, Aral. I know you fancied yourself in love with me once—granted, we were very young—but fast-forward ten years and you can barely stand touching me.”

He snorted. “If that was you on the other side of the kiss, and I’m fairly confident it was, you can hardly claim I can’t stand touching you.”

“I kissedyou.”

He leaned closer. “You may have started it, but I finished it.”

“Aye, you certainly did. Before we had a chance to get started.”

“You werethisclose to being ravaged.”

“Truly?” Her eyes sparkled, her mouth tipping in a worrisome smile. “Then why didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t time.”

“For sex? If not now, when?”

“When it happens, it will be with intention. Not because I succumbed to a wave of impulsive, animalistic lust.”

“You say ‘impulsive, animalistic lust’ as if it’s a bad thing. And who put you in charge of when ‘it’ happens?” Her hands were under his T-shirt again, sliding over his chest and stomach.

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