Page 41 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Ved

Isobel’s voice slashed through the red haze of battle.

It was a desperate, powerful call.

It sank into his bones. She needed him.

He did not falter in cutting down his opponents, but his entire body was attuned to Isobel. She was his gravity—her voice a beacon calling him home.

He had to get to her.

Something blunt hit him across the helmet, sending sparks through his vision. The impact threw him into another Xaal whom Ved took down with two quick jabs of his plasma dirk in the weak spot above their chest plate.

“Isobel,” he growled, clearing his vision. He killed another who made the mistake of turning his back for a split second. The sea of opponents parted until he could finally see her.

The qon had her. Ved’s sight narrowed until he could only see them.

Isobel was rigid in his grasp. Her dress was dirty, and bruises peppered her brown skin. He harnessed his fury as he met her bright gaze. He’d never felt more emotion in a look than he did in that moment. Even here, the vastness of all she felt consumed everything else.

And she was apologizing. To him.

It was she who was owed an apology. He should have left her alone. He should have never touched her that night.

But he was a weak Xaal.

“Yield,” the qon said, “and I’ll let her live.” The others halted their onslaught, stepping away from Ved. “She can serve me as a slave when I reclaim Cleave.”

Reclaim.

Then the qon threw his head back and laughed.

The very sound brought Ved up short. He knew that laugh. It had haunted him for over fifty cycles.

Ice traveled through his veins, clawed up his throat.

“Weakling,” Gav spat.

The plasma dirk cutting into his flesh was excruciating, made worse by the fact that the blade was jagged and his eldest brother was taking his time.

Ved couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. He felt his insides being exposed to the cold as steam rose up to swirl in the frigid air. He became nothing but agony.

He deserved to die.

So weak. So fragile.

When Gav was at last through with his torso, he laughed in his face. His other two brothers, Ezig and Raig, joined him, but it was Gav’s laugh—colder than winter itself—that imprinted itself on his very soul.

But Ved had killed him. He’d killed all his brothers. The night he took Cleave, he’d ensured total victory. Had not only destroyed them but anyone who would remain loyal to them. And anyone who saw Ved as weak.

He’d torn the old clan asunder and rebuilt it .

“How?” Ved rasped, and he hated the sound. Pathetic.

“Did you think the fire took me, brother?” Gav made a sound of disappointment. “You should have learned from my mistake all those cycles ago. Always finish the kill. You should have let yourself burn before you assumed I was dead.”

The fire had caught quick—an accident. Torches were knocked over amidst the battle. It only served to cause more chaos and confusion that night. Ved had already killed his other two brothers, with Ezig being first, and was moving to Gav’s quarters.

Ved had wanted him to be last—for him to know he was coming for him.

The flames were moving fast, though, licking down the hallway as he ran to get to his oldest brother’s room. Ved would kill him or die trying. The fire didn’t matter—nothing did beyond the thirst for revenge that had honed him.

The fight wasn’t long. Their blades crashed together as thick smoke billowed between them. But Ved was used to fighting in worse conditions by that point. He was used to fighting more dead than alive.

Gav hadn’t said anything that night. He’d known he was a dead Xaal. When Ved took his blade to his throat, he’d died as easily as anyone else.

The only thing he hadn’t done was take his helmet off.

The world stopped.

“You weren’t in your room that night?” he asked now.

“I wasn’t,” Gav confirmed.

“But your armor…”

“Pik’s was similar to mine.” Pik had been Gav’s bruvya. “Similar enough that in the fog of war and through smoke and flames, we could easily be mistaken for each other.”

“You did it on purpose. You let him take your fate.”

Gav shrugged.

Ved strode forward, rage and revenge fueling each step, but when Gav shallowly dragged his blade across Isobel’s neck, he stopped cold.

“There was never a universe where you made it out of this alive. You know that, right?” Gav said. “You are weak—always have been. I’m surprised Cleave stood as long as it has. But playing pretend can only get you so far. When it’s mine, I’ll return it to its original title—Clan Victor.”

