Page 45 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

Ved held Isobel in his lap as they descended to the earth below, passing through stars and void and then clouds.

“Are we cloaked, then?” she asked, peering at the world beneath, trying to pinpoint a recognizable landscape. But from where they were, the world merely looked like a patchwork quilt of browns and greens.

“Yes,” he said, pressing a kiss to her neck. One of his canines scraped against her skin, causing goosebumps to break out.

Now that there were no rules about touching, he was constant in his affections, pressing kisses to the top of her head, her throat, her hand as he brought it to his lips. And he touched her nonstop—her stomach, her hips, her hair. It was as if he couldn’t have enough of her.

But more surprisingly, she felt the same way.

“I can’t believe I’ve been absent for twelve days,” she said as she spotted the blue manor house in the early morning sun.

She’d missed her own wedding, and Clara and Henry were probably beside themselves with concern.

She hoped her absence hadn’t affected their social standing, yet she knew it probably had.

A runaway bride, embarrassing a Duke and Duchess? Guilt gnawed at her.

Then there was her and Ved. Would he just leave? She knew he couldn’t stay here—it was forbidden, and he had a clan waiting for him. Even as his shadowdrifter landed smoothly in the familiar woods, she wasn’t sure what their future would look like.

They’d managed to avoid the conversation altogether.

All she knew was that the very thought of never being held by him again, of never speaking to him again, of never seeing his face again, felt like a fate worse than death.

“I’ll go with you, but I’ll be cloaked,” Ved said as he fitted his helmet back on.

“Yes, that’s fine,” she murmured.

Her hands were clammy as they stepped out of the ship. The walk back to the estate felt very different than any other time. She was different. More.

Happier.

Would her brother understand?

By the time she pulled open the front door of Nott Manor, her nerves were shot.

Despite Ved’s soothing rumbles and steadfast presence, she couldn’t shake the anxiety that had crept into every corner of her being.

Trying to explain to her family where she’d been was going to be difficult, but she had little choice.

She had to be brave.

Isobel didn’t make it three steps inside before Henry skidded into the entryway.

Dark circles ringed his brown eyes, an immediate testimony to the hardships her absence had caused. “Good God, Isobel! Are you alright? What … where have you been?” He looked her over for any in juries, but he didn’t rush to her, as though he were afraid she’d fall to pieces.

Her niece, on the other hand, had no such qualms. “Aunt Isobel? She’s here?” Clara called a moment before she appeared. “Isobel!” she shrieked, and ran to her, tears streaming down her pretty face.

Isobel caught her in her arms and rocked with the impact.

“Oh, Aunt Isobel,” she sobbed.

“I’m well,” Isobel soothed. “Everything is fine.”

Quieter, between gulps of air, Clara confessed, “I told Papa.”

“Told him what?”

“That you were in love with someone else. I thought maybe you ran away with him, and we were all so worried. It just came out.” Clara hiccoughed as she squeezed her harder.

Isobel caught Henry’s eye—so much for a strategic explanation—but it was not her brother’s voice that spoke next.

Lord Richard entered the hall. “Is that where you’ve been?

You’ve taken up with a lover?” His icy blue gaze trailed down her front, and his lip curled in disgust. “She even looks like she was green-gowned, walking around in her nightgown, for heaven’s sake. ”

Henry, who had been frozen in place, shot him a deadly glare. Somehow, he was able to keep his tone even. “Are you calling my sister’s honor into question? I’d like to hear what happened from Isobel, Lord Richard.”

Everyone looked at her at once with expectant expressions.

“Well…” Heat filled her face, but it was less out of embarrassment and more out of anger.

“As a matter of fact, yes, that is where I’ve been.

” At the sounds of protest from Lord Richard and the look of utter betrayal on Henry’s paling face, she raised her voice.

“But I was taken by … an enemy of his. He saved me.”

“Now isn’t that a tall tale,” Lord Richard said, clapping his hands together. “You’ve been missing almost a fortnight and that’s your excuse? What kinds of enemies does a gentleman have anyway?”

Isobel’s fury was a whip, lashing out before she knew it.

Ved had told her all about what he’d observed in the lord’s home.

“That’s rich, coming from you. To whom do you owe money, Lord Richard?

Who is it taking all of your belongings from your townhouse?

Is it because you haven’t paid your dues?

And what scheme did you wish to rope my brother into so you could get some of his money? ”

Lord Richard’s mouth worked silently. He was trying to figure out how she knew—she could see it in his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said haughtily, straightening his coat. “You’re a mad woman.”

“What about what happened at the opera? I hadn’t told Henry yet, but you threatened me and put your hands on me. Bruised me.”

Ved growled quietly behind her.

“You hit my little sister?” Henry asked, stepping toward Lord Richard with dangerous intent.

The lord smiled easily, his hands up to diffuse the tension.

“I’d never. I have no idea where she got such a notion.

Can’t you see she’s hysterical? Where is this suitor she’s supposed to have run off with, anyway?

Maybe he’s a fantasy as well. He couldn’t come here and show his face?

If he were a good man, he’d have made his intentions clear.

After all, he was able to have his way with—”

Henry cursed and punched Richard. Clara screamed as if startled. But she wasn’t looking at them—her focus was trained on something behind Isobel.

Ved had uncloaked, his eye shields glowing red .

“By the devil!” Lord Richard roared at Henry. And then he also caught sight of the Xaal standing behind Isobel. His face twisted, his eyes going unnaturally wide.

“You,” he said hoarsely, backing away.

It was then that Henry noticed Ved, too, and his first instinct was to grab Clara and pull her behind him. “Bloody hell,” he cried.

Lord Richard, however, grabbed for something leaning against the wall.

A hunting rifle. He leveled it at Ved.

Without thought, Isobel tried to put herself between the gun and Ved.

But Ved snarled and pulled her out of the line of fire.

With one arm he covered her torso, his hand locked on her hip.

A mechanical whirring sound came from his back armor, revealing a thin cylinder emitting a bright red light.

She was certain this was what he had killed the Kroid with in the woods.

In slow motion, it seemed, Lord Richard followed the movement. He opened his mouth to say something, but red dots aligned on him, one in the middle of his forehead and two over his heart.

The confusion and abject terror were clear on his face. His hands shook.

“Lower the goddamned guns,” Henry ordered. He still had Clara behind him, but she was peeking around his back, unblinking, staring at Ved.

Isobel recognized the look on her face—curiosity.

“What in the hell is he?” Lord Richard demanded.

Ved made a noise that reverberated through her, but she spoke for him. “His name is Ved. And he is mine ,” she said. The word was so true that it settled within her like a second heart.

“Are you out of your mind?” Lord Richard babbled between trembling lips. His face had turned an ugly shade of purple-red. “Those eyes… He was in my house. He threatened me. He—”

Before he could say any more, however, Henry marched over to Richard.

The lord was so intent on her and Ved that he paid little attention to her brother, who snatched the rifle from his hand.

But not before it let off a crack of a shot.

The bullet went high, hitting part of the ceiling and causing plaster chips and dust to rain down on them.

Ved made to step forward, but Henry punched Lord Richard squarely in the nose. Again.

This time with a sickening crack.

“Papa!” Clara shouted at the same time Isobel said, “Henry!”

Ved made a satisfied rumble.

But nothing came from the Lord Richard Seymour. He simply dropped to the floor, knocked out cold.