She removed his glove, taking note of his strong, masculine hand and considered how adeptly those same hands had recently shed blood. She stared down at him and the full import of what she was contemplating hit her.
“This is a vile act worthy of you, Van Laven.” Disgusted, she threw his hand down without removing the ring.
“Please ….”
Vaush turned to find Comron’s eyes opened to mere slits, as if that were all the strength he had. Her touch must have stirred him.
Something in his plaintiff cry struck at the very core of her, forcing her to question the conviction of the principles upon which she based her life. She entertained no delusions—if the situation were reversed, Comron would leave her to die without wasting a second to deliberate. But she could not conduct her life based upon how this immoral man would have treated her.
Would you really travel light years away to help orphans in need, but refuse to walk three steps to render aid to a dying man? she asked herself.
She groaned, knowing what she must do, though she shuddered at the thought of her father, or any other Ti-Larosian, finding her playing nurse to a Nethicaen prince. She would be condemned as a traitor or worse.
“Please … help me,” the prince said with more urgency.
Heaven’s sake! She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Forgive me, Ti-Laros.”
As if in a trance, she watched her very own hands pulling away his shirt to examine the grisly wound. She administered a hypo spray of anesthesia to his lower chest before beginning the gruesome task of removing the shard of metal embedded deep within his flesh.
Despite the anesthesia, Comron grimaced as she pulled the shard free. Blood and guts gushed forth and Vaush fought to keep down the contents of her stomach as a wave of nausea washed over her. But, somehow, she managed to hang on and push much of it back into place. She administered an antiseptic solution before using the flesh mender apparatus to repair any organ and tissue damage, and to seal the wound, accelerating the healing process. It would do until he could be delivered over to medical professionals. Using some carbonated water she’d found, she tried her best to clean off the excess blood, for he was a horrific-looking mess. Finally, she pulled a large bandage from the kit and carefully placed it over the now rapidly healing wound.
“There,” she sighed and wiped a trembling, bloody hand across her brow. The word traitor stabbed at her. But then she remembered that there was no one here to bear witness to what she had done. Not even Comron would be able to identify her as the one who had provided his care.
She cleaned her hands and then gathered her knapsack, determined to put this whole ordeal behind her. As she approached the opening, she immediately noticed that the skies had turned purple and thick with clouds. Just then, a fat raindrop splattered onto her head.
“Not now,” she protested, gazing heavenward.
The drops paid no heed as they fell even faster and with such force that within seconds she could barely see three meters in front of her. Cursing the downpour, she withdrew into the shelter of the transport’s cabin. She glanced over at the Nethicaen prince as he rested. Already his face was regaining a healthy glow. It was just a matter of time before he regained consciousness, but it would be hours before he could readily move about.
Thank goodness for that because, until the storm let up, she was trapped with a deadly enemy.
CHAPTER 5
Horrific images of the exploding transport filled Comron’s awareness. He had been flung so hard against the bulkhead, that it had knocked him cold. Afterward, his consciousness ebbed and flowed. There was the excruciating pain in his gut, then darkness, the sweet scent of a woman, the soft touch of her hand, and then nothing.
His eyes opened slowly. He tried to focus, but all was a blurry haze with smudges of color. He moved his hands gingerly over his abdomen where the mind-numbing pain had been, but only bandages and a dull ache remained where agony had once dwarfed all else.
One of the survivors, the sweet-smelling woman, must have tended to his wound. Was she still here? He turned to the side, straining to focus but all remained a blur.
“Thank you,” he said in the uniform imperial tongue.
Someone stirred but made no reply. Only the steady drumming of the rain could be heard.
“I am in your debt, assuming that you are the one who provided my care.” He waited, wondering at the woman’s reticence to speak.
“Yes, I am the one, and you are welcome,” came the feminine voice. The odd accent made it difficult to identify her origins. Though her knowledge of the language, the ease at which she spoke it and the excellent diction indicated that she was likely a noblewoman who must have disguised herself as a common investor, just as he had.