His brother pulled Isobel’s hair back until she cried out. “Your mate will make a great slave. I’m sure the clan will love using her.”

Ved’s vision went red. His hearts ached, his veins burned. Gav was touching his Isobel. His mate . Everything he’d tried to prevent was happening.

And he couldn’t stop it. Weak.

“Ved,” Isobel said, her voice thick with emotion. Her lips trembled, and his hearts broke.

“Keep your eyes on me, Isobel. It’s going to be over soon. I’ll—”

Gav jerked her hair again, making her whimper in pain. But she didn’t take her eyes off him.

“It will be over soon,” Gav crooned in her ear before looking to Ved again. “A millennium ago, Kreked destroyed his brothers on this very island. And tonight, I will destroy you.”

He was delusional if he thought himself anything like the First Qon. Ved recognized the bloodlust-fueled insanity lacing Gav’s words. “You’ve done nothing but act dishonorably,” Ved snapped. “You are no Kreked.”

“Dishonorably?” Gav hissed. “I’m the one who was born to rule. And you’re the one who went against the fate of the stars. Xaal like you shouldn’t be given the chance. You should have been stomped out the night you were born. Then you turned against your clan—”

“It was no clan of mine, you made certain of that.” There was no reasoning with Gav.

He couldn’t see the hypocrisy of all this—so blinded by what should have been that he couldn’t see he hadn’t earned his title.

He truly believed he was fated to be the qon of their old clan.

There was nothing left of him but his obsession.

Gav tightened his hold on Isobel, and she let out a squeak of pain.

“Let her go. Fight me ,” Ved said through gritted teeth.

“You aren’t qon here,” Gav spat. “Yield, and I’ll even let you die on your knees instead of your back.”

There were enemies on all sides of him. There were six Raxans still standing, weapons ready.

That didn’t bother Ved—there could be a thousand Xaal and it wouldn’t alter his goal.

The real issue was rather simple. So simple it was maddening.

He simply wouldn’t be able to make it to Isobel before Gav killed her.

And above all else, she had to live.

Ved got down on one knee, then another. “I yield,” he said, tossing his weapons aside.

“Ved,” Isobel cried, struggling against Gav’s hold.

“No,” Kravis yelled. “Stand up and fight!”

Gav gave orders for him to be relieved of his other weapons.

Ved breathed in deeply. Unlike that night all those cycles ago, the air was humid. Blood rolled down his temple, and the damage he sustained during the fighting seeped into his awareness. The mud gripped him in its sucking hold as he shifted slightly.

But everything was so much clearer now.

“Remove his chest plate,” Gav ordered. “He’ll die like he was supposed to.”

Weak , his beating hearts said.

Ved was pushed and shoved as the Raxans took his armor from him, but he didn’t take his gaze off Isobel. He’d die a thousand deaths if it meant she lived. She was his starborn mate. He should have known. He should have taken his mask off for her, let her see him. She, and only she, had that right.

“You do not yield,” Kravis roared as he fought and flexed against his restraints. It was the same thing he’d said as he watched Ved struggle to survive all those cycles ago.

But this was the only way.

Gav let Isobel go, shoving her aside like she was nothing.

The black inferno that had settled within Ved roared back to life.

Raxans moved to restrain him, pulling his arms back. Gav wanted to split him open again, dishonor him.

But Ved did not yield.

It had been a risk, getting on his knees. Gav could have killed her anyway, but Ved had been relying on the fact that his brother was blinded by his bloodlust.

He hadn’t knelt for Gav. He’d knelt for her.

Isobel quickly found her feet. But, pulling something from her sleeve, the object glinting in the pale green moonlight, she ran back toward Gav.

It happened in an instant. Isobel let out a feral cry. A warrior’s yell. Pride and heat rushed through Ved as his wild mate stabbed the object into the small of Gav’s back. She danced out of Gav’s reach as he turned to grab her again.

At the same time, a familiar battle cry shook the very earth beneath Ved. He snapped his attention to Kravis. His bruvya strained against his binds, muscles bulging. The ropes creaked and snapped, the trees groaned and split. He pulled against his restraints, an untamable beast.

