I forced myself to hand Cleo over to one of my guards, ignoring the way my marks protested the loss of contact. She said something sharp and angry as they produced binding cords, her eyes flashing with fury and fear. She fought, but she was too weak and too cold to pose any real threat. They secured her wrists in front of her with quick movements, then did the same to her male companion.
The large male, Baleck, submitted without much resistance, though his eyes never left me. Calculating. Assessing. The older female, Mierva, cried out as her arm was hastily dressed, but appeared relieved to have it immobilized. She just looked exhausted and in pain, leaning heavily on her companion. We began the trek back down through the mountain paths. It would be slower, with these three.
Zelana glanced furtively and spoke low, not wanting the rest of the tracking party to hear. “The prophecy speaks of three sky people who fall from the storms,” she said softly. “Three who return and shatter this sanctuary’s peace. The sanctuary will face its greatest trial, and will face ruin or renewal.”
“Prophecies.” I pulled my coat tighter to hide the warmth still radiating from my marks. “You see signs in everything, Zelana. This is a case of three alien beings who crashed in the mountains. Nothing more.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. My marks hadnever warmed for anyone in all my cycles of life. They’d been cold and still, a reminder of something I’d given up hope of finding.
Until a small brown female with unchanging skin and defiant eyes fell from the storm-torn sky.
I turned and took the steeper, but faster route down the mountain, not looking back to see if they followed. Of course they would follow. They had no choice.
And neither, I was beginning to realize, did I.
The prophecy had found us whether I believed in it or not.Three who fall from the storms. The sanctuary’s greatest trial.
I just hoped we’d all survive whatever came next.
CHAPTER 3
Cleo
The trek from the crash site was brutal.
Every step sent sharp pain shooting through my bruised ribs. My wrists were sore where the binding cords chafed my skin. The cold had settled into my bones during those first terrible minutes in the pod, and now it radiated outward with each gust of wind that tore through the mountain pass. I was pretty sure I had a mild concussion from the crash, given the way my vision occasionally swam when I turned my head too fast.
But I was alive. We were all alive. For now, anyway. I didn’t need to be an anthropologist to take one look at our “rescuers” and see that they were related to the Destrans. Somewhere along the evolutionary tree, these two species had a common ancestor. If they had any intelligence at all—and I suspected they did—they probably didn’t miss the resemblance, either. What that meant for the three of usstranded on this planet, I didn’t know. But for now, all I had to do was put one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t as easy as it looked.
The mountain path was a nightmare of loose rock and hidden ice. One wrong step and you’d plummet hundreds of meters to the jagged rocks below. But the these people moved with practiced ease. Their booted feet found purchase where I saw only treacherous stone. The guards flanking us kept close, hands on their weapons, eyes constantly scanning for threats.
I cataloged everything, starting with the quality of their equipment. It showed sophisticated metalworking despite the primitive setting. The way they moved in formation around the tall male who’d caught me at the crash site. He was clearly their leader based on the deference they showed him. Where his clothing shifted with movement, I caught glimpses of intricate markings on his arms and what I could see of his neck. They looked just like Destran mating marks, but they were all over. The others with him also had an abundance of these marks. Maybe they had many mates, so there was a mark for each.
Rezor. That’s what the others had called him. Lord Rezor.
I couldn’t stop looking at him.
He led the group with confidence and quiet authority. He was taller than the rest of them, with a powerful build that still moved with agility. His skin was a deep golden bronze, thick and textured in a way that reminded me of leather, but somehow still elegant. Probably an adaptation to the harsh climate.
His face was all sharp angles and strong features. Highcheekbones, a nose that had clearly been broken at least once, a mouth that was grim and sensual at the same time. Intense was the word that kept coming to mind. Everything about him radiated controlled power. Absolute authority. But the seven guards with him clearly did not fear him. That was one mark in his favor, at least.
And his eyes. They were utterly striking. They’d been pale green at the crash site, but now they shifted through shades of amber and gold as he surveyed the path ahead. Not like Destran skin that changed with emotion, but something unique. beautiful, and deeply unsettling.
Every few minutes, those eyes found me.
And when they did, they changed. Deepened. Shifted to a vivid fuchsia that was impossible to miss and equally impossible to interpret. He’d look at me for a moment too long, his expression unreadable, and that color would bloom in his irises like some kind of biological alarm system.
It was unnerving as hell. Not threatening, exactly, but intense. Like he was trying to figure out a puzzle and I was the missing piece. Each time our gazes met, something tightened in my chest. Something that had nothing to do with bruised ribs or thin air.
Focus, Cleo.You’re a prisoner of an unknown species on a potentially hostile world. Stop ogling the guy who ordered you tied up.
Ahead of me, Baleck was supporting Mierva, who looked like she was barely staying conscious. Her broken arm had been hastily splinted with strips of cloth and a knife sheath, and her face was tight with pain. At least they’d left her hands free. Small mercies.
“How are you holding up?” I asked quietly, not sure if they’d understand. My translator had been working overtime since the crash, picking up fragments of their language and trying to map it to known linguistic patterns.
“I have been better,” Mierva said through gritted teeth. Her voice was thin. “But I am alive to see this day. That is something.”
Baleck glanced back at me, his orange eyes steady despite the stress patterns rippling across his color-shifting skin. “You?”