The prince squinted, looking in her direction. “Bear with me, my vision is rather poor. I can’t make out a thing.” His accent was heavy with the Nethicaen brogue. Surely this noblewoman would have no difficulty in determining his place of origin.
“It’s likely a side-effect of the medication that I gave you. Your normal vision should return shortly.”
“How many other survivors are there?” he inquired. He imagined the floor covered with the patients she was caring for.
“You are the only other passenger that I’ve found alive so far.”
“Oh.” He considered the grim implication. “And you? Were you injured?”
There was a hesitation, then, “I am well. We were low enough to the ground when my seat was thrown from the transport with me still strapped to it.”
“Then I am thankful that you had the foresight to apply your harness.”
“It wasn’t my ….”
“Yes?” he prodded.
“My traveling companion insisted upon it, before securing her own.”
Now he understood the source of her melancholy and reluctance to converse. “I am deeply sorry for your loss.”
There was a heavy sigh and then silence.
If she needed to grieve, he would leave her to it. He turned his attention to the business of securing a rescue. He attempted to sit up and groaned.
“Careful, you’ll rupture the seal.”
Heeding her advice, he lay back. He’d try again after an hour or two. Gazing up at the ceiling, more of the images began to take form. The overhead bins were open and most of the contents had spilled out. The individual breathing apparatuses hung down like withered fruit. This was no simple mid-flight accident; it was a direct assault.
At length he finally said, “I believe that there was a bomb aboard the transport and that the Fetawa Consortia was behind the attack.” Perhaps it would do her some good to take her mind off her friend.
This time she didn’t hesitate to reply. “The Fetawa may be Mobias’ business rival, but I seriously doubt that they would resort to such acts of barbarism. If they were discovered, it would put them out of business for good.”
He decided that he liked the sound of her voice even as he attempted to place the peculiar accent. “They might if Mobias had stolen their new surveillance technology that would have revolutionized the industry and put them out of business in the process.”
“You knew the technology was stolen and yet you were willing to purchase it from them?”
Comron suppressed a grin at her judgmental tone, imagining her sneer. “Mobias was charging a much lower entry fee.”
“Which made endorsing their theft palatable?”
Comron yearned to see the look of disdain that he heard in her lovely voice. The blurred images began to sharpen. “Regardless of whether the buyer knew the technology was stolen, they would have been just as culpable in the eyes of the law.”
“On what grounds?”
He enjoyed teasing such a haughty thing. “For failure to conduct the proper diligence before embarking on a questionable business deal.” He wondered if she caught the mild rebuke. Why hadn’t she been smarter and performed the research?
She must have caught it because she changed
the subject. “How long do you think it will take for them to discover we’re missing?”
He hid his amusement and let his gaze fall upon this feisty woman. She was seated in one of the remaining chairs about two meters away. He judged her to be of medium height, slender build, and dark haired. Still, her accent eluded him; it almost felt stilted or perhaps even faked. The thought unsettled him.
“That all depends,” he replied, more intent than ever to learn her identity. “Patheis has an unusual atmospheric disturbance. The sun’s radiation plays havoc with their communication systems, particularly near their equator.” The details of her face now became clear: the flawless sun-kissed skin, the dazzling hazel eyes, the high cheekbones, the tip of her slender nose slightly upturned in an eternal state of disdain, the lips full and sensuous. A thick mane of wavy, dark hair fell past her shoulders.
He never imagined his angel of mercy would be such a beauty!
“Basically,” he continued, “it means normal sensors won’t be able to readily detect us. The best solution is to get to the coast. The disturbance is not as strong there.”
So familiar, that lovely face … he knew it, but from where?
“In what direction might the shore be?” She had turned away from him to stare out into the downpour.
