Page 25 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

Even as she slipped turning the corner of the estate, Isobel urged herself onward. Faster. The night was dark, the rain heavy, but still she pumped her arms, willing herself to go, go, go.

Her lungs burned. Her legs protested. Lightening split the sky, illuminating the world in cosmic violet and piercing white.

By the time she made it to the lavender fields, one of her shoes had come off. Slowing only enough to remove the other one, she left it behind without a backward glance. Her toes sank into the earth, and her hair came free of the ribbons and pins—she was a wild thing of the night.

She’d just left the confines of the fields when red eyes appeared in the distance.

Ved.

The glow from his eye shields was a beacon. She couldn’t speak. And she didn’t know what she would say even if she could.

But there was freedom in every step that took her to him.

His long stride ate the ground up much faster than her short legs could carry her, until he was only paces from her .

“What is it?” he growled, his hand lingering on the hilt of one of his weapons.

But he caught her effortlessly when she hurtled into him, and she collapsed into his embrace.

“What hunts you?”

“No one,” she panted, shaking her head against his sternum. “I just … I needed you.”

She felt his muscles, thick corded things, relax beneath her. Then she was being lifted, cradled against his chest. He inhaled deeply. Like he was breathing her in, like he’d waited a lifetime to hear her say those words.

He didn’t question her further as he stepped into the forest. His hulking form shielded her from most of the rain as he expertly navigated the darkness.

Before she knew it, they were inside his ship, and the sound of the rain hitting the exterior was a deep, resonating patter that soothed her immediately.

He set her down on her feet but didn’t move away from her.

“Tell me who made you cry,” he demanded roughly. “Who made you run?”

She found it amazing that he could tell she had been crying even soaked as she was. Without looking at him, she said, “I was at the opera, a musical performance, with Lord Richard and his parents. He…”

“Did he touch you, Isobel Nott?”

She opened her mouth, a lie already burdening her tongue.

Ved moved away from her abruptly. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” she blurted.

He’d already taken three strides away from her. “Hunting him down. ”

“He didn’t— You can’t kill him, Ved.” Isobel stepped toward him, the wet fabric of her gown twisting and sticking to her as she did.

He paused, turning to look over his shoulder at her. His eye shields were gleaming a sinister crimson. “He hurt you. I’ll do more than kill him.”

She shook her head, but he continued, “He put his hands on you, and so I will take them from him. As well as his tongue and eyes, since all have offended you. When I’m through, I’ll retrieve his skull and gift it to you.

” He said a string of words in Xaala, too, and she could only imagine how bloody the vows were by the lethal tone of his voice.

The sheer horror of his words mixed with something else entirely, but she shoved it away. “Nothing he did has warranted his death.”

“Xaal—”

“But we aren’t Xaal. If you kill him, they’ll want to know who did it. They’ll suspect me or my family, especially because I left him at the opera.”

He shifted, his big hands curling in and out of fists. Everything about his posture said he was at war with himself. With his very nature. She already knew that on Runus, in Xaal culture, this wouldn’t be a conversation. Lord Richard would be a man marked for death.

She stepped closer to him, almost tripping over the wet gown.

Reaching out to steady her, he said something in his language, low and guttural, before saying, “I will not kill him this night if you do not wish it.”

“No killing. Just stay with me?” she whispered between chattering teeth.

He grunted. “You need to get dry and warm. Take this fabric off. I will put it against the thermal bands.”

She contemplated his order. Her decision to come had been impulsive.

Reckless. She hadn’t considered what she’d actually do once she was here.

But she couldn’t very well sit around a sopping mess.

The dress itself was heavy and waterlogged, but her stays had repelled some of the moisture, and her shift felt somewhat dry.

It wasn’t enough to remain modest but that didn’t matter.

None of it mattered. She nodded again.

He moved around her and, without further instruction, began undoing the buttons after briefly studying them.

Thick fingers worked at them, and she couldn’t help but think how neither of them had been in such a situation before.

He’d probably only ever taken off another’s armor, and a man undressing her seemed as much a fairytale as the books she read.

He moved her wet hair off her back, laying it over her shoulder gently. Reverently.

When the gown was loosened, he stepped away.

She took a deep breath and shimmied out of it before she could think better of it. “My stays,” she murmured. He wasn’t looking at her, his head turned slightly as if he wasn’t fully certain what to do. But his muscles were tense, his stance stiff.

Taking a steadying breath, she pulled at the ribbons of the stays, numbly removing the overlayer.

Her shift beneath clung to her more than she originally thought it would and her nipples were shadowed peaks beneath.

Definitely improper. A shiver went through her as much from the cool air as from being exposed.

Crossing an arm over herself, she handed Ved her wet clothing.

Ved took it without fully looking at her and walked out of the room without a word.

When he came back moments later, he had a towel the size of a small blanket with him.

He was somehow completely dry, however, and had taken off his weapons’ belt—keeping his promise not to murder Richard right then .

He handed the towel to her and only stepped back far enough that she could dry off unimpeded. “What else happened at this opera?” he prompted.

She sighed as she attempted to dry her hair before wrapping the large towel around herself.

How did she explain it to him? Explain what she was feeling when she couldn’t even reason it out herself?

