Shock then fear leaped to life in her chest. She pressed her palms flat on the table where her desk comm was placed and leaned forward. “What are you saying?”
“V’hor was taken.”
No. Not possible. Peshla took the security measures surrounding her family seriously. While she couldn’t always protect her son from afar, she had things in place to aid him should he ever falter. This was a trick. “What proof do you have?”
“The same proof you’d have if your spy was half as good as they’re supposed to be.” The flicker of amusement twisting his lips made her growing worry increase another notch. Peshla exhaled and opened a second screen on her comm while D’Lan continued to talk. “It was clever sending Reika there once you knew the Jutak warrior would go to CV-8 for treatment.”
Peshla swiftly glanced back at D’lan. His smile was smug and she had to curl her fingers into fists to control her ire. He should have no knowledge of Reika or her role on CV-8. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Chamele is a short trip by air transport to Serpine. Unlike the Supreme Matire,” he sneered on her title, “their governmental structure welcomes hybrids of mixed origins. Imagine my surprise when one Reika Mirat suddenly ended up working at a facility focusing on the recovery of injured military personnel. The same Reika whose Serpine matire fled to be with her Chamele nestmate.”
Peshla hated him. Hated him with untold passion while another emotion she refused to acknowledge tried to break through her chilly reserve. It didn’t matter how D’Lan had discovered her association with Reika. The female was given one order. Protect the friend of her son. The one who’d sacrificed himself on behalf of V’hor’s other. His true nestmate.
Because of the Jutak warrior’s selfless actions and her son’s affection for him, Peshla had sent Reika to watch over him.
Dismissing D’Lan for the moment, Peshla read the comm transcripts in her log. There were several messages from Reika within the last hour. Each more urgent than the last. Peshla hissed and clenched her hands at her side. Venom dripped from her fangs, filling her mouth with a foul but familiar taste. Marenians had her son. “They dare!”
D’Lan sat back in his seat. “Fix it, Peshla. Use the power you craved and get him home. Remember—a life for a life.”
Before she could retort to the outrageous demand, the comm ended. Behind her, the bedroom door slid open with a whoosh. C’Ri, her nestmate, came toward her. He noted the emotion on her face immediately and stroked her unbound hair. “Peshla, what is it?”
She swiped her hand across the table, sending the desk comm and the bottles of rare fragrances she loved to collect to the floor with a crash—years of a hobby gone. Emotion tore through her. Feelings she’d suppressed long ago swept her up in a tide. “V’hor.”
It was all she could get out.
“What has happened? Is it his nestmate? The clutch she carries?” Concern darkened C’Ri’s blue eyes as he trilled low and caressed her shoulder in an attempt to soothe.
Peshla shrugged him off, vibrating with fury. She would not be eased. “Not his other.”
Though Peshla would respond in the same manner if someone thought to harm the female carrying her son’s child.
All her efforts to make V’hor harder, stronger and able to deal with any adversary who came his way because of his flaw and he chose to create a weakness by joining with a female who had nothing to offer. It galled her to contemplate the dilution of her bloodline in such a way. The very insolence of his careless act still had the power to vex her.
V’hor was the best of who she was, possessing the extremely rare ability to hood, which made his venom in that state ten times deadlier than any other Serpine. And he preferred to live among his military compatriots instead of assuming his rightful position as a powerful force to be reckoned with.
Her mouth formed a distasteful moue at the thought. She’d protected her son his entire life, even aligning him with a strong Matire line that he’d disregarded and dissolved.
“Tell me what has happened. Everything,” C’Ri encouraged.
Succumbing to his gentle prodding, she recounted the highlights of what Reika had disclosed in her messages, leaving out mention of the assassin D’Lan. “Marenians attacked. They took him and another one of his teammates prisoner.”
“Our son is strong. Whatever has happened, his training will see him through.” C’Ri’s tone deepened. “And if any harm comes to him, we will retaliate.”
Peshla stared into the familiar blue eyes of her nestmate. C’Ri was ever a calm and reassuring presence at her side. Seeing the control and determination stamped on his face reminded her that he had been a warrior, a top soldier in the ranks when she’d chosen him as her nestmate. Combined with his royal bloodlines, it was the reason she’d selected him to father her clutch.
It was unfortunate she’d discovered her true nestmate later, though. That male was totally unsuited for her.
A slight headache pounded at her temples. Peshla needed to be alone as she considered her next steps. “Leave me.”
She would not lose the only thing she had from a bond she’d deliberately ignored in order to maintain the status she’d worked her entire life for.
C’Ri leaned down and kissed her forehead. He whispered his next words on the heels of the gesture. “No matter what, I trust you will bring our son home. V’hor has always been your favorite of all our children.”
Peshla froze. Did he know?
He stepped back and offered one of his soft smiles. “For good reason as we both know. And that’s perfectly fine because our girls did not need your care as much as he did.”
C’Ri bowed on his way out, leaving Peshla with questions she didn’t have time for. All that mattered was getting her son back and she knew exactly where to start.
Torkel Alonson.
***
Ignoring the lavish furniture and priceless décor on display, Lothar strode into the private quarters after going through several layers of guards and waiting for permission to proceed. When he entered the elaborately decorated room where the Majad accepted visitors, he forced a congenial smile to his lips though it galled him to do so.
Four armed guards remained at the door after it closed, eyeing every move Lothar made. Seventeen females, nude save for several slips of silk about their waist, sat in various states lounging throughout the room on brightly colored blankets and pillows. At a glance they appeared perfectly groomed, bodies oiled and gleaming.
Tutanis.
His nose curled at the visible evidence of too much spoiling and a light disciplinary hand.
In the center of the room, reclining on a pile of gold pillows was the Majad of Marenia. Lothar inclined his head toward the Majad and came forward. One of the females, he paid no mind to their identities, came over and lowered several pillows to the floor for him to sit.
Lothar dismissed her from his mind. His brother’s kitse was of no interest to him. All of the females present were aged and graying, their skin lined with their years when the Majad could have any female he wanted. What a waste of power.
The Majad smiled and placed a hand on top of the head of the female stretched out on the floor beside him. Her head rested in his lap as he stroked her unbound black hair. Masse. Lothar knew her because she was First Placement. Untouchable by any except her master, the Majad. “It has been a while. What pleasure brings my only bruher to see me?”