Ved
Isobel’s voice slashed through the red haze of battle.
It was a desperate, powerful call.
It sank into his bones. Sheneededhim.
He did not falter in cutting down his opponents, but his entire body was attuned to Isobel. She was his gravity—her voice a beacon calling him home.
He had to get to her.
Something blunt hit him across the helmet, sending sparks through his vision. The impact threw him into another Xaal whom Ved took down with two quick jabs of his plasma dirk in the weak spot above their chest plate.
“Isobel,” he growled, clearing his vision. He killed another who made the mistake of turning his back for a split second. The sea of opponents parted until he could finally see her.
The qon had her. Ved’s sight narrowed until he could only see them.
Isobel was rigid in his grasp. Her dress was dirty, and bruises peppered her brown skin. He harnessed his fury as he met her bright gaze.He’d never felt more emotion in a look than he did in that moment. Even here, the vastness of all she felt consumed everything else.
And she was apologizing. To him.
It was she who was owed an apology. He should have left her alone. He should have never touched her that night.
But he was a weak Xaal.
“Yield,” the qon said, “and I’ll let her live.” The others halted their onslaught, stepping away from Ved. “She can serve me as a slave when I reclaim Cleave.”
Reclaim.
Then the qon threw his head back and laughed.
The very sound brought Ved up short. He knew that laugh. It had haunted him for over fifty cycles.
Ice traveled through his veins, clawed up his throat.
“Weakling,” Gav spat.
The plasma dirk cutting into his flesh was excruciating, made worse by the fact that the blade was jagged and his eldest brother was taking his time. Ved couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He felt his insides being exposed to the cold as steam rose up to swirl in the frigid air. He became nothing but agony.
He deserved to die.
So weak. So fragile.
When Gav was at last through with his torso, he laughed in his face. His other two brothers, Ezig and Raig, joined him, but it was Gav’s laugh—colder than winter itself—that imprinted itself on his very soul.
But Ved had killed him. He’d killedallhis brothers. The night he took Cleave, he’d ensured total victory. Had not only destroyed them but anyone who would remain loyal to them. And anyone who saw Ved as weak.
He’d torn the old clan asunder and rebuilt it.
“How?” Ved rasped, and he hated the sound.Pathetic.
“Did you think the fire took me, brother?” Gav made a sound of disappointment. “You should have learned from my mistake all those cycles ago. Always finish the kill. You should have letyourselfburn before you assumed I was dead.”
The fire had caught quick—an accident. Torches were knocked over amidst the battle. It only served to cause more chaos and confusion that night. Ved had already killed his other two brothers, with Ezig being first, and was moving to Gav’s quarters.
Ved had wanted him to be last—for him to know he was coming for him.
The flames were moving fast, though, licking down the hallway as he ran to get to his oldest brother’s room. Ved would kill him or die trying. The fire didn’t matter—nothing did beyond the thirst for revenge that had honed him.