It saddened Comron that she might attempt to leave immediately in pursuit of a rescue. “We were traveling along the shore before we crashed, so I don’t imagine it can be too far off.” If she would stay until the rain let up, perhaps he would be well enough to travel with her. “The forest is riddled with rivers and creeks that run into the ocean. Nonetheless, it could be dangerous out there.”
She glanced at him and cocked her head to the side. “Well, you’re certainly in no condition to deal with danger and won’t be any time soon unless you give yourself a few more hours to heal.” She returned her gaze outdoors. “Not that either of us is going anywhere in this deluge.”
During that last comment, she’d relaxed her stiff accent long enough for him to hear the true one.
Ti-Larosian!
His heart jolted as the full recognition set in. The reason she looked so familiar was because she was the youngest daughter of Larrs Bastionli, Duke of Ti-Laros. He sat up and stared at her.
“Wouldn’t you—” her voice faltered when she saw him.
“Vaush Bastionli,” he said in an accusatory tone. “Honored Lady of Ti-Laros.” He had paid so little attention to Larrs’ youngest daughter over the years, no wonder it had taken him a moment to place her.
Her fingers tightened around the arms of her chair. “You are correct, Prince Comron Van Laven of Nethic,” she replied, leaving no doubt that she knew exactly who he was as well.
Shock, anger, and incredulity washed over his face. He looked down at the large bandage below his ribs, then back at her.
“Your father is behind this, isn’t he? What does he intend to do with me?”
“My father?” she asked with wild disbelief. “Just which part of this nightmare are you suggesting that he’s responsible for? The part where our transport is ripped apart in mid-air killing my closest friends? Or the part where I’m stranded in the middle of nowhere with a belligerent, delusional Nethicaen?”
He remained silent, keeping his eyes fixed upon Vaush. According to her, everyone else was dead and only the two of them had survived. That was highly unlikely.
“Think about it,” Vaush added, “if this were some grand plot to rid the world of you, why would I have bothered patching you up instead of letting you die?”
“So, let’s get to the heart of it, Ti-Larosian!” he said as if uttering a curse word. “Why did you sa— help me? Did Larrs figure out that I was worth more alive than dead?”
She would not let his slip go by unmarked. “Help is a woefully poor euphemism for what I did, Nethicaen. You were at death’s door, and I saved your life.”
“Why?” he hissed. Not since the days of the Great Unification Campaign had Bastionli done any good toward Van Laven. When Nethic had needed Ti-Laros most, they betrayed Nethic and aligned with Emperor Sellusion.
She would not meet his eyes. “I gave you medical attention before I pulled off your helmet and realized who you were. By then,” she shrugged, “the deed was done.”
Even a child could see that she was lying. What did they have in store for him? “Like all Ti-Larosians, you’re a piss-poor liar or daft as a stone.”
Her stunning hazel eyes lit up at him. “I liked you a lot better when you were dying.” She rose from her chair and slowly approached, looming over him. “Watch your tongue, Van Laven. I will not warn you again.”
Prince Comron stared smugly at her as if to say, and now Bastionli, you show your true colors.
Vaush flipped him a cavalier smile. It was dazzling.
“It pleases me that you should owe the rest of your pathetic, inconsequential life to a Ti-Larosian, Bastionli no less. Deal with it.” She turned on her heel and walked away, hips swaying as she did.
He let the matter go without another word. Only a fool would continue trading insults in his present condition. He brushed his thumb over the bandage once more. His brow creased with the question of why. Did Larrs Bastionli intend to hold him as a hostage and demand the world of Nethic? He knew without a doubt that Crausin would go to war to rescue him, surely that wasn’t Larrs’ objective. As much as Comron despised the man, he knew Larrs wasn’t foolish enough to risk interplanetary warfare.
Vaush dropped into one of the chairs near the opening and gazed outward.
Comron drew his left leg up, feeling for the sidearm harnessed at his calf. If Larrs were behind this scheme, he would discover that it was Comron who held his daughter as a hostage.