And then he was free—impossibly—the cords falling off around him in frayed piles.

Ved saw his opening and lunged .

He staggered the Raxans holding him as he pushed to his feet. There was some grappling as they tried to subdue him again, but Kravis was already charging at them. They had to respond to the rampaging giant of a Xaal.

Gav tried to reach for Isobel again, realizing he’d lost his only shield, but she moved out of his reach once more.

And then Ved was on him.

His eldest brother had all his weaponry at his disposal, yet as Ved tackled him, he seemed too stunned to use the plasma dirk in his hand. But his surprise didn’t last long as they rolled, fighting for the dominant position.

“You can’t kill me. I made you what you are,” Gav hissed as he punched Ved in the throat and tried to stab him in one of his hearts. “But against me, you are still nothing. Weak.”

Ved threw him off, but before Gav could gain his footing, he dragged him back down and landed his own punches. Ved was vulnerable without his chest plate—one slip of a blade through his ribs and he would be done.

But armor didn’t make a Xaal.

When the old him had died in that cold field, he’d been armorless. When he’d fought against blood loss, infection, and fever, he’d been armorless. When he’d gone on the most dangerous hunts against the deadliest beasts and opponents, he’d been armorless.

And this was no different.

Even when Gav managed to get on top of him and bury his plasma dirk in his shoulder, Ved barely registered the pain. While Gav snarled and laughed, thinking he’d beaten him, Ved was channeling—his wrath, his command, his control.

He’d sworn never to be weak again. It was a promise etched into his very bones.

Gav was twisting the plasma dirk and pulling it down, but Ved headbutted him as hard as he could. His brother reeled back, knocked off balance, and Ved struck without hesitation. He lifted Gav up, then threw him down again, knocking the breath from his lungs in a pitiful wheeze.

With his right hand, Ved pulled the plasma dirk from his shoulder; with his left, he gripped Gav’s helmet.

Gav tried to get out from beneath him, punching and digging his heels into the dirt, but Ved refused to be pulled away from the challenge. He worked the edge of the dirk into the seam of Gav’s helmet and began to pry it off.

“You’ll never be a true qon,” his brother raged. “Weakness doesn’t just go away—it’s an incurable disease. You are still that same runt you were when I gutted you.”

Even as Gav plunged another blade into his thigh, Ved’s dirk hummed, breaking off a piece of the helmet.

Gav wrenched his blade back and stabbed him again. “Cleave is mine. You’re nothing . ”

Metal clasps gave way to the searing edge of the dagger. Gav pushed Ved’s hands away, but it didn’t matter. His helmet came off anyway.

They shared the same eyes. And though Gav’s dark blue face was contorted in rage, Ved knew it was the face of his brother. It was the same face of the youth that had left him to die. The face of the Xaal who had taken his bruvya and his Isobel.

“You’re the weak one,” Ved snarled, and punched him. “After everything you did to try and destroy me”—another strike—“you’ve still managed to be dishonored and lose.”

Ved hit him again, and again, until his face was nothing but abstract crimson. Until there was nothing of himself left to see in his brother. Ved didn’t stop, even as Gav choked on his own blood. His struggle grew weaker, but he was still alive when Ved moved on to his next task.

It took six strikes to break the armor covering Gav’s upper body enough to pry it away. He tore the fabric beneath next. Then five more punches to shatter his ribs. Several more before flesh broke and he could reach inside his chest cavity.

His brother was still hanging on to life through it all, but only then reeked of fear.

Finding the thick, corded artery in the center of his chest, Ved pulled up and out, bringing bone and chunks of meat with him. The hearts were pumping steadily, not yet realizing their defeat. Discarding them on the blood-stained silver of what remained of Gav’s armor, Ved stood up.

“You’re nothing,” Gav garbled.

Ved’s chest heaved, his vision sharpened. “I am Ved Qon Cleave,” he growled.

One violent stomp, and the squelch and spray of blood sealed an oath made long ago.