Page 11 of Nansar
Ancestors preserve me, her eyes.
Gray as gathering storm clouds, they blazed with a fire that punched straight through my chest and wrapped around something intrinsic I didn't know I possessed.
And facing her, blocking out the light like a mountain of malice, was Bronto.
One of Persico's favorite enforcers—a hulking Kaelaks with a well-earned reputation for cruelty and the honor of a carrion feeder. His massive frame dominated the clearing, but through the gaps I could see her, see the way she refused to cower. He advanced with the slow confidence of a predator who'd already tasted victory, savoring her fear.
Except she wasn't giving him any.
"You can make this easy or hard, little human," Bronto's voice oozed through the trees like poison. "Either way, you're coming back with me. Persico's going to pay good credits for a pretty thing like you. Fresh human female? You'll fetch a premium price in the slave markets after we've had our fun with you."
"I'd rather die."
Her voice cut through the air—steady, clear, sharp as broken glass. No tremor. No plea. Just pure, raging defiance.
By the ancestors, she was magnificent.
Bronto's laugh was a cruel thing that bounced off the trees and died ugly in the air. "That can be arranged too. ButPersico wants you alive. Damaged goods are worth less, but still worth something. Your choice."
I shifted position, circling through the shadows to find a better angle. My hand found the blade at my hip, fingers wrapping around the grip like greeting an old friend. Bronto was massive, even for a Kaelaks, but his entire focus had narrowed to the female before him.
Fatal mistake.
I could drop him before he even knew I was there.
But as I watched her—the subtle shift of her weight, the way her fingers tightened around that makeshift spear she'd fashioned from pod debris—something happened.
A tingling sensation bloomed at the base of my horns, spreading like liquid fire through my skull, down my spine, into my very bones. I went rigid, breath strangling in my throat.
No.
Not now. Not her.
The horn-tingle was unmistakable, undeniable. Every Aljani knew of it from the moment we came of age. Recognition. The first whisper of a mate-bond stirring to life. It was rare as starfall, precious as water in the deep wastes, and completely, catastrophically unwelcome at this moment.
I forced air into my lungs, tried to shove the sensation back where it came from. This wasn't the time. This couldn't be the time.
And she—this fierce, fearless, fragile human who'd survived a pod crash and was now facing down a brute twice her size without flinching—she deserved better than a disgraced former royal with more enemies than allies and a future darker than the space between stars.
I buried the feeling deep, locked it away, and focused on what mattered. Getting her away from Bronto.
Alive.
I took another step closer, my blade sliding free of its sheath with barely a whisper of sound, a prayer of steel in the quiet.
But before I could close the distance, the female moved.
What happened next unfolded in a heartbeat—a brutal, beautiful dance of survival.
She dropped low, fingers clawing at the dusty ground. Bronto lunged, his meaty hands grasping for her throat, already savoring his victory. But the female whirled and came up fast, hurling a fistful of dirt directly into his face.
Bronto's roar split the air. He reeled backward, pawing at his eyes like a wounded beast.
Most would have run. Most would have seized that precious moment to flee.
She attacked.
The makeshift spear drove forward with the kind of force that spoke of pure, distilled rage. The jagged metal tip punched through Bronto's leather armor like it was parchment, finding the soft space between his ribs. His roar died in his throat, replaced by a wet, gurgling gasp. His hands fell from his ruined eyes to clutch uselessly at the strut now buried in his chest.
