Page 3 of Craved By the Alien Warlord

I had watched how she acted around King Uthar. The Vandall who took her captive hadn't even received one ounce of the scowling she reserved for me. So far, she had handled herself with coolness and reservation. She had objectively regarded the possibility of the humans being in the wrong, despite being one of them. She was a female who held up well under pressure. That I received her scorn told me that she harbored feelings for me too, and that notion pleased me immensely. Now it would be up to me to nourish and grow those feelings into something deeper.

I waded back into the freezing water, noticing how it hadn't bothered me at all while I carried Chrissy to the ship. I grabbed the railing and heaved myself up. I could have given myself a boost by jumping, but I had noticed Chrissy's veiled glances at my biceps, and I wasn't above using them to my advantage.

She didn't move her lips; her scathing expression said it all when I stepped on deck. It would have been a wasted effort anyway since we couldn't understand each other.

"We have a week or so to learn though," I said, keeping my grin up and deepening her scowl. "It might come in handy if we understand each other."

She rolled her eyes. I laughed.

I pointed at the railing. "Natgar."

She took a deep breath, showing me she understood what I was trying to do and first repeated the word in my language then said it in hers with an expression that left no doubt that she wasn't doing this to humor me but because our situation called for it.

"Gron—good," I nodded, pointing at the sail, "Darak."

She repeated the word and gave me the word for it in her language, all the while looking as put out as she could possibly be. I didn't care though because we were making progress.

I moved to the mast to inspect the knots that held the sail in place. Pointing at it, I said, "Forok."

She followed me, nodded, and we repeated our little game.

It had been a while since I boarded a ship, let alone commanded one, but Uthar ran me through it before we left, and I felt confident it would come back to me.

Next, I inspected the anchor and found the windlass to lift it up with. Chrissy watched me shrewdly, and I indicated for her to take over. If we were going to sail across the Dark Sea, we needed to work as a team, otherwise we would end up dead.

Chrissy proved adaptable and took over, while I moved to the helm to catch the wind to take us out onto the wide-open ocean. It didn't take long until I not only felt the tugging in the sails, but the boat moving as Chrissy secured the anchor and walked over next to me.

I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her to my side. She scowled up at me, until I placed her hands on the helm to show her how to work it. Her shoulders relaxed slightly under my grip when she realized I hadn't pulled her close to me to touch her, but to teach her, even though touching her was an added bonus, just like having her closer to me.

Once we left the shore behind, I made sure Chrissy's grip on the helm was firm and moved back to the sails to add another one, quickly increasing our speed.

Behind me, Chrissy whooped, and I turned to catch an expression of utter delight on her face. Red hair ripped from her tight bun at the back of her head and danced in the breeze like a flag. She lifted her head and our eyes met. For a fraction of a moment, she offered me a glimpse of the Chrissy buried deep inside her, one that enjoyed a wild ride, but then her scowl returned, and she averted her eyes.

With a sigh, I returned to working on releasing another sail and soon we nearly flew over the Dark Sea. Whatever else the Vandalls were, they were damn fine seamales. They knew their way around a boat and how to build one, and our ship was no exception. It was by far the finest vessel I had ever been on. I decided I might just steal this one from the Vandall. I figured it would serve them right, and I deserved it. After all, they had been responsible for Lothar's death.

Thoughts of my dead brother soured my stomach and brought back the memory of my first encounter with Uthar in Brogan's stronghold. How I had itched to run the bastard through. He might not have been the one stabbing Lothar to death, but he was the leader of the Vandalls, the one who ordered the attack on the small island village my brother was sent to protect.

It had been hard being under the same roof as Uthar and not killing him, but the growing threat of the humans on their lands had made even me see that, for once, we needed one another.

For now.

That was the one thought that kept me going. Once the threat of the humans was dealt with—and I had no doubt that we would be victorious—I would have my long-suppressed revenge on Uthar. Something I never thought I would get.

Venturing into Vandall territory under normal circumstances was suicidal. Something I would have considered before I became a warlord, when I was still me. Now that I had inherited the title of Warlord of Dokkymburg and my life was filled with responsibilities, I had others to consider as well as the consequences of my actions. Burdened with that, I hadn't been able to pursue my need for revenge. Now that the mighty Vandall king had ventured into Thyre territory, I swore I would get it. I might have to wait a few months, but in the end, he would be as dead as my brother. It wouldn't bring Lothar back, but it would settle the debt.

Ididn'tknowwhathad wiped Kendryx's grin off and replaced it with a scowl that rivaled mine, but I didn't like it. I had seen that look before on soldiers who had a score to settle, and if that was the case with Kendryx, I needed to know.

Like it or not, we were partners, and our lives depended on each other for the duration of this mission, so I needed to find out what ghosts he carried with him and be ready for them to rear their ugly heads.

For that, I needed to learn his language or him mine. I sighed. We started it earlier, and we had a week to improve on it before we reached the Vandall lands, but judging by his darkening face, we needed to speed things up so I could prepare myself.

Whatever ghosts he wrestled with though, he seemed to get them back under control because when he returned to me at the helm, there was only a slight tension to his shoulders that betrayed it had ever been there.

"Helm," I said, pointing at it.

He gave me the Thyre word for it, and I repeated it just as he did mine.

He secured the helm and waved me on to follow him below deck to check out our home for the coming week.

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