Emerging from Exile: The Listra Chronicles, Book 1

Chapter 1 – Outlaw

Atop an expansive butte in the woodlands of Vaylen, Zel lay unarmed on a white stone slab with a cult leader holding a dagger over his bare chest. And not just any dagger, but Zel’s dagger, his favorite, one of the few things he owned that meant something to him. No one took his dagger. No. One. He held back a sneer.

The cult’s members gathered before the altar, their arms raised toward the sky, their faces aglow with light from braziers surrounding the perimeter—at least that’s what he envisioned. He had his eyes closed, so there was really no telling. But the heat from the fires warmed his skin, and their voices gave their positions away; they’d joined the leader in chanting to a demon of questionable existence, some idiotic something or other about obtaining power through human sacrifice.

How these fools never once considered the possibility that their oversized “captive” might not be human completely baffled him to the point that he wanted to roll his eyes. But that would give him away and put him at a disadvantage. And, weakest species or not, the Ormans outnumbered him thirty to one at the moment. So, he continued to feign unconsciousness and allowed them to spew their drivel while he mentally communicated with his animals.

Using skills unique to his species, he reached out to his owl, Bubo, who circled noiselessly overhead, keeping watch with huge orange eyes. Bubo let him know his sword belt remained unguarded next to the altar’s grotto, and two cult members held their positions at the butte’s only entrance.

At the altar, the chorus of voices grew in volume, their chants brimming with an excited sense of anticipation. Zel opened his eyes into indiscernible slits and looked past the cult leader’s ridiculously oversized horned headpiece—yet another thing that made him want to roll his eyes. Only a few minutes remained before Argas’ blue moon would eclipse Arganna’s pink moon, and the cult would execute their plan. Or, more accurately, execute him. Time to focus.

He closed his eyes and turned his attention to Esmeralda—Essy—his yellow-eyed death snake, who lay in wait in a tree near the butte’s entrance. With a mental push, he let her know what he wanted. She slithered from the tree to the guards, her thin body covering the distance in a rapid zig-zag motion, barely skimming the surfaces she traversed.

He didn’t have to see it to know how she’d handle the kills, with the strongest poison in all the lands of Terrola and speed imperceptible to human and shifter eyes alike. No, Zel didn’t see her commit the act. But he felt her satisfaction in it when she let him know the deed was done.

With another mental push, he called to Leyal, his enormous dire wolf, beckoning him from the shadows of the forest. The wolf’s emerald eyes emerged within seconds and, at Zel’s command, Leyal and Essy ascended the butte’s steep and jagged slope. Leyal remained at the top to block the exit while Essy continued to the closest cult member. Several swift bites later, she slithered on to the next.

Zel waited.

The enhanced hearing he got from his bond with Bubo told him three fell to Essy’s poison before the chanting faltered. Essy reached a fourth as the murmurs began and, within seconds, men panicked, and chaos ensued. Zel gave his final command, this one to Bubo.

Bubo descended as Zel rose and captured the leader’s hand, holding the dagger in place while he shifted his nose and mouth into that of his wolf, complete with a full set of terrifying teeth and vicious growl. The leader’s eyes grew wide, and his jaw opened as though he intended to scream. But Zel sunk his wolf’s fangs into the man’s neck and ripped out his throat, spraying blood through the air in a dark crimson arc.

There’d be no screams from him.

Zel tossed the bloodied body aside, horned headdress and all, then looked up as Bubo flew overhead, holding his weapon’s belt. Capturing the hilts of both swords, he drew the thin blades from their sheaths before Bubo opened his claws and allowed the belt to fall.

With blistering speed, Zel pivoted and buried his swords into the sides of two cultists, the metal sinking to their spines. He pulled back, dislodging the curved blades with a sucking sound while screams rang from the mouths of those who’d seen. A slice across their throats put an end to their cries. Two more came at him, their swords raised to strike. He rolled off the altar to fend against their attacks and eliminate any others who came within range.

Bubo swooped down, gouging eyes with lethal talons. Essy sunk her venomous fangs into anyone who remained stationary for more than a second, and Leyal guarded the butte’s exit, tearing apart all who dared attempt escape, ravaging them in his deadly jaws until their bodies flopped like puppets without strings.

When Zel finished with those surrounding him, he scanned the butte. Not a single cult member remained standing, though several lingered, wailing and writhing on the ground, clutching their eyes or other wounded body parts.

Eh. They’d murdered multiple females. He’d let them suffer a while longer.

He ripped a section from a dead Orman’s shirt, then shifted his nose and mouth to human form. He wiped his face with the material as he strolled to the other side of the altar. Tossing the bloodied rag, he retrieved his belt and took his time fastening it, then casually sheathed both swords, and checked the small dagger holster in the back—snug and secure.

The cult leader’s lifeless eyes seemed to follow him as he bent to recover the dagger the bastard had stolen. But he focused his gaze on the blade.

He wrapped his palm around it, savoring the grip’s comfort, then took a moment to admire the cerulean Cristalyn stone set into its hilt and the two running wolves that served as its guard. The wolves represented his first bonded animals, the twins, Lanna and Lupa. They’d been gone thirteen years. But it had been twenty-five since one of his best men gave him the dagger. That was back when he had men, back when he led armies of warriors, before he spent most of his life in the woods with only his animals for company. 

He let out a sigh, then stood and tipped the dagger toward the blue moon in their painted and swirling night sky. Thank you, Argas. The warrior God had come through for him that night.

With a practiced motion, he holstered the dagger in a sturdy leather sheath at his ankle, then gave the cult leader one last look. “Demon worship and human sacrifice, eh?” He shook his head. “Asshole.”

He shifted his gaze to the butte’s exit and met Leyal’s emerald eyes. With a mental sense of appreciation, he gave thanks for the evening’s efforts. He then conveyed his desire for the wolf to search out and eliminate any cult members who’d jumped off the butte and survived the fall.

Leyal departed, and Bubo landed on the corner of the white stone altar next to him. The owl peered at him and hooted, looking deceptively cute with his bulky, barrel-shaped build and adorable erect ear tufts. He gave Bubo a gentle rub between his feathers before sending him to scout a wide perimeter beyond the butte and into the woodlands to ensure no one escaped.

Next, Essy appeared from behind a dead Orman and slithered her thin eight-foot length up his leg. She coiled around his waist, made her way over his shoulders, and peered at him from the side. “Hey, girl. Good job tonight.” He softly petted the yellow diamond at her crown, the feature that identified her to everyone, human and shifter alike, as the deadliest snake in all the lands of Terrola. She hissed back, then made herself comfortable around his waist as he drew one of his swords and sauntered across the butte.

Time to put these fools out of their misery.

He stopped at each writhing body, pressing his sword’s tip through their hearts until their cries and whimpers subsided. For the sake and safety of the surrounding villages, he couldn’t permit any to live. Even one surviving member could be enough to revive the cult anew. Paid job or not, he couldn’t allow that.

On the ground next to the altar, he found his medallion of the Trinity, the three Listranian moon gods, and scowled at how carelessly it had been discarded. At least he’d located it, though, unlike his leather brigandine, which seemed to have vanished. Perhaps he could find a tunic among the few inordinately large cult members? Maybe their corpses would prove fruitful as he searched the bodies and removed the eyeteeth of each—an unpleasant task, yes, but proof was required if one wished to get paid.

Rather than a well-built Orman, he had to settle for one who looked like he’d eaten two hogs for breakfast and three for lunch. The man’s tunic, stretched out in the stomach but wide enough to fit his shoulders, would have to do. He also took a cloak and relieved the men of their coin before leaving them to the animals.

He carefully descended the butte, following the deep, rocky slope of a path the cultists had established. A quick search of the nearby woods turned up his horse along with those the dead brought with them. He released all but his own, a well-bred dapple-gray stallion strong enough to hold his weight. With Essy coiled around his waist, Leyal trotting next to them, and Bubo flying silently, he began the journey to Thalaria to collect his earnings.

Four more days in the woods alone—as always. At least he had his bonded animals to talk to, though he often wished they could talk back.

The days were uneventful outside of an encounter with an ugly black bulbous creature with six spindly legs and eight sets of eyes that were worth a fortune to magic-wielding Myara. The encounter didn’t go well for the creature, and Zel wondered if he’d need a larger purse to hold the payment for killing the cult, along with the coin he’d earn from selling the eyes.

But then, why bother? Coin didn’t do him much good living in the forest. About all he used it for was to maintain his weapons and armor and patronize taverns and brothels once every few months when he risked venturing into one of Vaylen’s rundown villages or towns.

Flashes of polished limestone buildings and impressive uniforms materialized before his eyes. He shook his head and pursed his lips. Why, Zelstrason? Why? You hate that place. Yet, even after thirteen years, his homeland still haunted him.

On the final afternoon of the trip, he tied the horse to a tree near a river so he could bathe one last time before reaching the town; he might have to live in the forest, but that didn’t mean he had to look or smell like it. Essy slept in his saddlebag while Bubo did the same in the trees. Leyal joined him, resting on a large flat stone nearby, keeping alert for threats.

The sun poked through the clouds and glistened off the wide, slow-moving river as he entered its chilly waters. Releasing the tie at his crown, he shook out his blue-black hair—the color matched Leyal’s perfectly—and enjoyed the sensation of it scattering over his bare shoulders before immersing himself.

When he rose from the water, he caught sight of his reflection and paused, staring at the scars that marred him. The memory of the inside of a panther’s paw materialized, filling his vision. Its claws extended, ripping into his forehead, both his eyebrows, temple, and cheek. He touched a hand to the side of his face, running his fingers along the indentations. The paw faded and his love, Voenna, came into view, her captivating green eyes staring into his, her exquisite lips mouthing the same words they did every time she appeared.

You failed.

He tore his gaze away, then looked to the sky. Arganna, help me. He closed his eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. It took several measured breaths for his heart rate to return to normal. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face until he reached the week’s growth of beard. Ugh. Scruffy and unacceptable. He had to shave, which meant dealing with the memories seeing his scars so often brought.

Using the short, thin dagger that sat at the back of his sword belt, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, trimming his growth into a tight beard. The focusing technique worked well, until he cut a line into the hair on the right side of his square jaw to match the hairless scar on the left.

Voenna’s green eyes began to materialize again. Damn his desire for symmetry.

 He faltered. The blade slipped, and a red dot formed just above his jawline. Leyal stood and barked, drawing his attention and shattering the vision. He exited the river with haste and silently thanked the God, Arpemal, when Leyal met him at the riverbank and rubbed against his hip. He buried his hand in his wolf’s fur. “Thank you, boy. What would I do without you, eh?” Leyal gave a soft whine of understanding in response. It was an understanding that could only be shared between a member of the Listra species and their bonded strata.

For several minutes, he stood, as though in a daze, nude and dripping at the riverbank, breathing deeply with Leyal’s comforting presence against his leg. A chilly gust of wind swept by, rustling the leaves and giving him a shiver. It pulled him from the daze back into the present. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the line of his beard, not as perfect as he’d like. He glanced back at the water and scowled. “Screw it. It’s good enough.”

He dressed in his britches and boots, then put on the misshapen tunic, and donned his weapons and cloak. Pulling at his thick waves, he brought some of them forward. He’d allow his hair to hang loose for the trip into Thalaria as it, along with his hooded cloak, would aid in concealing his face.

When they resumed their journey, he walked the final narrow wooded path next to Leyal, keeping his hand waist-high buried in the fur of his dire wolf’s back. A few hours later, they arrived at the clearing before Thalaria, a town of ten thousand and one of the largest trading ports in the Orman land of Vaylen. He turned and rubbed Leyal behind the ears. “I won’t be gone long.”

Leyal let out something of a grunt—his version of disapproval.

“I know, my boy. I know.” Holding his dire wolf’s face, Zel bent and pressed his forehead to Leyal’s. They remained, forehead to forehead, for several seconds before he pulled away, turned, and mounted his horse. Staring at the town gates in the distance, he took a heavy breath, gave the horse a gentle kick, and left Leyal behind in the shadows.

The sun’s afternoon glow bathed the thatch roofs of small wooden shops and houses as he traversed Thalaria’s narrow streets, cobblestoned in some areas, dirt in others. People bustled about buying wares, while vendors barked at passersby about their latest products. Everything from the stink of excrement and refuse to the aromas of freshly cut gardenias and roasting pork assaulted his heightened sense of smell.

He tried to focus on the more appealing scents.

Following directions given to him, he rode to one of the most expansive properties in Thalaria, one of only two that boasted a stone keep and sizable bailey, though it still paled in comparison to the dwellings in his homeland of Listrand. True to the man’s word, the Lord paid him the agreed-upon healthy sum of one hundred gold. Considering he met the Lord—and accepted the job—on an overgrown dirt road in the middle of Novillage, Vaylen, receiving payment without having to threaten lives or break bones was as pleasant as it was unexpected.

With his coin purse already bursting at its seams, he rode to a seedy area on the opposite side of town and sought out a contact he’d dealt with in the past. The man gave him an acceptable price for the eyes, though Zel could have negotiated for more.

Before he left, the vendor looked him up and down. “What are ya wearin’ under that cloak there?”

Zel held the cloak open. The man scowled, then turned to his neighboring merchant. “Hey, give my friend here a deal on one of them tunics ya sell, will ya?” He turned back to Zel and gestured toward his chest. “That one’s embarrassin’.”

The neighboring merchant stood frozen, staring at Zel with wide eyes. Though most Ormans didn’t recognize him as a Listra on sight, those who did often wanted nothing to do with him. He didn’t blame them. If he were a weak, non-magical human, he’d feel the same.

