This version of Amara is new to me. She is powerful. Radiating a strength and determination I have not seen from her yet.
“Tell me,” she says, “if we survive this place, what do you plan to do next?”
As I stare up at her from my kneeling position on the floor, everything seems to fall into place.
Amara is not some traumatized woman who needs a protector. She is the trickling stream, the quiet, unassuming rivulet that cuts its way through mountains, waiting to become a violent flood. The Zhyrrak brought us together so I can be her raging storm, not her safe harbor; so I can fill her basins and let her torrents cleanse the places that a storm cannot.
She is Xelora. My Goddess of War. My Queen, and she is asking if I will fight with her.
The wind outside has stopped, as if even the gods are holding their breath, waiting for my answer. After all these years, I still remember her face. It is clear now that this path was carved for me many years ago. My choice has been made for a long while; I just did not know it until now.
The words form and burn through me with a purpose unlike any I have felt before. “I failed you once, but I will not fail you again. I will be your avenging tempest, your warrior, your champion, your army. I will hunt the monsters who caged you to the ends of the galaxy, carving a scar through this empire until every person in bondage has been freed, every slave-ship has been shredded, and every enslaver has been fed to the void of space. And when we stand over the shattered wreckage, I will ask you, my Queen, ‘What shall I burn next?’”
Amara’s palm finds my chest where the steady, determined march of her heart thuds beneath my skin. “No,” she says, “what shall webuildnext?”
25
TRUST HIM
AMARA
THE FIRST SLIVER of morning light creeps over the stone wall as I drag my fingers through Vexar’s hair. He wakes slowly, a sleepy smile curling his lips and warming my body.
“Hey,” I whisper, staring down at his beautiful face still nestled in my lap.
Last night changed things. A lot. He listened to me, even when I was telling him things he didn’t want to hear. Maybe a part of him already knew everything I was saying was true. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to face it until I forced him to. Either way, I feel confident he’s on my team now. Does that mean I think he’s fully broken out of his cultural cage? No, but at least he’s willing to consider there’s a cage at all. For now, that’s enough.
His eyes flick to the window where the sky has become a soft painting of muted colors—oranges, pinks, yellows, and dusty blues. “It is morning,” he says. His brow furrows as he sits up. “Did you not sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when we get out of here.” After our conversation, I tried to sleep, but the nightmares wouldn’t stop. Then myfist discovered just how hard Vexar’s face really is, and I gave up. “Is your face ok?” I ask.
He rubs a hand over his jaw with a wistful smile. “You punch well, but I am more concerned about your hand.” Warm fingers gently rub over my swollen knuckles. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really, but I think you’re made out of actual stone.”
He grins and presses a kiss to the new bruises. “I will have to be faster in the future.”
“You were asleep. I’m pretty sure your reaction time doesn’t matter when you’re asleep.”
“I can do many things when I am asleep,” he says with a wicked smile.
My eyes roll. “Alright, alright. Enough flirting. Let me check your stitches.”
“I am fine,” he says with a wave of his hand. “The pain is nearly gone.”
“Nope.” I point to the wall and say, “I’m checking them.”
He groans, but scoots over and props himself against the wall anyway. “Really, I am fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” I say as I straddle his right leg to get access to his torso.
A grin spreads across his face as his eyes track down to the apex of my thighs, and I remember that I’m still naked. For a moment, I consider pulling the sheet around me, but that just seems silly, so I sit my bare ass down on his leather-clad thigh. When I was in my twenties, and as strong as I’ve ever been, I walked around like I was a cave troll. Now, despite feeling a bit frail and soft, I’m more proud of my body than I’ve ever been. It’s gotten me through thirty-something years of shit, and I’ll be forever indebted to it.
As I lean forward to loosen the bandage, Vexar lets out a deep rumble that sends a pulse of heat through me. When I glance up, he’s smirking.
“Stop that, I’m trying to focus,” I say as I peel back the bandage and?—
Huh?
