She looked up at him, unable to hide the stricken look on her face. He’d said he would always protect her, but she’d thought that meant protecting her by treating her as an equal and more than a possession or an asset. She thought he’d protect her by making sure she had all the facts, not by keeping things from her.
He was just like her father.
A ragged gasp burst from her chest, but she managed to hold in the sob and stop the tears from falling. What should she do? Sheltering against the ruined balustrade, she looked around at the other Warborne. How could she ever have mistaken them for anything other than aliens? They weren’t human. They couldn’t be. Not all of them. Red… T’Raal… Beauty… the way they moved. All the clues were there.
She couldn’t stay here. They’d all lied to her. What was their goal? What did they plan to do with her and… her sister? Her eyes widened as the realization hit her like a ship at light speed. If they weren’t Edanian, they had to be Lathar. And the Lathar needed breeders…
Nausea rose and she closed her eyes, sucking in hard breaths. She would not be sick. She would not be sick. Did they mean to pass them around, share them and make them have lots of little Lathar babies? Take them away just to make them have more?
No. She was no man’s pet. No man’s brood mare.
She had to get out of here.
Jaw clenched, she snapped her eyes open, and for a second her gaze collided with Altav’s. His eyes widened a fraction and he reached a hand out for her shoulder. But she’d already seen that no one stood between her and the door other than the dead man.
“Marika!”
Ignoring the bullets still peppering the air around her as well as Altav’s bellow, she picked up her skirts and ran.
She ran and ran until she didn’t think she could run anymore. Then she did without stopping or slowing. The streets and shops of the upper levels of Sky-city barely registered as she ran as though her life depended on it.
It did.
She couldn’t afford for anyone to catch her—not Altav and his men and not her father. One wanted her dead, and the other wanted her as a breeder. Neither fate was acceptable.
At first, she ran without any goal other than to get away, but finally she slowed down in one of the markets on the southern elevation. Pausing between a stall selling rosewood stools and one filled with costume jewelry, she fought to get her breath back.
Her gaze slid sideways. The stall holder selling the stools was watching her with a curious look. Offering him a small smile, she stepped forward and back out into the crowds. Any sanctuary she found out here would be fleeting and temporary. She needed something else, something better than just “run.”
Slowing her steps, she fell in with a group of women out shopping, trying to give the impression she was part of the larger group. She drew closer as she realized two shady-looking men behind one of the stalls were watching her. Even here in Sky-city, lone women were not safe. Flesh traders were always out looking for easy marks. She didn’t intend to be one of them.
Cycling to the front of the group, she looked for another. Being market day, there were plenty to pick from and it was easy to move between them, sliding between groups as she made her way across the square.
A glimpse of uniforms up ahead made her catch her breath and slow down, sliding between two stalls to another row so she could get a look at the square entrance. Pausing, she pretended to look at a jeweled hair comb while keeping an eye on the cops. They couldn’t see her from here, and as soon as they moved away, she’d make a break for it.
“Nice little piece. Isn’t it? Look lovely on a pretty lady like you,” the stall holder said abruptly, drawing her attention to him. “Four chits and it’s yours.”
“It’s lovely, but maybe another time.” She smiled and backed away from the stall, keeping the two police in her peripheral vision. Most of them were bought and paid for by her father, so she had to leave. Fast.
“Crapcrapcrap… no, stay to that side,” she hissed under her breath as one of them stepped into the same aisle as her. If she tried to go past him now, he’d see her for sure.
Turning abruptly, she palmed a shawl from a nearby stall to cover her head. Guilt hit her at the theft as she slipped away, sliding past him to reach the market entrance. It was just a little thing, not expensive, but she’d never stolen anything in her life before.
Yeah… really? the little voice in the back of her head sneered. Where do you think all the luxuries you’ve enjoyed all your life came from? You think your father worked an honest day for it all?
She shook her head, making a promise to herself that she would come back and pay the stall holder for the shawl one day. Hurrying along the street, she headed for the monorail. Ahead of her, on the skyline rose familiar steeples. The Convent of the Crescent Moon…
Her eyes widened. That was it. She could apply for sanctuary at the convent and become a nun. Her lips quirked bitterly. Ironic that her own father had given her the answer to her predicament.
Filled with new purpose, she hurried toward the monorail, only to pull up sharply as the Warborne piled out of the car at the end of the street. Altav was in the front, his expression tight and his movements filled with… anger? She didn’t think it was concern. It couldn’t be. He’d only been using her.
Hiding herself in a crowd of commuters, she boarded the car with them, watching the alien mercenaries sweep the street. With her face half covered, she watched them. Watched Altav. A tear coursed unchecked down her cheek.
All she wanted to do was run to him, burrow into his arms and find that sense of safety and security again. But she couldn’t. How could she? It was a lie. It had all been a lie. He’d lied to her and nothing would ever be the same again. But he was Lathar… they were into stealing women, so lying was probably small potatoes to him.
The convent was her only option. She’d go there and take her vows because none of it mattered anymore—not her father, not even the sister she had no hope of finding anymore. She kept Altav in sight as the monorail pulled off, and she stared at the window where he’d been until she reached her stop.
Her feet were like lead as she got off and walked toward the convent. Each step was like a nail in her coffin, but by the time she reached the door to knock on it, her tears were dry.
A stern-looking nun opened the door, looking her up and down.
Clearing her throat, Marika announced. “I’d like to dedicate my life to the goddess of the Crescent Moon, please.”
There were no questions. No “are you sures?” Instead, the nun simply nodded and opened the door wider for Marika to step through.
“Welcome to the sisterhood. Your life before is over. Start anew with us.”
15
Marika’s new life was nothing like her old one. Up before dawn, she worked like the rest of the sisters at whatever she was ordered to do, dressed in scratchy robes rather than the sumptuous fabrics she was used to. She’d asked just one thing of them—to send payment for the shawl she’d stolen to the trader. Then the sisters had quickly put her to work. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out she had no skills whatsoever, so she’d been put to work cleaning and now peeling potatoes. Endless potatoes.