“He’s a’ight. His coin’s good as anyone’s,” the vendor said. “And he won’t hurt ya… long as ya don’t cheat ‘im.”

The man’s endorsement had an impact. A few minutes later, Zel left for Thalaria’s oldest tavern, wearing a new brown tunic with a V-neck collar and a proper fit. While he tied off his horse in the open stable next door, Essy slithered out of his saddlebag and coiled herself around his waist under his clothes.

He entered the tavern, a wooden structure with thick dark beams and a stone fireplace that took up the entirety of one wall. The scent of malt and spice filled his nose. His mouth watered at the thought of enjoying a tankard of ale for the first time in months.

With his cloak’s hood up, he settled into the darkest table in the far corner. He watched several locals gamble under a twelve-candle iron chandelier, the only bright light in the tavern. And it was good to be around people again, even if only from a distance. There was a satisfaction in it, a fulfillment of sorts he was sure could only be understood by those who lived as he did, isolated from others.

Several hours and tankards of ale later, he opened his mouth to call the barmaid. But she appeared beside him before he could utter a word, deftly took the coin from his hand, and replaced it with a note. The move was smooth, almost artful, and surprising in its simplicity. He turned, tried to glimpse her face, but saw only a cascade of dirty blonde hair and a nicely shaped bottom swaying pleasantly away. Who in Jallah? And where did she learn to do that? More important, though, was the note.

He scanned the small room. Only a few Thalarians remained. All appeared local. None looked out of place.

Opening his palm, he read the note. Meet me behind the tavern, brother.

Uneasiness washed over him. He scanned the room again. Only Listra warriors would call him “brother,” warriors who had orders to capture him on sight, alive or dead.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and called on Bubo. Bubo made a few passes overhead. The impression he returned gave no sign of threat or ambush, nothing out of the ordinary. If it wasn’t an ambush or trap, if it wasn’t Listra warriors there to apprehend him, it might be a warrior brother in trouble.

There was no choice.

He stood and strode toward the rear exit with a hand on his sword. From a hallway behind the bar, he threw the back door open. No arrows flew in. No blades came swinging. Both good signs.

With vibrant blue eyes, he peered into the darkness. He could shift his eyes into those of his owl to improve his sight. But the bond he shared with Bubo gave him enough night vision that he rarely found it necessary, especially not when Argas’ moon shone full as it did that night. The moon’s cerulean glow bathed the alleyway and the warrior who stood there, deepening the blues of the plush velvet dress uniform he wore.

It also glinted off the man’s swords.

Zel stepped out, ready to draw his weapon. From under a hood much like Zel’s own, the man lifted his head. The light hit his face and beamed off a smile that looked like it belonged on the face of an excited child. Zel’s eyes grew wide. “Fogard!” The elation in his voice matched the excitement on his friend’s face.

They clasped each other’s elbows, bringing each other close with a firm pat on the shoulder, a greeting typical among Listranian warrior brothers.

And they not only looked like warrior brothers in size and strength but, with nearly identical dark hair, blue eyes, and matching golden brown skin, one could mistake them for brothers by blood from a short distance. Upon closer inspection, however, Fogard’s softer, boyish features contrasted with Zel’s weathered, rugged lines. His clean-shaven face and ornate clothes also set him apart.

“It’s so good to see you, Sir!” Fogard said as they disengaged.

“You as well, my brother.” Zel’s grinned from ear to ear, happier than he’d been to see anyone in more than a decade. “But what are you doing in Thalaria?”

Fogard dropped his chin and looked down.

“Oh no. What did you do, Fo?”

Without raising his head, he met Zel’s eyes. “The same thing you did, Sir.” His face bore a sheepish grin.

“No. Tell me you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t help it.” He shrugged.

“What species?”

“Myara. And you’re going to love her, Sir. She’s wonderful. Truly.”

“I’m sure she is.” Fogard’s beaming love-struck eyes certainly said it was so. “But no matter the species, it still means you broke the law. Did Pahan sentence you to death?”

“I left Listrand before he could. Still, the hunt has been dispatched. And I saw you and couldn’t believe it. I thought maybe you could help us. We need to escape and get further south before they arrive. Can you help?”

Zel looked from side to side. “We’re too exposed here. Follow me.”

He led Fogard behind shabby houses and shops, noiselessly traversing Thalaria’s narrow back alleys until the smell of sea salt and fish filled the air. Turning a corner, they arrived at the docks where oared vessels moored next to dozens of wooden ships with towering masts that reached toward the many colors of Terrola’s night sky. They descended stone steps that led to one of the dock platforms, then headed to the pitch-black darkness of an alcove under a stone bridge. In an automatic gesture, Zel put his hand up, giving the signal to halt.

He turned to Fogard. “I have to hood you for the rest of our journey.”

Fogard cocked his head.

“The entrance to the place we’re going is secret and I’m bound to keep it so. I can get you in, but can’t let you know the way.”

“Ah.”

Zel grabbed a hood from a hidden compartment under the bridge, then placed it over Fogard’s head and guided him through an archway concealed by thick creeping greenery. They walked through a maze of hallways, twisting and turning repeatedly before reaching a steep stairway.

Two menacing men stood at the bottom flanking an arched door set into a frame of rough, gray stones. Light from torches glinted off their swords and daggers, and enough dirt and grime enhanced the lines in their skin that Zel would have bet his bulging coin purse neither had seen a washtub in a month. The stench that assailed his nostrils as they approached served as a further assurance; he’d probably win that bet.

The bald man on the right nodded. “Zeltam.”

Zel nodded in return. “For the freedom of the kill.”

The man grunted. “You can enter, but who’s this?”

“A friend. I’m sponsoring him.”

“Sponsorin’, eh?” His gruff voice held a distinct note of disapproval. He scowled as he appraised Fogard. “I gotta see his face in case I need to kill him later.”

Zel lifted the hood from his friend’s head. Fogard was greeted by the burly man’s face inches from his own. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.

“Can you keep your mouth shut, asshole?” barked the man at Fogard.

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

“You’d fuckin’ better.” He sneered in Fogard’s face before turning back to Zel. “You understand this asshole is your responsibility?”

“I do, and I trust this asshole with my life.”

“Hmph.” The guard pursed his lips. “I hope you’re right about him… for your sake.” He opened the door, then motioned for them to enter the torch-lit cave on the other side.

At the guard’s invitation, Zel and Fogard stepped into Thalaria’s coastal cave network, a natural system of underground tunnels and caverns appropriated by the local criminal contingent. The heavy door closed and left them in a torch-lit chamber filled with rock formations that drooped from the ceiling and flowstone that covered the walls. A small waterfall gurgled to their left and a wide, dimly lit tunnel descended into darkness on their right.

Zel turned and rested his hands on Fogard’s shoulders. “Gods, brother, let me look at you.” No words could convey how good it was to see his old friend. “Good form. Wide as a mammoth.” He gave Fogard’s arms a couple of firm pats. “Been training hard?”

“Fighting more like it.”

“Fighting who?”

“Palloran.”

“Gods no. Again?”

Fogard nodded. “Nothing serious yet, but they started testing our defenses again a few months back.”

Zel pursed his lips. He may not consider Listrand home anymore, but he didn’t like them being under attack. It put their incredibly sparse female population at risk and their species couldn’t afford to lose any Listra females, not even one.

“What’s that look?” Fogard peered at him. “Don’t you go finding some stupid reason to feel guilty about this.”

Zel opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Fogard raised a hand to stop him. “You decimated them so badly it took more than a decade for them to rebuild and come after us again. No one else could have done that. No one.”

“Not me. We. I didn’t do it alone.”

“You’re too modest, Commander.”

“I’m no longer your commander, nor anyone else’s.”

“Pfft. You’ll always be my commander. And you should know I’m far from the only one who feels that way.”

“Please. It’s been years.”

“So? There are hordes of warriors still loyal to you.”

Zel shook his head.

“I’m serious. And I hate to be the one to tell you this, Sir, but you need to go back.”

“What?” His brows scrunched. “Have you gone mad? You have a hunt from Listrand on your tail, and you’re telling me to go back?”

“I am.”

“Why in the name of the Holy Trinity would I ever go back to Listrand?”

“To become Laspet and rule, of course.”

Zel rolled his eyes, turned, and began walking. “You have gone mad.”

Chapter 2 – The Criminal’s Cave

Scowling, Zel stalked through the torch-lit corridor of Thalaria’s coastal cave network, with Fogard taking huge strides to catch up. Go back to Listrand to rule? To become Laspet? He shook his head. Fogard had lost his bloody mind.

“I haven’t gone mad, Sir. Osmet’s going to vie for the throne.”

Osmet? Gods, what an ass. Osmet was the bane of his existence when they were pups: always looking for a fight, relentlessly targeting him for no good reason. He wanted nothing to do with that Listra. Ever. “So, let him have it.” The torches from the cavern lights flickered across his scowl as they traversed the uneven natural corridor, descending further into the cave system.

“Come now, Commander, you don’t mean that?”

“I’m not your commander,” he growled, “and I can’t go back to Listrand. Pahan sentenced me to death. Or have you forgotten?”

“Buzan doesn’t think he would have gone through with it, and you know Buzan’s instincts. He’s almost always right.”

Buzan, like Fogard, was one of his best warriors but, “Buzan wasn’t there. None of you were. You didn’t see the anger in Pahan’s eyes when he condemned me.” Zel shook his head. “And you won’t be in Listrand anyway, so what do you give a shit what happens there?”

“Everyone I know and care about is there, Sir, and many you know, too. And Osmet would be devastating as a ruler. You know that as well as I. Between his species hatred, his love of war, and his thirst for power, he’s dangerous, Sir. Incredibly dangerous.”

They came to a fork in the cave system, and Zel led them down the tunnel on the right, avoiding mushroom-like rock formations that looked like they’d sprouted from the ground.

“You can’t just let him take the throne, Sir.”

“Why not? And how would he take it anyway? He’s not strong enough or skilled enough to best Pahan.”

“Not yet, but he will be eventually.”

Zel shook his head. “So, let Pahan deal with it when the time comes. It’s not my problem.” They turned into a tunnel on the left.

“Laspet Pahan grows older every year. He will weaken as Osmet strengthens. You know this to be true.”

“Bah.” Zel waved him off as they approached a set of heavy double doors on the right. “We need to get you out of those clothes.” With a creak of the hinges, Zel opened the doors to a large natural cavern with wood plank flooring. The torchlit walls glistened with dampness, and stalactites of different sizes hung from the ceiling, dripping water into small open pools between the planks. The doors closed with a heavy thud as he and Fogard entered the space.

Zel walked to one of several clothing racks set around the cavern’s perimeter. “Start searching.” He gestured to one of the racks.

“What am I looking for?”

“Something that fits that doesn’t draw attention.”

Fogard scowled.

“What? You didn’t expect to hide in the land of shacks and peasants, looking like that, did you?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, Sir.” Fogard kicked at nothing on the floor, a behavior that made him look like a scolded child.

Gods, his brother was in for quite an awakening. Life on the run in Vaylen was nothing like life as an elite warrior in Listrand. But then a thought crossed his mind. “Why are you in Vaylen, anyway? You’re with a Myara. Why not go to Ley Lanna?” Ley Lanna was the land of the Myara, after all.

“Because we were trying to throw off the hunt. Besides, she has a friend in Vaylen, somewhere near Veyforge. It’s where she wants to settle down.”

“Settle down? You’re an outlaw now. How do you think you’re going to settle down?”

“After the hunt. If we can survive the six months, then it’s only regular patrols we’ll have to avoid, so we should be able to settle somewhere after that. Haven’t you settled down somewhere?”

“Fo, I’m the most well-known outlaw in Listrand. And look at my face.” He gestured to his scars. “I’m a wee bit recognizable, don’t you think?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I can’t settle anywhere.”

“But…?” Fogard’s face twisted. “What have you been doing all these years then?”

“Living in the woods. Killing for coin.” And Fogard would be lucky if he didn’t end up doing the same.

“You can’t be serious, Sir?”

“What did you think I’d be doing?”

 “Well, I don’t know,” Fogard said dryly. “I thought maybe you’d find a mate, settle a small farm, and try to breed pups—you know, live out the fantasy you talked about endlessly for years.”

“Bah.” Zel buried his face in one of the clothing racks. That was a dream he’d given up long ago.

“What do you mean, ‘bah’? That’s all you talked about, and talked about, and talked about, and talked—”

 “I get the point, Fo,” said Zel, pulling away from the clothing rack and looking at him squarely.

“Do you? Because I don’t. I mean, we both know it was a completely ridiculous notion when you were a warrior, but you’ve been free to make a relationship for thirteen years now.”

“Free to make a relationship?” He dropped the clothes in his hands and looked at Fogard in disbelief. “You think I’m free to make a relationship?”

“Aren’t you?”

“After what happened to Voenna? To my beautiful Voenna… and our unborn child?” He shook his head. “I’m not free to make any relationship.”

“But why not?”

“Because I failed her, Fo. And I can’t risk another female. I can’t allow another female to die for the crime of loving me.”

“You didn’t fail her. None of what happened was your fault.”

“It was,” he said gruffly. “And it’s best that I’m alone.”

“But, Sir, all you ever dreamed of—”

“Enough.” The muscles in his neck tensed, and his tone sounded harsh, even to his own ears. He softened his voice. “Leave it be, brother. Please.”

Fogard lowered his head and nodded. “Yes, Sir.” He began rummaging through the clothing rack next to Zel.

