Addilli nodded. “Ah, a berserker.”
“Doallberserkers look like that?”
Addilli nodded. “Yes. Gold Urib are high caste: they are leaders. Other Urib castes and vocations range a spectrum of colors,but the mightiest of warriors—the beserkers—they are alwaysred like blood,and they arealwaysbonded within a warrior triad.” Addilli paused. “It is worrisome that you encountered a berserker alone. They are dangerous—unstable—when not bonded.”
Ursula pursed her lips, realizing she’d spent too much of the last few years immersed in the minutiae of her life and mourning the loss of her Bridge andnotlearning more about the culture to which she now belonged.What’s done is done.She took a deep breath and turned her head toward the clatter of merchandise being set upon the floor of her shop. Rising from her own stool, she said, “I should supervise.”
Addilli’s eyes widened again. “Surely, that would not be wise.”
“Why not?”
“What if the rosvoi followed you here?”
“You’ve heard about them prior to today?”
Addilli nodded. “Yes. My mates hired extra staff to protect me.”
Annoyed, Ursula muttered, “Does everyone know about these criminals? Am I the last to know again?”
“Your people do as they must to protect you,” Addilli said.
Ursula rubbed her temples, feeling the throb of a headache erupt. “I… I…” She gasped and burst into tears, unable to hold back the horror any longer.
“Mama?” Crow wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head in her lap.
Ursula stroked his head with a trembling hand while she sobbed. Addilli pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. Handing the potter a clean square of cloth, she rested her hand on the female’s shoulder in quiet support as Ursula wept. The slam of the store’s front door startled them.
“Prima!”
The two females gasped. Addilli cringed. Sifgul, whose presence Ursula had forgotten, scrambled backward several steps with an awkward squawk. Ursula looked around for something, anything, she could use as a weapon and grabbed a small ceramic pot, thinking she could throw it and hit the intruder with it. If nothing else, it might prove a distraction and give them a fewnecessary seconds to escape. Standing on trembling knees, she disentangled Crow from her skirts and whispered an order for him to stay with Mistress Addilli. Hefting the pot in her hand, she sidled through the doorway separating the storeroom from the shop.
She gulped at seeing the hulking red warrior standing in the center of the display floor. His broad, muscled shoulders strained the much-mended fabric of his shirt. A torn sleeve revealed the impressive musculature of his arm. Worn leather vambraces encircled his forearms. A wide belt wrapped around powerful hips from which hung a brown kilt of heavy, well-worn fabric. His tail lashed, a sure sign of irritation. A sheathed blade dangled at one hip, the hilt of another, longer blade poked above one shoulder. Heavy boots encased feet which she knew would be tipped with sharp black claws. He was dusty, but otherwise looked clean.
“Prima,” he repeated, this time quietly, although she felt the deep rumble of his voice in her bones.
She wiped her eyes again, straightened her spine, and stepped fully into view. “I am Ursula cen’Vyr, Prima of Fangrys.” She swallowed and hoped he did not intend to finish what the thugs started. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
His keen black eyes glanced around her shop. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Where are your mates?”
“Deployed,” she answered, knowing her candor might well be the death of her and Crow. She glared at the berserker and swallowed a lump of fear. “Where’s Suvesh?”
Sifgul frowned at her admission of vulnerability. The berserker nodded, the wicked sweep of his black horns gleaming beneath the overhead lights. “The castratus? I sent him back to your household. He was injured. I will secure your protection until your mates return.”
Ursula opened her mouth to object, but closed it without saying a word. She’d learned early of Urib male dominance in a culture that considered its women precious and coddled them. Independence in females was neither common nor condoned. Awoman in Urib society lived by privileges, not rights. Although she loved her mates and the son she’d born, Ursula—not for the first time—mentally damned the shifty, weaselly government official on Earth whose deception had exiled her to a galaxy far, far from Earth.
She set the ceramic pot on the counter and said the only thing she could: “Thank you.”
He nodded again, accepting her simple expression of gratitude with what might have been a fine shiver of… pleasure?
Ursula figured she might as well be hospitable. He’d defended her and Crow against the rosvoi, so she assumed he harbored no ill intentions toward her or her son. “May I get you something to eat? To drink?”
“That would be welcome.”
She nodded and retreated to the storeroom where Addilli waited with eyes widened in fright. “Will you watch Crow for me? Please?”
Addilli pressed her hand to Crow’s small body, holding him against her as he squirmed and hissed to be let go. She whispered, “Shall I take him to Gallik?”
“The youngling is safe. I will not harm him,” the berserker’s deep voice rumbled from the shop.