Vaush shifted around in her chair and met his gaze. “Now that we’ve clearly established our mutual disdain and loathing toward one another, might I suggest we call a truce? Because all I really care about is signaling for a rescue off this rock. I’ll stop with the insults if you agree to do the same.”
A truce between Van Laven and Bastionli? What sort of foul game was she playing?
“Well?”
“Fine.” He hated the idea of it, but until he learned her true motives, he’d go along.
“Good.” Vaush relaxed into her chair and closed her eyes as the rain drummed down upon the roof.
CHAPTER 6
Two more hours crawled by, but the rain continued intermittingly. Comron remained in a deep, restful sleep as Vaush paced the cabin. This time Ti-Laros had arrived in time to save Nethic, she thought. Three hundred years ago, Ti-Laros was devastated to discover that upon reaching Nethic, there was nothing left of their comrade’s world to defend. Without their staunch ally fighting at their side, Ti-Laros had no other choice but to accept the emperor’s terms of surrender. What Nethic deemed as abject cowardice and betrayal, Ti-Laros called pragmatism and survival.
Growing restless, Vaush approached the ragged entrance and peered out. A dark figure moved between the trees. Her heart jumped and her hazel eyes widened as she tried to make out the shape in the pouring rain. Was there another survivor out there in need of shelter? Could it be Laney? Why did they choose to remain outdoors?
“Hello,” Vaush called out. “Is anyone there?”
She could hear nothing over the driving rain and there was no further movement. After a moment, she began to wonder if she had seen anything at all.
She groaned. “Will this infernal rain ever stop?” She had to put as much distance between her and Comron as possible to conceal the truth about what she’d done.
Follow the water flow, the Van Laven had said. That was perfect, now she’d have to place her trust in a Nethicaen for her survival. If only she’d been quicker to help Laney with her harness. Dear fiercely devoted Laney … you were far more than the captain of my guard; you were my closest friend and confidante.
Before her grief could overtake her, Vaush retreated back into the dryer parts of the vessel. She nearly jumped
out of her skin upon finding Comron standing on his feet, leaning against the bulkhead.
CHAPTER 7
“Ach, you’re still here,” Comron said with a wary look.
The prince’s bloody shirt hung open, the clean bandage indicating that his wound was healing well.
She gestured at the rain. “Perhaps you’d like to brave the monsoon now that you’ve recovered?”
Just as the words left her mouth, a lightning bolt flashed and crackled loudly, sending her darting from the opening toward Comron.
“Just a frightened little girl in a storm, aren’t you?” Comron said with a throaty laugh as he walked over to a chair and lowered himself into it. “Not surprising considering your cowardly heritage.” Despite their truce, he would provoke a truthful response from her. “Poor Larrs. What a grave disappointment you must be to him.”
Vaush planted her hands on her hips. “I thought we’d agreed to stop with the insults.”
“Of course I agreed in my vulnerable state. But, as you can see,” he cocked a dark brow, “I’m fully recovered.”
“I should have expected no less from you,” she said, turning away in a huff.
The sight of it pleased him.
“So where exactly did the old man go wrong with you?” He intended to pick at the mental scab until he discovered why Bastionli would save the life of a Van Laven if it weren’t for treachery. “Or did he simply choose not to waste his time educating an addle-minded female?”
Vaush wheeled around, her hazel eyes flashing angrily. “I knew you were a knuckle-dragging cretin when I found you lying there, but I thought saving your life might make you a more tolerable person. Obviously, I was wrong, you mouth-breathing ingrate.”
His grin spread devilishly. “Why that’s quite a mouth you have there.” He placed his hands on his firm thighs and slid his hands upward, guiding her gaze. “I can think of far better uses for such a pretty mouth.”
Outraged, Vaush gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. But then her gaze fell to his groin, she squinted conspicuously, and then tossed her head back with laughter. “That might pass as adequate on Nethic,” she said, gesturing at it, “but we, Ti-Larosian women, prefer our men with a little more … well … just more.”