After a couple minutes of searching in silence, Zel asked, “So what’s your Myara called?” 

Fogard’s face lit. “She’s called Ankara. And wait until you meet her, Sir,” he said, his blue eyes bright and beaming. “She’s amazing. Beautiful. And the things she can do with magic, it’s so much different than our magic.”

The child-like joy and wonderment in his voice made Zel smile. “She’s powerful?”

“Formally trained at the Nexis.”

Zel’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really. And she doesn’t have just one magic either, but several types.” His chest swelled.

Zel was impressed, too. Being formally trained at the Nexis meant she was among the more powerful magic wielders in all the lands. That, however, didn’t mean safety from threats. “You know Vaylen is becoming a difficult place for magic users, right?”

“We’ve heard. We’ve been told Ankara should limit her use to only minor magic, at least publicly, and that we shouldn’t let anyone we don’t trust know she’s a Myara.”

“And especially not a formally trained Myara. The more magic a person has, the more they’re feared, and that fear seems to be growing all the time. If the tension continues to escalate, I expect we’ll see violence eventually and, if I had to guess, I think the Ormans will start it. Fear makes people behave irrationally.” He held a tunic to his chest, then discarded it. “But speaking of her safety, where is she?”

Fogard didn’t respond, and when Zel looked at him, his face bore a sly smile. “What?” Zel asked with suspicion.

“She was your barmaid, the one who handed you the note.”

“No, that can’t be. I didn’t get a look at her face, but I saw her hand and her skin wasn’t the true white of the Myara, it was Orman-white.”

“Glamour magic. It’s why she’s at the tavern without me. Well”—he cocked his head—“that and the fact that our Listra warriors know what I look like, but they don’t yet know what she looks like. And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”

“Good idea.” Zel thought back to Ankara’s deft move in trading his coin for the note. “She has some skill. I’ll give her that.” He nodded in approval. “At least one of you has a chance.”

“Thanks, Sir. Really.” He smiled—until a hiss emerged from Zel’s midsection. Fogard sprang backward as Essy’s bright yellow eyes and her telltale yellow diamond emerged from under Zel’s cloak.

“Oh, look at that. We finally woke sleeping beauty.” Zel petted the snake gently on its head. “Fogard, meet Esmerelda. Essy, this is Fogard.”

“Jallah Argastra! You bonded with a death snake!”

“Gods, Fo, would you like to say that a little louder?” The section of the cave system they were in wouldn’t be populated at such a late hour, but still.

Zel shifted his gaze from Essy to Fogard and saw his brother flattened, with his back pressed against the wall. His eyes were wider and more frightened than Zel had ever seen in all their days together, in all the battles they’d fought together.

“Well, forgive me for being just a little freaked out over the deadliest snake in all the lands being right in front of me, within striking distance, and obviously bonded to one of my closest brothers in arms who’s, apparently, a Huge. Snake. Bonding. FREAK!” He barely took a breath before demanding to know, “How in Arpemal’s name did you bond with a bloody snake? You know that’s not supposed to happen, right, Zel? You bloody freakin’ freak!”

Zel grinned, then guffawed. Then he doubled over, pointing at Fogard, and speaking between waves of laughter. “The look on your face, brother. If I had known that all I had to do to get this reaction out of you was to bond with a snake, I would have done it a long time ago.” He hadn’t laugh so hard in ages.

Fogard remained unmoving, with his eyes wide and his body taut.

Essy slithered around Zel’s neck and bobbed her head with his laughter, her tongue darting out every few seconds, her movements punctuated by periodic hisses. When his laughter finally subsided, Zel gestured toward the clothing rack. “Come. Return to your search. She won’t bite you.”

Fogard didn’t move.

“I said come.”

Fogard still didn’t move. His eyes remained wide and locked on Essy.

“She won’t bite you,” Zel repeated. “Come on, Fo. It’s me. Do you think I’d let my strata bite you?”

“Probably not,” Fogard admitted reluctantly. “But fuck, it’s a death snake.”

Zel looked at him, cocked his head, lifted his brows, and waited.

“Alright. Alright.” He slowly peeled himself from the wall and crept the short distance to the clothing rack.

Once he got closer, Zel, in the most off-handed way, said, “And besides, I have an antidote in case she does.”

“In case!” Fogard froze, making Zel snort in amusement. “Fuck you, you ass. I’m disowning you as my commander,” Fogard said with a grimace. But then the corners of his mouth turned up. Still, he never once took his eyes off Essy as he returned to the clothing rack. And Esmerelda watched his every move.

“Okay, enough with the staring contest, you two.”

“Seriously, Sir, you bonded with a snake.” Fogard finally pulled his eyes from Essy to look back at Zel. “You know how rare that is?”

“Of course.” Zel smiled and stood a little straighter. Though he often cursed his strength and power for dictating so much of his life’s path, getting an offer to bond from a death snake had been one of its greatest benefits—if one of its only benefits in his eyes.

“And how many strata do you have now?”

“I have Essy here.” He stroked her. “Then there’s my new wolf, new to you anyway. Leyal. He’s black as night, a dire wolf with the greenest of eyes. And you’ve gotta see him. He’s about as big as a horse. Great personality too. Loyal, but independent. Keeps me on my toes. You’d love him.

“Then I have my newest, Bubo, my miniature eagle owl—almost the same capabilities as a full-sized eagle owl, but in a much smaller package.” He held his hands up about a foot apart. “He’s my eyes for scouting and night vision. Oh, and if you think a wolf gives you good night vision, try an owl sometime. I swear it’s nearly daylight for me even on the darkest of nights, and even without shifting.”

“So, three then?” Fogard said with raised brows. “Holy Gods.”

“I’ve had offers from others over the years, too. I wish I could have accepted them all but, unlike what we do back in Listrand, I keep them with me as much as possible. So, I always have to consider the practical elements of traveling and moving through villages and towns with them.” Not to mention the increase in primal aggression that accompanied each new bond.

“Bonding offers? In addition to the three you’ve accepted?”

“I know. I’ve been very fortunate in that regard.”

“Huh, I love your humility, brother, really I do, but fortune has nothing to do with it and you know it.”

Zel shrugged. “And you?”

“I’m down to one. My raven, watching over Ankara at the moment. My wolf died in battle with Palloran.”

“Sorry to hear that, Fo. Losing a strata is—Gods, there are no words.” He knew first hand having lost twin wolves himself. “But why would you bring your wolf into battle?”

Zel would be the first to admit he used his strata more than most Listra. Sometimes, as with the cult, it was necessary. But not when the risk to them was great. Strata were simply too valuable. If given the choice, all Listra avoided bringing their strata into perilous situations, instead preferring to rely on the enhanced capabilities they got from the animals with whom they shared a bond.

“Don’t ask. It’s still raw,” Fogard said, the pain of loss evident in his eyes.

Zel didn’t push.

Fogard dropped his gaze to Essy and shook his head. “I still can’t believe you bonded with a bloody snake.”

“I couldn’t either. But you know what? Of the three, she’s with me the most. And useful? Oh, you wouldn’t believe it. We Listra always think the wolf should be our number one, that they’re our most valuable strata. Don’t tell Leyal this because I wouldn’t trade him for anything but, if I were ruling Listrand, I’d definitely be encouraging Listra to be open to bonding with snakes.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. She’s the best strata I could ask for.” Essy slithered down Zel’s body onto the floor with incredible speed, and Zel moved into the middle of the cavern, away from the clothing racks. “Watch this.” He drew his swords.

Fogard’s eyes grew wide. “How did you do that? Was that magic?”

“You mean you didn’t see my arms move at all?”

“Not really. Maybe? A blur at most, but no, I don’t think so. Do it again.”

Fogard watched intently as Zel sheathed the swords as fast as he’d drawn them. Then he held his hands up, palms open, with empty fingers splayed; then he drew the swords again and held them for Fogard to see.

“No, even staring at you, I can’t see the movement, nothing more than the slightest of blurs. It looks like magic. Tell me, how do you do it?”

“It’s her.” Zel pointed a sword toward Essy, who laid coiled on some discarded clothing near him. “Death snakes strike so fast we can’t see it. Bonding with her has given me that speed with any singular motion.”

He slashed both swords so fast the air from their movement couldn’t be felt until they were stationary in their new position. “There is a moment of vulnerability between moves though,” he said, slashing with lightning speed again. “It’s a moment of recoil.” He slashed the swords once more. “So, it’s only one singular motion at a time but, if I’m drawing a weapon, it gives me the advantage of startling my enemy. If I’m trying to kill them”—he sliced through the air with both blades again—“well, the advantage is obvious.” He then sheathed both swords as fast as he’d drawn them, with barely a blur of motion visible. “I can kill an Orman, or even a Listra warrior, before he can react.”

Fogard peered at him. “That is one of the most impressive things I think I’ve ever seen, Commander. With this ability, Laspet Pahan would have no chance in a challenge against you. In fa—”

“Oh, but the best part about Essy? She scares the piss out of everyone who sees her.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell you how many scrapes that’s gotten me out of.

“You need to buy a little time? Have her show her face for just a second. Everyone panics and you have your time.

“You need some guards to clear out of a doorway? Have her slither on up.” He made a slithering motion. “They flee. It’s unbelievable. No one ever tries to kill her, either. They just do what you did, try to get as far away as fast as possible. It’s quite a handy reaction.”

“Huh. I can see how it would be.” He looked from Essy to Zel again. “You realize you’re providing yet another reason why you should become Laspet, right?”

Zel chortled and shook his head. “You’re not going to give up on that, are you?”

“Never, Sir.” Fogard smiled. “And how about shifting between the three strata? Have you mastered it?”

Zel’s eyes shifted into two large, orange disks that looked like the eyes of his owl, Bubo. As fast as they appeared, his eyes shifted back to normal only for his nose and mouth to become those of his black dire wolf, Leyal. Almost immediately, the wolf’s nose and mouth transformed into the mouth of a snake, complete with poisonous fangs. Finally, his mouth shifted back to his own.

“You’ve practiced. That was some fast shifting.”

“Too bad I almost never use the skill anymore. Rarely do I need the capability, and Ormans aren’t comfortable with shifters, so I don’t do it around them. And you shouldn’t either. It’s best not to draw attention.”

“Speaking of not drawing attention, I noticed the guard called you Zeltam.”

“He did. I go by Zeltam of Ardevon now.”

“Ardevon? Where in Jallah is Ardevon?”

“Exactly.”

“Ah, I see. And I do suppose introducing yourself as the ‘Mighty Warrior Zelstrason’ might draw some attention.”

Zel rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.” He hated that moniker, and Fogard knew it. He balled up the tunic he was holding and threw it at Fogard. Fogard caught the material and shrugged, but his grin was as wide as Zel’s.

Gods, it felt good to be with a friend again, one who he’d die for, who he knew would do the same for him. He’d all but forgotten what that type of friendship felt like. Now, Fogard would be in Vaylen. Zel would have someone again after thirteen long years alone. His heart swelled with joy at the prospect.

What a luxury it would be to have a true friend around, a fellow Listra he could spend time with, joke with, and train with. One who understood him. One with whom he didn’t have to hide any part of himself. Maybe having Fogard in the Orman lands would make life worth living again?

He came across some britches so long they dragged on the floor. Holding them to his waist, he noted they looked somewhat better than a discarded rag, making them a cut above most of the clothes on the racks, and they reached his ankles. He turned to Fogard. “How about these?”

Fogard grimaced. “They look like peasant’s clothes.”

“It’s a disguise, you pretentious prick.” He threw the britches at him. “Just try them on.”

Fogard huffed. “Yes, Sir.” Scowling, he held the britches up and inspected them, then continued to speak as he changed out of his plush velvets. “So, you said you’re killing for coin. Does that mean you’re an assassin now?”

“I prefer sellsword.”

“Uh huh. And what armies do you work for?”

“No armies. Private jobs.”

“So, you’re an assassin.”

Zel cocked a brow in Fogard’s direction.

“What?” Fogard shrugged.

“What’s your point? You’re obviously getting at something.”

“Just that you could be killing for Listrand’s army instead—until you get a chance to eliminate Osmet, of course. Then you could assume the throne once it’s time for Laspet Pahan to step down.”

Zel looked at him drolly.

“You could.”

He licked his lips and tried to gather his patience. “We’ve been through this, Fo. First, I’m an outlaw sentenced to death, a minor fact you seem to think can be completely disregarded. I can’t just walk into the palace and take over. Simply entering Listrand would probably get me apprehended, if not executed, on sight. But even if I could go back, I wouldn’t. Not to command the army, and not to rule. Besides, you know how I feel about ruling. That’s what Pahan wanted for me, not what I wanted. And you see what it’s done to him.”

“Whatever it’s done to him, Osmet would be a thousand times worse. War with Palloran would never end. And he’d be more likely to further restrict warriors, especially where females are concerned.” Fogard took a step toward him. “I know you’ve never wanted to rule, but the warriors need the change you would bring, Commander. Never-ending war in addition to this expectation that we’re to go a lifetime with no female companionship—well, maybe if we had the paltry fifty- to eighty-year lifespan of Orman males, that might be one thing. But for hundreds of years? It’s just not a realistic expectation, Sir.

“And more and more warriors are straying all the time, too. I’m far from the only one since you were sentenced. And several others have been sentenced as well, all for the same thing, all for inter-species relations.”

“Don’t you mean ‘Consorting with the Enemy?’” Zel said with a smirk.

