Page 54 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“Right there. Look. The golden sparkles floating in the air.” She pointed with her flashlight. “See?”

He shook his head. “It just looks like darkness.”

As her eyes adjusted, she saw deeper into the reaches. In the offering-bowl depressions in the floor, tucked into four of the shadowy nooks in the pentagon-shaped chamber, items of breathtaking loveliness had appeared. “I see treasure.”

Aral aimed his flashlight at the walls, the ceiling, the floor. “If you say so.”

“And a door. Above the fifth bowl, straight ahead, at the pointy tip of the chamber. It’s outlined in golden glitter.” Shimmering in the dim light like storybook magic. “It’s the same shape as the five points of light on my pendant. It seems to be a theme around here. I bet it’s the entrance to the sanctum.” She snatched Aral’s hand and pulled him with her. There were so many glitter-motes floating around her, she had to wave them out of the way. Aral’s fingers tightened around hers—cautioning her? “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I can see.”

“You’re the Sacred Key. You’re the only one who can unlock the sanctum. Maybe you’re the only one who can see the way in. It makes sense, if the goddesses wanted to protect it. To me it’s just a solid wall.”

Wren let go of Aral and flattened her hands on the door. The stone was rough and cold. The pendant buzzed like a hundred tiny bees resonating in her body. Her teeth and bones hummed too, matching the frequency. “Something’s happening, Aral. Something’s happeningto me.”

He was at her side in an instant, his eyes, dark and intense, searching her face for signs of trouble. She had no doubt that if he saw anything that scared him, he’d have her out of here in an instant, blast the treasure to hells. But he saw her awe, and matched it with awe of his own. Even Aral, a skeptic when it came to the goddesses, a man raised to fight wars against believers, could see the wonder of this holy place—in her.

A strange feeling swelled inside her body—not like her inner beast with its dark fury and ability to kill, and not quite like the liquid pleasure that flooded her when she took Aral inside her body. No, this was a different sensation entirely, and definitely notof her.

The wall fragmented into rocks and then dust, then dissolved altogether. Aral caught her before she fell inside a glowing chamber of unknown size. They turned to each other and smiled. “The inner sanctum,” she said.

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Aral stoodbefore the open room with Wren, her small hand wrapped in his. He flicked the flashlight around—nondescript rocky walls, a tall ceiling, a gleaming floor of polished stone. No odor. No sound. A denseness to the air, like the pause before something happened. It was the only way he could describe it. At the far end, a tall narrow table of the same stone seemed to grow out of the floor like a flat-topped mushroom. A display stand, he guessed, with nothing on it. Nothing thathecould see, anyway.

Wren’s sharp intake of breath assured him the room was anything but empty. “This is it, Aral. Let’s see what’s inside.”

Stepping inside the fabled inner sanctum, Aral couldn’t help thinking of Bolivarr’s last message:Possession of the Sacred Key will give the owner access to the sanctum and all its riches. And secrets, Aral, the most valuable part of all—secrets from before the dawn of civilization. We can’t let this treasure get into the warlord’s hands.

Mission complete, my brother, Aral thought. He marveled at that feat for approximately two seconds before a gust so powerful it bowled him off his feet shoved him backward out the door.

He tumbled head over ass into the outer chamber and landed in a heap. Dazed, he blinked at the now solid wall that had been a door and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

The sanctum had just ejected him like an angry bouncer in a Borderlands drinking hole. And Wren was still inside.

Shake it off! Wren’s in there alone.He got his boots under him, assured himself nothing was broken, and pushed upright.

Something hit him hard on the back of the head. The world exploded in bright light and pain.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

She might have gotten a healthy headstart—aye, a female—but as Bolivarr had gained on her, he saw the woman flitting in and out of his sights. A brunette, short hair, plain brown clothing. Agile and fit, able to run for miles in hilly terrain. If not, he would have captured her by now.

He lost her in the trees, but he knew she was still there. It was almost as if he didn’t have to see her to track her, but track her he would. He suspected Rorkken had sent a few of the others after him. Dice, maybe. A Marine or two. Bolivarr outpaced them with ease. He’d been a Wraith. What he suspected was his prior training took over. He could hear them calling him back. He turned off his audio. He was so driven to pursue this person, nothing else mattered. He felt a connection, a pull—and an ache in his head he knew would have been far worse if not for Sister Chara’s tea. Whoever the hells she was, he’d be damned if he’d let her get away.

Eventually, her energy must have flagged. He was able to pass her, keeping hidden, and then circled around and flanked her.

She was in a clearing, her hands on her hips, appearing to take a break to catch her breath. Turning her back to him unwittingly, she checked a device on her wrist.

He emerged from the woods, a hundred paces behind her. “You can stop right there.”

For a split second, she froze. Then reached for her holster.

“Drop your weapon.”

Her shoulders went rigid. Aiming his triple, he paced forward. “Drop it, miss. Throw it out of reach.”

He scooped it off the ground. A dozer. Imperial origins. Military issue. Well. Someone had been in the Drakken military, or had bought the weapon from someone who was.

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