“While the music played in the background, the singer hitting the highest of notes, I had this overpowering feeling that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

I felt sick, and Lord Richard was so unkind.

I stood up to move out into the hall so I wasn’t disrupting the show, but he followed me. ”

“Where did he touch you?”

He could barely contain the rage that graveled his voice.

Memories of him fighting off the silver-armored Xaal and the Kroids came to mind.

Regardless, she answered by running her fingers over her jaw and around her upper arm, where she knew there would soon be bruises in the shape of Lord Richard’s fingerprints.

“Killing him would be too merciful,” Ved growled.

Isobel was now fully shaking from the cold. “If only Dorsent society saw it the same way. I told you, women are property to people like him.”

He tilted his head, his chest rising in a deep breath. “Do you have the feeling now? Like you should be somewhere else.”

“No, I think this is exactly where I’m supposed to be,” she whispered. There was a haunting in her confession. A truth that, once spoken aloud, she’d never be free of. “But I know you are busy and have repairs to see to. Your clan is waiting, and we—”

He moved toward the deep, bench-like structure that ran along one side of the chamber. Spreading his legs wide, he settled into the seat. It left little room for her, but he motioned at her with two fingers.

She stepped forward—a half step at first, but then more boldly, until she was but a pace away from him. His thick thighs bracketed her own, and even sitting, he was still taller than her.

“A long time ago, I made a vow to myself,” he rumbled.

“Lying in a field with my abdomen cut open, I swore that if I survived that night, I’d never be weak again.

I am a marked Xaal—my path is already laid out before me.

I must find and destroy those who have come against my clan . It is a debt that cannot go unpaid.”

Isobel knew that. And though she may not be intimate with vengeance, she, more than anyone, understood the pull of duty.

He continued, “My ship is fully repaired besides two thermocylinders. Whether or not they hold a charge tonight, I’ll be gone in a matter of hours.”

Her heart cracked; her stomach plummeted.

“I understand.” Without thinking, she took a step back, mirroring the retreat that was happening inside of her.

She’d known that this time would come. She’d tried to guard herself against it, against what it would do to her.

But nothing could have prepared her for the profound sense of loss she felt.

He would be gone tomorrow. And in four short days, she would either be wed to a tyrant or be the cause of strife within her family.

Their time had always been borrowed. Taken from the cosmos. Now the stars demanded their due.

“I should go—”

Ved grabbed her hips and pulled her in closer again before dropping his hands just as fast. She searched his visor, desperate for any sign of what he might be thinking. He swallowed hard, and her gaze instead followed the knot as it traveled the thick column of his throat.

When next he spoke, his voice was low. “When Xaal find something beautiful, we compare it to a well-made weapon. At first, I felt that was too harsh—you are too soft, too good. But now I know you are the deadliest kind of armament. Something lethal and intoxicating, burning and bright. No amount of armor could ever save me from you.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and without thought, she pressed her palm against the side of his helmet. He tilted his face ever so slightly against it as if he longed for her touch through the metal.

“You said you needed me.” There was a roughness in his voice she didn’t quite understand.

There was no denying it. There was no explaining it away. “Yes,” she said.

He went still as if he was afraid of scaring her away. “I need you, too. I’ve needed you for longer than I’ve known you, but I cannot afford to be so weak.”

Because for him, that’s all this could ever be—a weakness. “One night,” she said. “I’m not a woman of Dorsent and you’re not a qon set on vengeance. For one night, we can be anything we want to be.”

He rumbled a thoughtful sound. “For this one night, I’ll give you anything you need, Isobel.”

It was the first time he had said only her first name. Like a lover would. “Say my name again,” she requested softly.

“Isobel.” Her name was more than syllables from his lips—it was anguish and satisfaction, gravity and flight.

“Ved…” She knew what she wanted but wasn’t sure she could say it. Not outright. She wasn’t sure she even deserved it, but…

She reached for one of his gloved hands and lifted it between them. “I know I can’t see your face, but I wonder if you’ll let me see your hands.” She looked from his hand to his dark helmet.

He gave an imperceptible nod but otherwise remained preternaturally still .

The leather was thick and worn, held together by metal fasteners wrapped around the wrist. She worked at them until they released. Then, starting with his pointer finger, she tugged on the material—finger by finger, until the glove sat on his hand loosely.

Before she could fully remove it, he lifted the other for her to do the same. When she was through, she paused.

“Go on,” he said.

Isobel pulled the gloves free, revealing his skin for the first time.

He was the color of deep midnight and dark stormy seas—a blue so complex and rich that she was certain it had no name.

His hands were similar to a man’s, but the knuckles were wider and more pronounced.

With each minor movement, veins and muscle shifted beneath the flesh.

They were the hands of a warrior, adorned with darkened scars.

She placed her palms against his. He was rough, calloused.

“Your skin is beautiful,” she breathed. “Like art.” Sliding her fingers up, she intertwined them with his.

She had to spread them wide to fill the spaces.

Her hands looked so small in his yet so completely right.

The deep ocean blue of his flesh meeting the sun-kissed earth of hers.

She’d never seen anything so perfect in her life.

“I am yours to command,” he rasped.

She peered at him between their joined hands. This. This was where everything would change for her. She felt it as her tongue passed over her lips, and saw it in her reflection in the black shields of his helmet.

“Touch me, Ved.”