Fogard rolled his eyes. “Pfft. Such a bullshit charge. Like my Ankara or your Voenna is the enemy. But this is what I’m talking about, Sir. You could change things. Please, at least consider it.”

Zel shook his head.

“Please, Sir.”

“I’m sorry, Fo. I’m all done with Listrand. I can’t. I just can’t.”

With slumped shoulders, Fogard nodded and turned back to the clothing rack. They searched in silence for several minutes before Fogard spoke again. “Sir, I wanted to ask something.”

“Mm?”

Fogard looked down for a second before meeting Zel’s eyes. “You might think us mad, but Ankara and I want to try to make a pup after the hunt, once we settle down. Do you think it’s possible?”

“Between a Listra male and a Myara female?” Zel shrugged. Would it be a pup or a baby? “I know as much as you know, brother. With Voenna and I, we were both shifters, so…”

“You think a shifter won’t be able to breed with one of the human species?”

“I’m not saying that. I’d just guess the odds are better for two shifters than a shifter and a human, but maybe you’ll be the first Listra to find out?” He smiled. “You can be the breakthrough, the one who makes the discovery.”

“Oh, could you imagine?” Fogard said, not hiding the hope in his voice. “Oh, and imagine if we had a girl!”

“That would be something.” Zel’s smile widened. “You know, I really do hope you and Ankara can make it happen. It would go a long way to proving that one of my main ideas for ensuring the survival of our species has some merit.” Zel handed him a tunic. “Here, I think this one will work.”

Fogard scowled at it.

“Hey, it’s better than the jester’s tunic I threw at you earlier.”

With pursed lips, he reluctantly took it from Zel’s hands.

“So, we have to get to the problem at hand, getting you and Ankara out of Thalaria.”

“Do you have any ideas, Sir?”

“I do. I have a friend who’s a smuggler.” Zel cocked his head. “Well, as much as anyone can call a professional criminal a friend. In any case, he captains a large ship and, for the right price, I know he’ll happily get you and Ankara out of town. He’s also one of the few Orman who knows what I am too, so I’ll be able to explain the actual situation to him. That’s an advantage.”

“Will he be able to help us escape before the hunt arrives? They’ve dispatched at least two hundred warriors. If we’re here when they arrive, we may not make it out.”

“I know, and I’m not surprised they’ve sent that many. But they’ll scatter throughout the lands. They won’t all end up here in Thalaria.”

“Still. Suppose only fifty make it here. We can’t take on that many.”

“True.” Zel cocked his head. “Might be a good time to say a prayer to Argas that my smuggler comes through.”

“Not only to Argas, I’ll be praying to the Trinity.”

“Mm. Not a bad idea. But speaking of the Trinity, when you’re in public, don’t mention the Trinity, or Arganna, or Argas, or any Listranian Gods and words or anything that’ll give you away.”

“Of course. Makes sense.” Fogard stood in his new tattered outfit with his arms out. “So, how do I look?”

Zel evaluated him. “Like you might be able to pass for an oversized Orman.”

“Good enough then?”

Zel nodded. “Good enough.”

Fogard gathered his things while Zel dropped a silver piece into a lockbox by the door. On their walk out of the caves, they made a plan to meet at Zel’s smuggler’s house the following afternoon to devise Fogard and Ankara’s escape.

Chapter 3 – Thieving & Scheming

Zel hid behind the window inside his smuggler’s house. He moved the thin, ratty curtain aside and peered at the cobblestone path. Ginni walked toward the house, her unique burnt orange skin the color of the desert sands of the Akari, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Loose strands her long braid, only a few shades darker than her skin, fell below her waist and blew like fiery wisps in the breeze. Because of the hair and skin color of the Akari species, they were often referred to as sand people, sometimes just as a description, sometimes as an insult.

As usual, she wore a tight bodice her breasts sat upon more than in. Her size and strength far exceeded that of an Orman woman, yet she struggled to carry a fifty-pound sack of flour over one shoulder and a crate of fruit in the other hand.

Zel would have rushed to assist her if not for the threat of Listra warriors lurking about. Normally, such a threat wouldn’t concern him, as he could easily evade or dispatch one or two. With a hunt coming to town, however, their numbers could be far greater.

A moment later, the door swung open, its rusty hinges squeaking in protest. He stopped it before it slammed against the rickety house. The crate of fruit slid from her hand. He moved faster than the eye could see, catching it before it hit the floor.

“Zeltam!” She peered down at him with eyes as uniquely orange as her skin and hair. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s great to see you too, Ginni,” he said, holding the fruit crate near the floor and looking up at her six-foot frame.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The corners of her mouth turned up. He lifted the crate and took it from her. She started to set the flour down, and he moved with speed to position himself to ease the load as she lowered it. “But it’s not every day a woman walks into her house and a man is already in it. I mean, a man other than the one she’s stuck with.”

“I know. And sorry for taking the liberty, but I’m hiding out.” Zel set the fruit crate on the floor and closed the door behind her.

“More than usual?”

“Far more. Listra warriors coming to town on a fugitive hunt. They’ll be looking for a friend, but that’ll change if they catch sight of me.” He moved the flour onto a pile of similar sacks on the floor.

“So why are you still in town at all? In need of a thief?” she asked with a smile.

“A smuggler, actually.”

“Dammit.” Her smile transformed into a scowl. “Why is it everyone always needs Jarrand? What about my skills, huh?”

“Your skills are fantastic, Ginni. Speaking of, I’ll have my coin back.” He held out an open palm.

She sighed, then grinned as she produced his coin bag from somewhere behind her and plopped it into his hand.

He reattached it to his belt, then held out his hand again. “And the coin you took from it.”

Her grin widened and her eyes sparkled. “Aw, Zeltam, you know me too well.” She dropped four gold coins into his palm.

He kept his hand open and eyed her pointedly, then wagged his fingers back and forth, beckoning her to produce the rest.

“Aww.” Her grin turned into a pout. “You’re no fun.” She dropped another few coins into his palm.

He gave her a playful smirk and wagged his fingers again. She dropped another few coins, pouting even more. “Is that all of it?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Yes, that’s all of it,” she said definitively.

He reached to his waist to get the purse from his belt while she walked toward her small, cluttered kitchen with a satisfied smile.

“You’re a good liar, Ginni. Very good,” he said as he put the coins back into his purse.

She froze.

“You can keep the rest you took just for that.”

She turned with a scowl. “Ooh, you’re so frustrating, Zeltam.”

“Hey, you just scammed at least ten gold off me. That’s a damn good haul. What are you bitching about, woman?”

“It’s not nearly so much fun if I didn’t truly earn it.” She grabbed a couple of cups off an old shelf and set them on her dilapidated kitchen table with a forceful thud he feared might break it in two. “And you always know everything. It’s annoying.”

“Sorry stealing from me is so frustrating.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I don’t have any ale, only wine.” She poured the dark liquid and gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t be sorry. If you were an easy mark, I’d be bored.”

“We couldn’t have that now, could we?” He never minded Ginni’s games. In fact, he took it as a compliment that she found him a challenge and used him for practice. She was one of the best thieves he’d ever met, especially when it came to picking pockets.

She gestured for him to sit, and he pulled out one of the less-than-sturdy chairs at her kitchen table. He gingerly lowered himself onto it, ever fearful he was going to end up on his ass. Thankfully, the chair held.

He took a sip of her wine and found it had a pleasing woodsy flavor with a hint of fruity sweetness. “This is fantastic. Argastra in a cup. Where did you get it?”

“Made it myself. Old Akarian method. We’re good for a few things, you know.” She tipped her cup.

“I’m impressed, especially considering your species barely needs to drink.” Nearly all sand people, include those from the Akari tribes, didn’t need to drink nearly as much as other species.

“Just because one doesn’t need something doesn’t mean one can’t enjoy it.”

“True,” he agreed. But, as much as he enjoyed their banter, he had to move on to more pressing matters. “So where’s Jarrand? I’ve got a situation, and I haven’t been able to find him all day.” He’d spent hours searching the docks, gambling houses, taverns, and then every other seedy place in Thalaria where Jarrand might lurk.

“He’s been on a run up in Sannisport. Due back today though.” She pulled an oil lamp off a shelf and put it on her kitchen worktable.

“Sannisport? That’s quite a distance away. You sure he’s coming back today?” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling anxious. Jarrand was the only smuggler he trusted enough to get Fogard and Ankara out of town without selling them out. He needed him to be available.

She lit the lamp as she spoke. “Has to. He’s gotta make a run to Veyforge’s port tonight, so he’d better be back soon. Otherwise, he’ll have Sevosa’s goons on his ass.” The light flickered over her face, brightening the orange of her eyes as she set the lamp in the center of her kitchen table.

But her words were more important than her unique orange eyes, and Veyforge was north, not south. If Jarrand was headed north that night, he wouldn’t be able to smuggle them out. Zel’s brow marred with worry. “So, when is he coming back from Veyforge?” he asked, hoping he’d like the answer.

“Tomorrow. He’s got a run to Covlandia tomorrow night.”

Covlandia was south, thank the Gods. Still, it wasn’t ideal. They’d have to wait an extra day. And there was a risk the hunt would arrive before then. Nonetheless, things were looking up. “You think he’ll be able to—”

The door flew open, and Jarrand barreled into the cramped house, looking and smelling like he’d spent a long time at sea. “Ginni, I’ve got good news.” he called as he lifted a satchel over his head and placed it on a table next to the door. Then he looked up. “Zeltam? What are you doin’ here?”

“I’m getting a lot of that today,” Zel muttered. Louder, he said, “I came to plow you, my friend. I’ve heard you’re an animal in the bedroom.”

“’Course I am.” Jarrand wiggled his brows. “Who told ya?” His cheeks rose with his smile, enhancing the white streak that ran through the center of his scruffy beard.

“You wish.” Ginni rolled her eyes and threw a cloth at him.

He caught it and shrugged. “Women,” he said to Zel. “I’ll be right with ya.” He removed his ankle-length captain’s coat, revealing a ragged shirt, open down the middle. It exposed the white skin of his brawny chest, coated in enough dirt and dried sea salt that it looked gray. He hung the coat on a hook by the door, shook out his windblown, shaggy hair, then joined Zel at the table.

Though not as large as Zel, he had several inches on Ginni and was twice as wide. He was also wise enough to be careful with their decrepit chairs, too, and lowered himself slowly. Once seated, he asked, “So, what can I do for ya?”

“No, no,” Ginni said. “You two do your stupid man thing afterward. Tell me the good news first.”

With much excitement, Jarrand obliged, informing them he was to have monthly runs to Sannisport, a coastal town surrounded by dunes filled with giant sand scorpas, a lucrative port for a smuggler. And ongoing runs meant steady coin. Zel thought about asking what he’d be smuggling so regularly, but figured it was probably best he didn’t know.

Ginni pulled out another cup, and Zel told them about the situation with Fogard and Ankara over their celebratory drinks.

“So, how high risk is this, Zeltam?” Jarrand asked.

“Far more high risk for us than for you.”

“Well, will the Listra warriors try ta’ kill me if they catch up with us?”

“Their goal isn’t to kill you. It’s to capture or kill Fogard… and me if I’m seen. But, as far as you’re concerned, unless you attack them, they should leave you alone.”

“Should?”

“You know there are never any guarantees.”

“Right.” Jarrand nodded. “And your friend, this Fogard, will he go with ‘em willin’ly if these warrior hunters catch up ta’ us?”

A knock sounded at the door, which meant night had fallen. “Ah.” Zel smiled. “Perfect timing. You can ask him yourself.”

“Ya told him where I live?”

“I trust him, Jarrand, with my life… and yours.” Zel rose to answer the door.

Jarrand grimaced but nodded a reluctant approval.

Zel opened the door, and Fogard slipped into the house, his movements eerily silent, much like Zel’s often were. They greeted each other as warrior brothers, then disengaged and moved into the light.

“Jarrand, Ginni, I’d like you to meet Fogard, a warrior brother of mine and one of the best males I’ve ever known.”

Ginni nodded and smiled a flirtatious smile that didn’t surprise Zel in the least.

“Nice ta’ meet ya.” Jarrand inclined his head as he poured a new cup of wine. “Join us an’ enjoy some wine.” He offered him the cup.

“Thank you,” said Fogard, accepting it. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping us.”

 “Yeah, ‘bout that,” Jarrand began, “I was just askin’—”

“Ahem.” Zel peered at him.

“Whaaat?” Jarrand groaned.

“And Fogard, may I present Jarrand, one of the only males in the Orman lands I call friend, and also a rude bastard.” Jarrand shrugged and cocked his head, wearing a smirk.

Zel gestured toward Ginni. “And this is Ginni, who comes with a warning.” She shot him a disapproving look. “Watch your purse, not her breasts,” he said, spreading his palm open before her chest, “otherwise you’ll leave without either.”

Jarrand laughed heartily, and Fogard smiled, tipping his cup to Zel. “Good to know.”

Ginni pouted. “You never can make it easy, can you, Zeltam?”

“Where’s the fun if the mark’s no challenge?” Zel replied with a wink.

Ginni winked back, then locked eyes with Fogard, who continued to stare at her. She stood with her arms held behind her so her breasts jutted out as far as possible. With a flirtatious glint in her eyes, she asked, “Hey Fogard, where’s your coin purse?”

He reached for his belt where his coin purse should have been, but found it empty. His purse landed on the table with a loud clunk, and his head shot up. He looked from it to her with raised brows and his mouth agape. Jarrand and Zel’s laughter bellowed in the small house.

“Yeah, she is that good,” Zel said once his laughter subsided. “Things are a lot different here than in Listrand. You’ll learn.”

Jarrand got them back on track. “So, as I was sayin’ ‘fore I was so rudely interrupted”—he shot a look at Zel, then addressed Fogard—“I was askin’ Zeltam here, what happens if these Listra hunters catch up ta’ us? Do ya plan ta’ go with ‘em willin’ly or do ya plan ta’ fight?”

“If I were to go with them, I’d end up dead.”

“So a fight it is. How much am I bein’ paid ta’ get involved in this fight?”

 “Oh no. You will not fight Listra warriors under any circumstances,” Zel said. “If fighting breaks out, you stay out of it or, even better, get away if you can.”

“I agree,” said Fogard.

“I’m not gonna run from a fight. Are ya both mad? I just wanna be properly compensated is all.”

“Jarrand, you know better,” Zel said. “There’s a reason Ormans fear us.”

“So ya’ tellin’ me ta’ run away? Ta’ abandon your friend? Have ya no faith in my capabilities as a man?” Jarrand frowned.

“This isn’t about your capabilities. It’s about ours. Ormans don’t have much of a chance against us. That’s just the way of it.”  

Ginni piped up. “I think they’re right, Jarrand. Besides, you’re a captain, not a warrior. And these are Listra we’re talking about. I’m sure any of them can kill an Orman without the Orman even knowing it’s coming.”

“Listen to her, Jarrand,” Zel said. “She’s right.”

“Great, I’m supposed ta’ run from a fight like a pansy.” He shook his head. “Fine,” he said with a scowl. “So, my next question for ya geniuses of strategy is, where would ya’ like me ta’ run to? We’ll be on a damn ship!” He looked pointedly from Zel to Fogard, then back again.

“Oh, they won’t come after you on the ship,” Zel said. “It’s getting to the water that we need to be worried about.”

“Won’t come afta’ the ship?”

“Listra warriors are land warriors, not water fighters. We’re not trained for the water. And to answer your earlier question regarding compensation, I was thinking forty gold each, plus the coin Ginni stole from me earlier, and the few bits she stole from Fogard just now.” Zel and Ginni exchanged another wink.

“Forty gold each, an’ all I gotta worry ‘bout is gettin’ ‘em on the ship? I’m not one ta’ look a gift horse in the mouth, Zeltam. In fact, I usually try ta’ bid up, but—”

“You couldn’t be transporting more precious cargo.” Forty a piece might be outrageous, but Zel didn’t care. He could always earn more coin. “I just want you to get them far away fast. That’s worth every gold piece.” He took a sip of his wine. “Ginni said you have a run to Covlandia tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you go to Socentra instead?” A more distant destination would give them plenty of time to find a place to disappear to for the duration of the hunt.

 “Not an’ make it back north in time.” Jarrand looked pensive for a moment before he added, “But I have an idea.”

They agreed to Jarrand’s idea, which would get Fogard and Ankara to Socentra easily. All they had to do was get out of Thalaria’s port safely.

They set a time to meet in Thalaria’s caves late the following day.

Zel snuck out of Thalaria and spent the night in the wood with his strata. He asked Fogard if he and Ankara wanted to join him, but Ankara had a friend in town who was keeping them hidden.

#

The soft cerulean glow of Argas’ moon bathed the docks as Zel stood, waiting for Fogard in the dark alcove beneath the stone bridge. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling impatient. Too many days had passed. The hunt had to be near.

He held his medallion of the Trinity and gazed at Argas’ moon. “Please be with us tonight, Argas,” he whispered. “Let us get them out safely.”

Not only did they have to get Fogard and Ankara out safely, they had to do it without Zel being seen. If spotted, Listrand would probably double or triple the size of the hunt. While he might be willing to sustain that risk, Fogard had a female now, and they couldn’t risk her.

Fogard descended the stairs nearest him and, after a whispered greeting, Zel hooded him and led him into The Caves, where they were to meet Ginni and Jarrand in one of its many hideout rooms. The same guard that had spoken to Fogard the night before told Zel that Jarrand had reserved a room with a star on the door. He then gave Zel directions and allowed them inside.

As they entered the cavern and the heavy door closed behind them, Fogard said, “Well, one thing I can confirm…”

“What’s that?” Zel asked.

“The guard’s breath still stinks.”

Zel smiled. “I don’t doubt it, brother.”

They made their way through several tunnels before reaching the door with the star. Worn wooden planks creaked under Zel’s feet and his head nearly hit the ceiling as they entered the small room. Thick burgundy drapery covered the walls and a scarred table accompanied by four heavy wooden chairs stood in its center. Light from the table’s oil lamp flickered over Zel’s face as he took a seat.

Essy slithered from his leg and under the door at a breakneck pace.

Fogard jumped and Zel chuckled. “Where’s she off to?” Fogard asked as he joined Zel at the table.

“Topside. She may prove useful up there.”

 He’d use Essy, but with great care. Sending a strata to fight or kill a Listra was taboo. Not only that, it risked the strata’s life, and strata were too valuable to lose. Still, he could use Essy to kill the town’s patrol, if needed, and he could use her to scare, rather than kill, any of the Listra.

Silence fell between Zel and Fogard before Fogard spoke. “Sir.” He waited for Zel to meet his eyes. “Thank you… for everything.” They clasped arms, hands to each other’s elbows, and Zel nodded in acknowledgment.

“Where will you go, Sir?”

“Back into hiding in the woods.”

Fogard shook his head. “So, you’re alone now? Always? No shifter, or even human, companionship? And no comforts whatsoever?”

They released one another.

“I have Leyal, Essy, and Bubo.”

Fogard frowned. “Still.”

“Don’t look so sad for me, brother. I’ve grown accustomed to it,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, unwilling to admit how lonely and miserable his existence had been for so many years. Most days, he didn’t admit it to himself, let alone anyone else. “And it makes me appreciate it more when I get to enjoy a cup of ale, bed, or washtub at an inn.” He forced a smile. No sense whining about his situation to Fogard, not when they had the far more important priority of getting Fogard and Ankara out safely.

Bubo sent him a distress signal, and he perked up in his chair. “We’ve got trouble.”

“What trouble?”

“I think the hunt might be here.”

“Any idea how many?”

“Bubo is my newest strata. Our bond isn’t yet strong enough for me to get that much detail, but the feeling I’m getting is that the threat is great. It might just be those fifty hunters you were talking about.”

“Oh, Gods.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We can’t take on that many.”

“Even if it is that many, and we don’t know that it is, not all will be at the docks.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.”

Either way, Fogard had a right to be concerned. Regardless of the number, their evening just got a whole lot more dangerous.

“Does he see any animals?”

Zel checked with Bubo. “None that are noticeable. And you know warriors won’t bring their strata across the Great Sea unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Of course. But it doesn’t hurt to be sure.”

“True.” Zel nodded.

Restless, they waited until Jarrand and Ginni arrive later than expected. Jarrand pulled up a chair and didn’t waste any time. “I’ve got bad news.”

“The hunt is here,” Zel said for him. “How many did you see?”

“I don’t know, man. Seemed like there was one of ‘em every time I turned a corner. I saw at least eight, no twelve, ‘cause a few of ‘em were together in the market square too.”

“Sixteen,” Ginni corrected. “There were four more at the end of the row, down near the shrimper’s stand.”

“Jallah Argastra, I’m a dead man,” said Fogard.

“Maybe you should just stay here and lay low for a few nights?” Ginni suggested.

“An’ then what?” Jarrand said to Ginni. “I gotta get back ta’ Sannisport. Tonight’s the only night I can get ‘em outta here for the next month.”

“So, there’s no choice,” Zel said. “They have to go with you tonight.”

Jarrand nodded his agreement.

“The question is how?” asked Fogard. “Has the plan changed?”

“Not once we get on the water. I just don’t know how we’re gonna get ya ta’ the ship now. They’re on the docks. They’re not lettin’ any vessels leave without bein’ searched. Ya can’t even walk the docks hooded. They’re stoppin’ people ta’ check their faces.”

“We need a diversion,” Ginni said.

They all looked at her, then at each other.

“She’s right,” Zel said. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“I do.” They turned their attention to Ginni again. “I could set a few ships afire.” She said it casually as though she were discussing a mundane household task.

“You could,” Zel said, confident in her abilities. Though Listra would normally vie to protect females, to keep them away from danger at all costs, Ginni was among the toughest and most capable females he’d ever met. He also knew any offer of protection would insult or even infuriate her.

“Ya will do no such thing!” declared Jarrand, eying her like she’d suggested jumping into a fighting ring with a sabertooth.

Ginni straightened in her chair, a look of defiance marring her features. “I will do what I damn well please, Jarrand,” she snapped.

“Ginni, these are Listra warriors. It’s too dangerous.”

“I won’t be fighting Listra warriors. I’ll be setting fires. A dolt can set fires.”

“We’re not talkin’ ‘bout just setting random fires. We’re talkin’ ‘bout ya settin’ fires while the docks are swarmin’ with Listra warriors an’ the town’s patrol.”

“Which will require, at most, two skills—stealth and ability to wield feminine wiles. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got both.”

Jarrand looked at Zel and Fogard with pleading eyes. Zel had a moment of doubt. Should he step in? No. It wasn’t his place. Besides, if she thought she could pull off the task, she could. So, he remained silent, and Fogard followed his lead.

Jarrand threw his hands up. “Fine. I give up.”

“Ankara can create some fog,” Fogard said, cutting the tension in the room.

“How much?” Zel asked. Magic abilities among Myara varied considerably. One with hydromancy might be able to create enough fog to blanket a room. Another might be able to create enough to cover a town.

“She can’t fog the entire bay,” Fogard said. “But she can create enough that it could conceal a few people walking, which is all we really need. It’s not fast-moving cover though, so it may slow us down and that’s a risk as well.”

“Is it gonna look like an unnatural rollin’ fog cloud?” Jarrand asked. “They might notice that.”

“With the smoke from the firing of the ships, I think it’ll blend in.”

“Okay, I think we can use that,” Zel said, “but I don’t think we can rely on it entirely. We also can’t rely on the fire entirely. The town patrol might rush to the blaze, but it won’t distract all the Listra. In fact, the more well-trained hunters will suspect it’s a diversion.”

“So, whadda we do with the warriors left on the docks?” Jarrand asked.

“Give me a moment.” Zel lowered his head and closed his eyes to focus, to ensure he got the message right and that Essy understood what he needed.

“What are ya doin’?” Jarrand demanded. “We don’t have time for ya ta’… ta’...” He addressed Fogard. “What is he doin’?”

“He’s calling on his strata for assistance,” replied Fogard calmly.

“His strata? What the fuck are strata?” Jarrand asked with even more impatience.

“His bonded animals. I thought you knew what Listra were?”

Before Jarrand could respond, Zel lifted his head. “Essy will ensure the warriors on the dock near the ships Ginni is to fire will be running scared, dead, or on their way to dying by the time she gets there. Once Ginni fires the ships and we get up top”—he looked at Fogard—“I’ll redirect Essy to clear a path for you.”

“Essy? Who’s Essy?” Jarrand asked.

“A helping hand,” replied Zel. “And Ankara will arrive any time now, and she can’t be up there on her own. We need to get a move on and you’re first up.”

“Right,” said Jarrand. They made a quick plan for him to distract the guards, then he rose and said, “See ya top side.” His captain’s coat swished on his way out the door.

Ginni followed shortly after.

Restless, Zel and Fogard remained, waiting for the minutes to pass until it was time to leave. Zel’s brow furrowed at the uncharacteristic worry in Fogard’s eyes. Fogard almost always maintained a positive outlook and wasn’t the type to worry. But Zel knew what had changed for his friend. He had someone to love now, someone to live for, and to be fearful of losing. Zel remembered those feelings all too well and recalled realizing those fears even more profoundly.

Fogard interrupted his thoughts. “You’ll find me? After the hunt, I mean?”

“Of course, I will. I give you my word, brother. I won’t stop looking until I do.” Like he had to give his word or make it a vow. To him, it was a given. Besides, he couldn’t wait to spend time with Fogard again, quality time, time without a hunt breathing down their necks.

“Ankara wants to settle near Veyforge,” Forgard said.

“I remember. I’ll begin searching the surrounding villages in six months.” The hunt would be over by then. “Keep an eye out for me.”

“I will… and thank you again, Sir.”

Zel gave a nod, stood, and put his hands on Fogard’s shoulders. “It’s time, brother.”

Chapter 5 – At the Docks

Zel and Fogard stood at the exit of the cave system’s maze, at the beginning of the stone platform, with the dark waters of the bay lapping against its side. Zel checked the nearly black alcove under the gray stone bridge as he removed Fogard’s hood. A blonde waited there, watching the docks, fidgeting. When she turned and caught sight of them, her worried expression transformed into a wide smile.

The path to the alcove couldn’t be seen from the platform above unless the viewer stood at its edge, so they scurried to it without drawing attention. Fogard’s face grew bright as they reached Ankara, and she looked just as jubilant. While they embraced, Zel assessed their situation.

He scanned the area. From where they stood, he had no visual of Thalaria’s market square and primary trading area on the upper level. But the entirety of the lower level stretched out before him. A multitude of wooden docks jutted from the stone platform, many with ships moored. Several stairs led to the upper level of the port on the opposite side.

Beyond the long platform, the docks wrapped around the market square and continued to the left. The ships Ginni planned to burn gently rocked in the water there, like peaceful silhouettes under Argas’ moon. No hint of fire yet.

He shifted his gaze back to the docks on their side. Jarrand stood surrounded by two Listra hunters and two of the town’s patrol. He appeared to be arguing with them, drawing attention away from Ginni as they’d planned.

A half dozen additional Listra warriors stood guard on the docks as well. Grouped together, they looked like Listra, or at least like one of the shifter species. One or two Listra could pass as extra-large Orman men. However, when gathered in a group, there was no mistaking them for any of the human species. That meant the market’s shops were probably shuttered and most of the Ormans had already scattered.

Ormans usually feared shifters in large groups, and Listra warriors, in particular. Because of that fear, the Orman town patrol would go out of their way to assist the Listra hunters, hoping to be rid of them as quickly as possible. Still, Zel viewed the Orman patrol as more of a hindrance than a threat.

The half dozen Listra warriors on the docks, on the other hand, were of greater concern. Even if he and Fogard could fight them and win, the commotion would draw the rest. Soon they’d be vastly outnumbered. For all he knew, they might already be vastly outnumbered. With no visual of the upper platform, he felt it best to assume it was filled with a hoard of hunters—just in case.

He surveyed the other side of the docks. Still no fire. “Come on, Ginni,” he whispered, then raised his head to Argas’ blue moon. He said a quick prayer for Ginni and raging fires, then connected with Bubo, who was airborne watching over her. Bubo sent back a positive response.

“We should see fires soon,” he said, addressing Fogard and Ankara.

With his arm wrapped around Ankara, Fogard met his eyes. “Sir… Zelstrason, may I present my beautiful Ankara.”

For the first time, he saw it, the true white skin of the Myara, a snow-white, far lighter than most Ormans possessed. Though white Myara could pass for Orman, to him, the difference always seemed apparent. Her blonde hair framed hazel eyes that looked at him like he was a gift from the Gods.

Shouts rang out, drawing his attention. Fire lit the night sky from two ships on the other side of the docks. He smiled. “That Ginni, she is something else,” he said under his breath.

The two patrolmen with Jarrand abandoned him and ran toward the fire. Four Listra hunters left the docks with them. Jarrand signaled to Zel.

“Looks like the fire served its purpose for the patrol,” Zel said. “We still have four Listra on the docks and, according to Jarrand, another eight up on the top platform.”

“That’s too many.” Fogard frowned.

“I agree. Let me see what I can do about at least a few of them without showing myself.” Zel reached out to Essy who, having completed her task of clearing the way for Ginni, waited in an alley near the docks. Within seconds, she responded to Zel’s call, rapidly slithering her way to the lower platform. At Zel’s command, she kept her distance so the Listra wouldn’t freeze—what both shifters and humans were taught to do if a death snake got within striking distance—but to ensure they ran. They did.

“See, I told you,” he said to Fogard with a grin. “Handy reaction.”

He didn’t know what happened to the hunters on the upper platform, but Jarrand began waving frantically for them to cross the docks to the ship. That had to mean the upper platform was clear.

“It’s time,” Zel said. “Go now.”

Fogard nodded and started moving, holding Ankara’s hand. She pulled her hand from his. “Wait,” she said to Fogard, then turned to Zel. “I need to thank you for all you’ve done for him… for us.”

She took Zel’s hands in hers. At their touch, her expression changed, her eyes growing wide with… fear? Shock? Knowledge? Hope? All those things? He couldn’t read her face. It looked like she’d seen a ghost, but there was something hopeful there too. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Fogard put his arm around her. “We have to go,” he said with urgency.

Her face stayed frozen in the expression Zel couldn’t read, her eyes fixed on his. Yet she didn’t appear to be looking at him, but through him, or maybe inward. “What is it?” he asked.

“We have to go!” Fogard insisted.

Ankara’s words came slowly, like she was in a trance. “You… you will save her.”

“Now!” Fogard said, tugging until he ripped her hands from Zel’s. But she didn’t take her eyes off Zel, and her arms remained outstretched, reaching toward him.

“Save who?” he asked.

 “You are… to be… her Keeper.”

If Fogard heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. He readjusted, lifted her by the waist, and lugged her away.

“Save… her,” she said one last time as he carried her off.

Fogard set her down at the last section hidden from the upper platform. He grasped her face on both sides, turned her head, and forced her to face him. “Ankara, stop! Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it!” he demanded. “We need fog. NOW!”

She finally came out of whatever state she’d been in.

The exchange was so odd it had distracted Zel. He gave his head a shake before he scanned the dock for hunters once again, then he sent Essy up the stairs. If there were any hunters on the upper platform, she’d garner their attention, keeping it on her rather than Fogard and Ankara.

Zel’s eyes fell back to the couple. Ankara made an intricate, almost mesmerizing, motion with her hands. Within seconds, a foggy mist rose from the water, lifting and expanding until it covered nearly the entire bay.

“Holy Argas, brother. I think you underestimated your Myara’s capabilities,” he muttered.

They disappeared from his view. But Bubo let him know when they boarded safely. Between the fire and fog, Zel doubted anyone would notice the ship leaving. Thank the Gods. He let out a sigh of relief.

Jarrand’s plan was underway. He’d sail south, as usual. Before turning west, however, they’d transfer Fogard and Ankara onto another ship headed to Socentra. The other ship belonged to another smugger, a friend of Jarrand’s he said he trusted. Zel hoped Jarrand’s trust wasn’t misplaced. He’d given him the rest of his coin to ensure the transfer. Not that coin mattered to him. What mattered was that the move would give Fogard and Ankara a twelve-day lead on the hunt. That should keep them safe, at least for a while.

But Ginni hadn’t returned, and too much time had passed. Worry gnawed at him. Should he risk trying to find her? Would he get killed if he tried?

As he contemplated, her fiery hair appeared on the upper level as she nonchalantly made her way toward his side of the docks. Fires raged behind her. At least two more ships were engulfed, their flames illuminating the night sky and much of the marketplace. Her braid had loosened, and long tendrils of burnt orange hair flowed in the wind. Combined with the backdrop of the fire and the burnt orange of her skin, she was a surreal vision to behold.

She reached the area where she would be out of his sight for a few moments. He waited. As she came down the stairs to the lower level near the alcove, a Listra hunter appeared from who knew where, walking from the docks toward the stairs. It wasn’t a Listra he knew. Still, the scars on his face would make him recognizable to most any Listra warrior. He stepped back further into the alcove so he couldn’t be seen and hoped the hunter and Ginni would simply pass one another.

“Where are you going, little lady?” he heard the warrior say in a tone that sounded all too suggestive. Zel let out a heavy sigh. He remained mostly hidden, but stepped to the edge of the alcove, moving out from it just enough to watch them.

The hunter blocked her way, mirroring any attempt she made to move, whether left or right.

“Let me pass,” she implored with a confidence that sounded genuine, though Zel wondered if it was real or an act.

“You’re one of those sand people, aren’t you?” the warrior said. “I’ve heard of you, you and your kind,” he sneered. “I’ve heard your kind love to fuck. That true? You love to get fucked, little lady?”

“Let me pass,” she demanded, her voice taking on a note of barely contained anger.

“I haven’t had a female in a while, and I’ve never had a sand bitch,” he said, wrapping an enormous hand around her neck. He dragged her off the last step and drew her close. She raised her arm to resist, then lifted her knee, aiming between his legs. He shifted so her knee harmlessly brushed the side of his leg.

“Now that’s not very friendly, sand bitch.” His fingers gripped her braid, forced her head toward him, then lifted her until only her toes touched the ground. In a swift movement, he turned her so her back was to him. He wrapped a meaty hand around her throat and another around her hip, then pressed himself into her rear.

From the alcove, Zel released another heavy sigh. Should he expose himself, he’d likely have nearly fifty hunters on him and die that night. He lifted his hood before he stepped out of the alcove—one tiny measure that might allow him to live through the night. He made his way to the stairs, checking the upper platform once it was within his view. It appeared vacant. Where did everyone go? Essy probably took care of them. Either way, he was thankful no one was around. Living might just be an option. He soundlessly drew his weapon and positioned himself behind the hunter.

“Release her, warrior,” he said with his sword to the man’s neck.

“What are you going to do, Listra, kill me? You are Listra, aren’t you?”

The corners of Zel’s mouth turned up. His deliberate use of the word “warrior” had achieved the desired result.

“You’re not going to kill another Listra for wanting to fuck a sand bitch, are you?”

“Our duty is to protect females, warrior. This is not how Listra males treat females. Ever,” he said, his voice laced with his wolf’s growl.

“We protect Listra females, not sand bitches, asshole. This female is worthless except for a fucking mount.” His voice dripped with contempt. “Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do anyway? Name yourself.”

Zel cocked his head. Eh, why not? “I am Zelstrason, former—”

The Listra pushed Ginni away and reached for his weapons. Zel buried his blade in the warrior’s neck before his hands touched the hilts of his swords. When he pulled his blade back, the warrior dropped to the ground, his blood painting the platform crimson.

“You there. What’s going on down there?” a Listra called from the docks.

Zel grabbed Ginni’s hand and ran toward the entrance to the caves, the only available outlet. But the explicit purpose of the hidden entrance and exterior maze was to conceal its location. They couldn’t enter with hunters behind them, not without breaking the rules. If they did, they’d have a bounty on their heads and the entirety of Thalaria’s criminal underground seeking to cash in on it. That meant they were running toward a dead end.

The hunter called to the others, “Over here!” he said, then sprinted down the stairs before they could reach the alcove.

Chapter 6 – Invitation

Zel and Ginni fled under the bridge past the alcove with him pulling her along and warrior footsteps following too closely. Once they reached the end, he pivoted and pushed Ginni behind him, then lowered the hood of his cloak, both for better sight and to be seen.

A Listra hunter appeared from the darkness under the bridge, saw Zel’s face and the scars that marred him. He paused with his mouth agape and recognition in his eyes. The pause gave Zel enough time to cleanly slice the Listra’s head off. It rolled into the water, and the body slumped to the ground.

Another warrior appeared out of the darkness with swords swinging. If he recognized Zel, he didn’t let on. Zel ducked and ducked again, feeling the air from the swords as they flew past his head. He may have even lost a few strands of hair. He shifted to his left as he rose, keeping the wall behind him and forcing the warrior to put his back to the water. The warrior swung his blade, and Zel met it with his own in a loud crash of metal he worried would alert more hunters.

He thrust forward in a lunge to push the warrior off his blade and further back, closer to the edge of the platform. Zel swung one sword and then the other, each swing forcing the warrior back a step. Recognition and fear came over the warrior’s face. He knew what Zel was doing. The next time he evaded, he sidestepped to avoid the water.

But the move pushed him toward Ginni, who held a lengthy Listranian dagger and a fierce look that said she wasn’t afraid to use it. It didn’t surprise Zel to see the dagger—it was Ginni, after all. But the warrior did a double take, and his shock gave Zel the moment he needed.

He swung with Essy’s speed and Leyal’s strength; the combination giving him enough power to plunge his sword through the warrior’s leather armor and into his chest. Zel kicked him in the midsection to throw him back and pull his blade out in a single motion. The body landed in the water with a splash.

“Ginni, go! Run!” Zel said, putting his back to her with both swords up, readying himself for the next warriors, hoping she’d heed him and head into the maze before they arrived.

Another Listra appeared from the dark alcove, then another after that. Fighting two at a time in cramped quarters? He glanced at the blue moon above. You’re testing me tonight, eh, Argas? A sword came in from his left. He blocked. Then one came from his right. He met the blade with a lunge forward, then pushed the warrior back until the hunter tripped over the headless body on the platform. As he landed in the water, the one on Zel’s left swung again, slicing into the bottom flap of his leather armor. Too close.

Using Essy’s speed, he spun and swung low, slicing a gash into the Listra’s thigh. The warrior bent and staggard, holding his wound. Zel took his head in a deft strike. He kicked the body into the water, slamming it into the other Listra, who was trying to climb back onto the platform.

Another warrior appeared, blade held high. He faltered when he saw Zel’s scars, recognition coming over his face. He turned to run. Zel couldn’t let him get away, couldn’t let the hunt know he was alive. He sheathed one of his swords, then pulled his short dagger from the mid-section of his holster. By the time he threw it, the hunter had reached the beginning of the alcove. It flew end over end until it found the warrior’s back, burying itself deep enough to kill. The hunter fell forward into the darkness.

Zel pressed his lips into a thin line. Gods, how he hated to kill a warrior with a knife to the back.

The one in the water tried to climb onto the platform again. Zel rolled his eyes. “Not so bright, are you?” he said, before slicing the Listra’s arms off just below the elbow. Then he kicked him in the face. With a gurgling cry, the warrior fell into the water for the third time. He wouldn’t be climbing up again.

Another warrior appeared from the alcove. Zel lifted his sword, prepared to strike, but then saw the Listra’s wide eyes and gaping mouth. Zel knew his face reflected the same. The warrior glanced under the bridge toward the docks before looking back at Zel and raising a fist to his chest. He gave the slightest of bows, then ran back the way he came. “They went this way!” he called to the other hunters, leading them away.

 Zel pushed the headless Listra’s body into the water to cover their tracks. But what about the other? The one with Zel’s dagger lodged in his back? Bloody Jallah. He sheathed his other sword, lifted the hood of his cloak, then rushed to the warrior, who’s body lay inside the alcove. He pulled his dagger quickly, then kicked the body into the water and turned toward the maze. When he entered, he nearly slammed into Ginni. “What are you still doing here? Never mind. Let’s move.”

They scurried through the maze like rats with a cat bearing down on them, not slowing until they entered Thalaria’s underground passages. They continued through the cave system until they arrived at the entrance nearest Ginni and Jarrand’s house. From there, they casually sauntered the short distance to the house like nothing was amiss.

Once inside, Ginni closed the door and leaned with her back against it. “What a rush!” She beamed, her eyes bright with excitement.

Zel offered a wide smile. Ginni was the only female he’d ever known who could find torching ships, coupled with an assault and a near-death experience, to be a rush. There was something about that he had to admire.

She strode to the kitchen with confidence, like she knew every step in the dark. A moment later, the oil lamp in the center of the rickety table lit the cramped space. She turned and grabbed her wine from a cabinet while Zel sat gingerly and said a silent prayer of thanks to Argas when the chair held.

She set the bottle on the table, then turned to him, her breasts bubbling out of her bodice at his eye level. He tried not to notice.

“Thanks for the save with the asshole,” she said, drawing his gaze to hers before she turned and grabbed a couple of mugs off hooks under the shelf.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She joined him, setting both their mugs and the Listranian dagger on the table.

Zel eyed it, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Where’d you get that from?” he asked, gesturing to the blade with his chin.

“The asshole,” she said with a wink.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” He smiled. Ginni never ceased to impress him.

“He wore it at his waist. It was in my hand when you put your sword to his neck.”

 “So why not just kill him yourself?”

“Well, I had every intention of gutting the bastard’s belly. But I knew you’d end him, and there was no sense in getting blood on my clothes if I didn’t have to.”

“I love your practical concerns, Ginni. Really, I do. But you realize most females would be upset about the assault?”

“Pfft. That? Please. Try being a woman for a day in this shithole we call Vaylen. That was nothing. And the last asshole who actually tried what this one merely threatened ended up dead. I sacrificed a bodice to kill him and everything.”

He chuckled. “And Arganna knows you don’t want to mess up a bodice.”

“That’s right,” she said with a nod.

He didn’t understand why he liked that Ginni had killed before, especially considering how protective his species was of their extremely limited female population. Maybe it was because he thought she could relate to him more than most members of the opposite sex? Either way, Vaylen was such a harsh place for females. He liked that she could take care of herself.

“But Zelstrason? Really?” She gave him a pointed look.

Ah, his real name. He’d never given it to anyone in the Orman lands. Too much risk. “Don’t tell anyone, Ginni. Please.”

“You know I won’t. I just can’t believe you never told me. I like it. A lot,” she said, smiling. “It’s a powerful name. It suits you better than Zeltam.”

“Thank you,” he said, appreciating the compliment coming from her. “But please don’t use it. Don’t say it anymore, okay?”

She sighed. “It’s too bad. It’s such a good name. But I get it. You know I, of all people, get it. Still.” Her brow furrowed. “At least I told you my real name.”

He could understand her being miffed. She was a criminal just like he was, hiding out in the mostly Orman lands of Vaylen same as him. So she was at risk as well, and he didn’t know what to offer as an excuse or reason that she couldn’t counter with one of her own. The only thing he could think to do was deflect with a compliment. “And I like your real name, too,” he said. Though it may have been a deflection, it was the truth. He thought Gi’an’inini was a pretty name. “It suits you,” he said with the corners of his mouth turning up.

“Thanks.” Ginni smiled back warmly. “So, who was that guy who saw you and ran off?” She filled their mugs with her dark Akari wine.

She shouldn’t have been there to see that. Then again, he should have known she wouldn’t run when he told her to.

“Terber,” he said. “One of the warriors who served under me when I was a commander. A good male, like Fogard. One of the best, one of three who helped me escape Listrand. I owe him, all three of them, my life. I don’t know why they would’ve sent him on this hunt, though.” He shook his head. “It makes no sense. They know he and Fogard are friends.”

“Maybe they didn’t actually expect to find Fogard? Or maybe they didn’t expect to find him in Thalaria?”

“Maybe. It’s odd either way.” He knit his brow. “A couple of odd things tonight.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You weren’t there when Fogard and Ankara left. She touched my hands and went into some kind of trance. Strangest expression on her face. I don’t know what in Jallah to make of it.”

“Huh. Odd.” She tapped her mug, looking thoughtful. “She say anything?”

“She said I’m meant to be someone’s Keeper and that I will save ‘her.’”

“Yeah, definitely odd. That mean anything to you?”

“Yes and no. In Listrand, Keepers are warriors who are named protectors of female offspring. To be named Keeper of a female is both the greatest responsibility and greatest honor one Listra male can bestow upon another.” He pursed his lips. “But I’m no longer a warrior. I’m an outlaw. I can’t be named Keeper of anyone’s child. And whose child would I be named Keeper of?”

“Her own?” Ginni said, suggesting the obvious.

“No. She’s not with child. Fogard told me they want to settle down and try for a pup… or baby—I don’t know what it would be—after the hunt but… well, we don’t even know if a Listra can successfully breed with a Myara. Two different shifter species, maybe.” Voenna was carrying his child when she was murdered, so he knew that was possible. “But a shifter and a human…?”

“Could she have been wrong, or maybe referring to another child?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea what to make of it.” He shook his head. “Damn Myara. They’re so often cryptic. I don’t know why they can’t have normal magic.”

“Oh, you mean like yours?” Ginni said with a twinkle in her eye.

He tipped his mug. “Point taken.”

They talked and drank into the wee hours of the morning. Finally, he said, “I should get some sleep. This will be my last night in a bed for a while.” He glanced at the small cot next to her cramped kitchen, the bed he’d be sleeping in, though “bed” might be a generous word. Still, it was better than sleeping in the woods.

“Do you mean to say you’re only staying one night? You know you can stay as long as you like. In fact, I’d be happy if you stayed awhile.”

“I’m endangering you by being here, Ginni. I must go tomorrow. I’ll leave after nightfall.”

“Are you sure?” she said, putting a hand over his.

He pulled his hand out from under hers, drawing it close to himself. “Ginni, you’re Jarrand’s,” he said with wide eyes. She couldn’t be suggesting what he thought she might be suggesting—could she?

“Come now, Zel. Can I call you Zel?” She rose from the table. “Jarrand is Orman. You are Listra and I am Akari. Mating is different for us. You know this to be true.”

Mating was different for their species. In Listrand, females typically enjoyed multiple mates, and Akari mated freely amongst one another, never staking claims on a single partner.

“I do, Ginni,” he said, “but Ormans don’t share their females like my species does, and he’s my only Orman friend. I must respect his culture and custom.”

“‘Females.’ You give your species away using that word.”

“I know,” he admitted, a little frustrated that she’d sidestepped his objection. She had a point, though. He still hadn’t grown accustomed to using the word “woman.”

“Don’t feel bad. I do it, too, sometimes,” she said. “And I’m of one of the human species. Guess I’ve spent too much time with shifters over the years.” She grabbed another bottle, then walked back to the table and spoke as she poured more wine. “What if I told you Jarrand never lays with me? Would that change your mind?” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, looking sexy with the play of lights and shadows cast from the fireplace—the oil lamp burned out hours earlier.

“Never?” Zel’s voice pitched up.

“Never. He used to. He used to plow me all the time. Now,”—she put down the wine—“nothing. And when he did plow me, he did it in the way of the Ormans.” She walked behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and slid them down his chest. “I want to experience a Listra male, Zel, a powerful male,” she whispered softly into his ear. “I’ve heard Listra are not gentle with their women.” She moved lower, pressing her breasts against the top of his back. “I want that, Zel. I am Akari. I can handle what you can give.”

No doubt her words were true. Akari were not only known to be the most sexual of all the species, they were also the largest and strongest of the humans. That made them more suitable mating partners for primal shifters than Ormans or other species of human. Still, he couldn’t accept the offer, as tempting as it was—and it was tempting.

He took a deep breath, lifted her hands off of his chest, and stood to face her. “Ginni, I can’t. Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, tilting her head, with her orange eyes looking up, enticing him. She moved a hand to the top of her bodice and pulled, loosening the tie. One by one, she tugged each string until the material separated, exposing a series of skin markings between her breasts, dots that trailed below the material.

It took all his effort to keep his mouth from gaping.

“Are you very, very sure?” The bodice fell to her waist, revealing more dots along with her bare breasts. Firelight bathed her skin and danced over everything he so badly wanted to touch.

Gods, help me. This can’t be happening. His britches tightened and he swallowed, then adjusted himself, not caring that she knew of his desire. Desire for her wasn’t the problem. Her offer to allow him to take her in the way of his kind was almost more than he could bear. He’d only lain with Orman whores since his Voenna was murdered. He hadn’t had an opportunity to mount a female in the way of his species for more than a decade.

She let her bodice drop to the floor.

He swallowed again.

With her eyes fixed on his, she pulled the tie to her britches. A moment later, they fell, too. The dots that began between her breasts continued to her flat midsection, then fanned out like an arrow pointing downward in invitation.

Holy Gods.

With languid movements, she stepped out of her britches, one foot at a time, then sauntered backward. “I know you’ve only had Orman whores for years, Zel. You can’t have them in your way, though, can you?” It was like she’d read his mind. “But you can mount me as a Listra is meant to mount a female.” She reached the little cot and laid back on it.

“Holy Jallah Argastra, Ginni. For the love of Arganna, please put your clothes back on.” He looked at the thatch roof above, trying not to see what was before him. “Please.”

She spread her legs, drawing his attention with the movement. His eyes landed on her hands as she traced her body, then framed herself, glistening with wetness in the firelight.

He looked up, mustered his resolved, and turned his back to her. “Please, Ginni. Pleeease stop this.” He couldn’t believe he’d brought himself to turn around, or that he’d gotten the words out. Yet, he didn’t know how he felt about it. On one hand, he felt pride in doing what was right by his friend. On the other, he’d already grown so hard and needy from the temptation, he thought he might go mad without a release.

An endless moment passed before he heard her get up from the cot. “Fine. Have it your way. I’m not about to beg.”

At least she sounded more angry than hurt. He waited for her to retrieve her clothes and intended to wait for her to put them on as well, but the front door creaked open and then slammed shut. Hopefully, she put something on before leaving. It would be daybreak soon.

He shook his head. They’d both had too much wine. And now he needed a release so badly that his primal core began to stir—no laughing matter for any male shifter, especially not one with his strength.

He did his best to ignore it so he could contemplate his wisest course of action. Should he go after her? She was plenty capable on her own, and the hunters weren’t hunting her. She’d be probably safer without him chasing her. And he’d be safer, or at least his friendship with Jarrand would be safer, if he didn’t follow her. So he opted to lie on the cot instead. He passed out within minutes.

Ginni’s back greeted him when he woke, her loose braid dangling to the top of her rear as she busied herself in the small kitchen. He ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his tunic, and sat at the table. “Afternoon.”

She poured him a cup of water, keeping her eyes fixed on her task. Then she turned back to her kitchen worktable without a glance at him.

He waited a long moment. “Hey? Are you okay?”

She placed a bowl of porridge before him, then turned away once again.

“Are you not speaking to me now?”

She stilled.

He rose from the table, approached, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Ginni. Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m just embarrassed, Zel” she said, avoiding eye contact and waving the rag she held. “I made a fool of myself last night.”

“No. No, you did not.” He tried to look into her eyes, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

 “I did.”

He placed a finger under her chin, then lifted it until she had no choice but to look at him. “No, you didn’t, Ginni. Not at all. I was very flattered by your offer and truly wish I could have accepted. Believe me, I do.” Even in that moment, he wanted her. Being so close, looking into her eyes, made him want her even more. “But nothing happened. We’re fine. Everything’s fine, and we’re still friends. Okay?”

The front door swung open, slamming against the crates next to it as Jarrand entered. His eyes widened as Zel met his gaze.

Oh, Gods no. The picture before Jarrand could easily be construed as being—

“What the fuck are you doing with my woman?”

Zel’s shoulders slumped. Bloody Jallah. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Jarrand, what are you doing here?” Ginni said with alarm—and guilt in her voice that Zel wished weren’t there.

Jarrand drew his short sword.

“Oh, now, you don’t want to do that, Jarrand,” Zel said. “I know what this looks like, but it’s not that.”

“Fuck you, Zeltam. I’ll fucking kill you, you bloody bastard!” Jarrand lunged to the right of the table, and Zel shifted left, easily evading his sword. Jarrand lunged again. Zel evaded again.

Ginni yelled, “Jarrand, stop!”

For the next several minutes, Jarrand chased Zel around the table. Zel circled, evaded Jarrand’s swings and picked up his belongings one by one, while Ginni continued to plead with Jarrand to cease the attack. But he was relentless and wouldn’t listen to anything either of them said. Zel avoided sword swings all the way out of the house until Jarrand slammed the door on him.

At least the Orman was smart enough not to follow. Zel had to give him that much. He slipped into their stables as Jarrand and Ginni argued loudly inside. While he readied his horse, he said a quick prayer to the Goddess Arganna that Ginni would be able to reason with him.

The afternoon sun shone bright, which meant he had to traverse the rest of Thalaria in broad daylight while it was filled with who knew how many Listra hunters. By the grace of the Gods, he left town having seen only two hunters near the gate, and Essy easily drove them away.

On his way to the woods, he couldn’t help but think about what had happened. It disappointed him that Jarrand would so easily believe he’d violate his trust. Granted, their friendship wasn’t like those he shared with his warrior brothers, and the visual Jarrand had walked in on—he shook his head.

Why did he put his finger under her chin? Why did they have to be face to face, so close to one another, when Jarrand walked in? To Jarrand, to anyone looking on, it would have suggested something that wasn’t. Still, he would have thought Jarrand would have more faith in him.

A momentary worry followed that thought. Would Jarrand betray him? Would he tell his secrets or send Listra warriors after him? No. He shook his head. Jarrand wouldn’t do that. In the criminal world, being a rat didn’t make anyone popular. No, the six months he’d be gone would give Jarrand plenty of time to cool off and see reason, and their friendship would go back to normal. He was sure of it.

When he reached the edge of the woods, he dismounted his horse and greeted Leyal, burying his fingers in the fur on Leyal’s neck. He drew the wolf close to him, nuzzling the beast into his waist. “Hey boy, have I missed you.” Leyal’s emerald green eyes peered at him as he let out a quick bark, bark, howl in a deep bass. “You’ve missed me too, eh?” he said, stroking Leyal’s neck.

They walked side by side. “So, you remember how I planned on having some ale, and a beautiful female, and coming right back here to you?” Leyal let out a low bark. “Well, that didn’t go to plan at all.”

Essy slithered out of her specially made saddlebag, onto Zel’s arm, then wrapped herself around his waist.

“Turns out I’m spending another six months in the woods now. I know you won’t mind.”

Leyal let out another quick bark.

Bubo, who’d been keeping watch to ensure no one followed them, returned and landed on Zel’s shoulder.

“I might have to find a village with a brothel first, though. Ginni got me all worked up.”

Another couple of quick barks came from Leyal.

“I know, right? Have I got a story to tell you.”

Chapter 7 – Six Months Later

Zel left Bubo in the trees and said goodbye to Leyal at the edge of the woods outside of Thalaria, just as he had six months prior. He rode to Jarrand and Ginni’s house slowly, contemplating how things would go. Had enough time passed? Would Jarrand understand and forgive him—not that he’d done anything that needed to be forgiven. But would Jarrand believe the truth? What had Ginni told him?

Oh, and Ginni, what to do about her? Would things be awkward between them now? He had little experience with females. Warriors weren’t permitted relationships in Listrand, and his experience with Voenna consisted almost entirely of stolen moments, hours at most. Then his experience with prostitutes—well, could one consider paying a female to meet one’s physical needs as having “experience with females?” He doubted it.

He’d also never had a female come on to him the way Ginni had that night. Sure, Listranian females chose the strongest warriors to mate with them when they entered heat. But that wasn’t the same. They weren’t females who knew him, who’d been friends with him for years, requesting sex.

He’d never been with an Akari either, but he liked Ginni’s unique look. Of course he did. Buzan, one of his closest friends, teased him for his attraction to different more than once, especially when he’d learned about Zel’s relationship with Voenna.

“Why can’t you just be attracted to your own kind, Zelstrason? Make life easy on yourself? Why a Panthera? You do remember they’re our greatest enemy, right? I realize that might be a minor technicality to you, but to the rest of Listrand…”

He would have done well to listen to Buzan back then. But he hadn’t, and he ended up sentenced to death for it. And here he was, years later, attracted to yet another female he wasn’t supposed to want. He’d always been attracted to Ginni, too, but never looked at her in that light. She belonged to Jarrand. At least that was how Orman males viewed their relationships with females. As long as she was with Jarrand, she wasn’t supposed to have dalliances with other males, regardless of how sexually promiscuous her own species might be.

What if she answers the door? What if Jarrand’s not home? No. No. Please, Argas, let it be Jarrand who answers. He’d rather deal with a male than a female any day.

Before he knew it, he stood in front of their house. Considering how things ended the last time, he didn’t think it would be wise to take the liberty of leaving his horse in their stables. So he tied her to a hitching post outside. It wasn’t like he had to worry about anyone stealing her. If there was any better method of theft prevention than having a death snake in one’s saddlebag, he didn’t know of it.

He walked to their rickety door and took a deep breath before knocking.

Ginni answered, her eyes widening at the sight of him. “Zel. How are you?” she said in a bright voice.

For too long, he stared. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Zel? Are you okay? How are you?”

 “Good. Good. I’m good.” Thank the Gods, he finally remembered how to speak. He looked down, shuffled his foot. Bloody Jallah. It’s just Ginni. You’ve known her for years. Don’t act like a fool now. He looked back up. “I… uh… was hoping that maybe… I… uh… maybe Jarrand and I could… uh… talk.” Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant, Zelstrason. He held back an eye roll at his idiocy. What a fool he was, stumbling over his words like that.

He might not be suave with females, but he’d never been tongue-tied with Ginni in the past. Of course, they were only friends before. There was never any hint of anything more, not until that last night they were together, when she stood before him with the firelight dancing over her—

“Zel? Zel?” she said, with her voice slightly raised. “Did you hear me?”

He shook his head. “No. Sorry. What?”

“I said, Jarrand’s gone.”

“Gone? On a run? Sannisport?”

“No. Gone as in gone, as in he left the day you left. Packed up some things after kicking you out, said he wasn’t coming back, and hasn’t in these last six months.” She stepped back and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He stood frozen.

“Zel? What is wrong with you today? I said, come in.”

“Right. Right.” He stepped into the house. “I’m… I’m sorry to hear about Jarrand.”

She closed the door and gestured toward the table. “Don’t be. I was done with him anyway. And you already know why, at least one of the reasons. It was that and,”—she shook her head—“other things. It had been over for a long time, really.” She walked to the kitchen and pulled a couple of cups off the shelf.

“Did you ever find out why he showed up that day? I mean, he was supposed to be going to Covlandia, right?”

“Best guess? He was running ahead of schedule and decided to stop by for some food before continuing north.” She put the cups on her kitchen table and gestured for him to sit. “It used to happen sometimes.”

He pulled out a rickety chair and sat gently. “Any chance he mentioned Fogard and Ankara in his tirade that day?”

“Actually, he did. He railed about helping friends of yours escape and let me know, in no uncertain terms, just how pissed off he was about it.” She pulled a bottle from one of her kitchen cabinets.

“Ah, I see. Well, that’s a relief… for Fogard and Ankara anyway. But you haven’t heard from him at all since?”

“No. But then, I barely ever saw or heard from him when he lived here. He was always out at sea,” she said with anger in her voice. “I assume that hasn’t changed.”

She leaned over to pour him something that looked and smelled like wine. Her breasts, directly in line with his gaze, bubbled over the top of her bodice, revealing the freckles on her chest.

Gods. It had been half a year since he’d been with a female. He shifted in his chair.

“You’ve been in the woods all these months?” she asked, setting the bottle on the table.

“I have.”

“You look… surprisingly clean. And no facial hair this time,” she noted as she joined him at the table.

“You should have seen me before I found a river to bathe in this morning and took the knife to my face.”

She smiled.

Silence fell between them.

He looked down and tapped his glass. After a few quiet moments, he asked, “So what are you doing now?”

“You know, the usual.” She waved her hand.

He checked for his coin purse, and she let out a quick laugh.

“You don’t have enough for me to play with you this time, Zel.” Her eyes danced with mischief.

“Oh, so you show mercy to the poor, eh?”

“Sometimes.” She smiled.

He enjoyed her smile. When it wasn’t flirtatious or sexy, it was warm and inviting. Their eyes lingered on one another until he felt foolish. He looked down at his cup. She did the same.

After a few moments, she asked, “So, are you going to be looking for your friend, for Fogard?”

He perked up in his chair. Something he could talk about that wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. “I am. I plan on heading to Veyforge after I leave here. He mentioned settling in that area, so I’m going to start by scouting there and all the villages that surround it.”

“Good. Good. I hope you find him. You two seemed close.”

“Very. We grew up together, and he’s one of the best Listra I know… and I gave him my word.”

“So you have no choice but to find him.”

“Exactly.” The corners of his mouth turned up. He appreciated that she understood the seriousness of him giving his word.

Another moment of silence passed while they gazed at one another. Then he looked down at his cup again, and she followed suit.

Seconds passed. More seconds passed. He focused on the table, tapping his fingers on it while he tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to mind. But there were four scratches by his thumb, short scratches, like those used for counting.

“You know…”

She drew his attention; thank the Gods. What in Jallah was he doing counting scratches?

“I’m by myself now,” she continued. “I no longer belong to Jarrand or any other Orman. No male lays claim to me.”

He met her eyes and stared at their fascinating orange, accented by a hint of yellow circling the center. He marveled at their uniqueness and, without her belonging to Jarrand, he could look upon them differently now, look upon her differently, allow himself to want her as he always would have wanted her if he could have before.

They sat gazing at one another for a long, lingering moment before she said aloud what he thought she was implying. “The offer I made the last night we were together still stands, Zel.” She paused and, in a whisper, added, “Zelstrason.”

His britches grew tighter. He loved the sound of his real name on her lips—and she was still willing. And she no longer belonged to Jarrand. She was free to mate with him and he with her. All he had to do was not mess this up. He nodded, stood, and held his hand out to her. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” she said as she took his hand.

He led her to the bedroom, then turned and met her gaze. Expectant. Waiting.

Of course, she would expect him to take charge. He was a Listra male. How could he tell her the truth? How could he tell her how empty and meaningless sex was for the warriors of Listrand? That they’d used him as a stud, wanted only for his strength and reputation, not for who he was as a person? That he’d only ever been with one female he actually desired, and that love had been his crime, so great a crime that it had resulted in his death sentence and exile? How could he tell her any of it? How could he tell her that the one area in life where he didn’t know the first thing about taking charge was with a female?

She twirled the end of the loose braid that rested over her shoulder, and the motion caught his eye. He’d always wanted to see her hair down. He put his hand over hers, then moved it to the hair tie. “Do you mind?” She shook her head, and he pulled the tie until it came undone. He loosened her hair from the bottom up, then fanned out the long, thick strands until they blanketed her like a magnificent, silky shawl. “Gorgeous,” he said in a whisper, then stood staring at its beauty.

Her smile grew at his compliment, then she continued to eye him, still with that expectant look.

Don’t just stare, you dolt. DO something.

How to handle a female he actually cared about? How to be with a female when she was actually look at him?

Her hair intrigued him, so he slipped his hands behind her head, burying them in the wonderful silk. He imagined he’d love feeling it upon his bare skin. Without thinking, he drew her to him. She leaned her head back into his hands, her lips slightly parted. Though he longed for her, he stared awkwardly. She licked her lips, waiting.

Kiss her, fool. She WANTS you to kiss her.

With his heart racing, he listened to his internal voice and touched his lips to hers. She leaned into him, pressing her curves against his body. He ran a hand down her back, his fingers exploring her contours, luxuriating in her firmness, in her strength, the strength of the Akari. If she was any indication, Akari were an impressive species indeed.

His nether regions stirred, and his desire took over, leaving his over-thinking brain behind. With his hands firm and holding her tightly, he deepened their kiss. He savored the warmth and softness of her lips, savored the first kiss he’d had in thirteen years. She met him with an eager urgency, devouring his affections, digging her nails into his back until they fed off each other’s desire in a frenzy.

But their passion ignited something within him long dormant, feelings he couldn’t allow. He broke their kiss. Too intimate. Sex would be less so.

He took her from behind in the way he was taught and, for the first time in more than a decade, had a female in the way of the Listra male. It was a more primal mating than the Orman species could typically handle, but not too primal for an Akari. He took her repeatedly from that afternoon into the wee hours of the following morning. True to the rumors about her species, no matter how many times he had her, she remained able and eager. By the time they finished, he was fairly certain she wouldn’t walk properly for quite some time.

“Gods, you impress me,” he said, rolling off her, laying on his back with a sheen of sweat glistening over his body.

She lay on her side, elbow bent, head resting on her hand, casually running a finger over the contours of his chest. “I could impress you every day if you stayed.”

“You know I can’t.”

“I know. You don’t keep women,” she said, her voice sounding melancholy to his ears. “I know. But it was worth suggesting.”

How he wished he could. It wasn’t his choice to be alone. Nothing in his life had been his choice—except the one thing that had, and that had earned him a death sentence. “It’s not that,” he said. “You know my life, living most of it in the woods, always having to be on the watch for hunters. I can bring no female into such a life, risk no female’s life for mine.” He’d already failed one female. He wouldn’t fail another.

“I could run with you. And you know I can handle myself.”

So could his Voenna. That didn’t prevent her death. “I do, Ginni. I know. You are impressive… in so many ways. And that’s all the more reason I can’t risk you.”

With sorrow in his eyes, he ran a finger along the side of her face, brushing a stray tendril of hair aside. What would it be like to be with her, to truly be with her? It had been thirteen years since he cared for anyone, thirteen years since he allowed anyone to care for him. A female so tough and wily might actually be able to handle being with him, too. And she was strong and sturdy and—he grinned to himself—sexy, and fun, and flirtatious, and highly skilled. Not to mention that she made great wine.

No, Zelstrason. No. Absolutely not. What are you thinking? You can’t. You know you can’t. He had to learn to stop dreaming of a better life, an actual life, something more than an existence. It would never happen. There was no way he’d risk another. Besides, he had to set out on his search for Fogard. He had to ensure Fogard and Ankara were safe. That was his top priority.

He met her eyes. “Too many Listra hunters would be all too eager to slaughter any female I allow myself to care for.” He looked away. “I can’t.”

“I know,” she said softly, then laid her head on his chest.

After a few hours of blissful sleep with her in his arms, she walked him to the door. He kissed her goodbye at her threshold, softly, tenderly, wishing it could be more. But he knew it couldn’t be. It could never be. So he drew himself away, mounted his horse, and left to find Fogard and Ankara.