“If the Overseer survived my hole in his box, I give him ten minutes to swear his head off, kill some people out of rage, and then track this ship to wherever we are.” Tess leaned against me. “The second we touch down next to the Endeavor, we transfer everyone onto her, and get the hell out of here.”
She sighed, reluctance in the little gust of air she let out as she watched the landscape slide by. Did she like these purple-hued peaks as much as I did? There was magic in the sunset colors. A sky on fire.
I gripped her a little tighter. “We’ll come back.”
“We’ll come back.” Tess’s parroted answer seemed oddly robotic. I turned her toward me, worry worming into my chest at her glazed-over expression. I knew what happened in the control room. The injection. Was it doing something to her already?
“Careful,” Mwende said softly from the floor next to Merrick. “She’s very susceptible to suggestion.”
I nodded, acknowledging the lieutenant’s caution.
“So if I tell her to bark like a dog, she will?” Reena Ahern asked.
Tess instantly barked like a dog.
I gaped at her. My heart banged against my ribs. Reena Ahern’s jaw dropped, an Oh shit! look freezing on her face.
Tess cracked up. “Just kidding. But yeah, that was weird before.” She sobered. Her gaze dropped to the floor, the picturesque world outside not holding her attention anymore.
I wrapped her in my arms again from behind, my chin beside her ear and my eyes on the painted landscape. A dusk-hued brushstroke swept across the mountains.
“I can’t help Merrick if he needs a transfusion,” Tess said, folding her hands on top of mine. “I can’t risk contaminating him with the final injection.”
“It’ll work out of your bloodstream,” Mwende said, glancing up from her patient. “There are no chemicals for it to bind to.”
“You’re sure about that?” Tess asked. We both turned to Mwende. Beside her, Merrick blinked heavily, barely keeping his eyes open.
“It’s an educated guess,” the lieutenant answered.
Tess bit her lip, nodding. Her eyes stayed focused on Merrick.
“You’ll be okay, partner,” Jax said, decelerating as New Denver got closer. “Merrick, too.”
Tess relaxed against me, as if Jax’s voice or words gave her solace no one else’s could. Jealousy wasn’t an issue. I was glad she had him. He could give her anything I couldn’t, and between us, we’d get her through this.
“Merrick, you holding up okay?” Tess asked. I felt her tense as she waited for his answer.
“Been better.” Merrick breathed for a moment. “Been worse,” he said philosophically.
“Surral will fix you up,” Tess said with absolute certainty.
Of course she would. As soon as we boarded the Endeavor, we’d head to Starway 8 for the best and most trustworthy doctor the galaxy had to offer. This Dark Watch cruiser would draw pursuers here while we skipped across three Sectors—sorry, New Denver.
Mwende had already contacted Bridgebane. He’d meet us at the orphanage.
If the Overseer still lived, we had a lot to plan for. Or plan against.
If the bastard was dead, the Dark Watch would turn to Bridgebane for guidance. At the end of the day, maybe Nathaniel Bridgebane wouldn’t make a bad Galactic Overseer.
Tess turned in my arms and kissed me. I kissed her back, my heart expanding. Despite so much weighing on us, just like when I looked at New Denver, all I felt was potential. I couldn’t wait to set foot on Starway 8 with new eyes as I looked at the orphanage. I’d stand there beside Tess and see my future.
And then I’d make it happen.
The Kingmaker Chronicles continues...
Until then, go back to where it all began. A Promise of Fire saw Cat and Griffin change the face of Thalyria, but the story of this world has not ended. Keep your eyes open for the next book in this stunning saga.
Chapter 1
I pluck at my crimson tunic, tenting the lightweight linen away from my sticky skin. The southern Sintan climate isn’t my worst nightmare, but it sometimes ranks pretty high, right along with the stifling layers of cosmetics masking my face, my leather pants, and my knee-high boots.
Heat and leather and heels don’t mix, but at least looking like a brigand means blending into the circus. Here, discreet only gets you noticed.
Craning my neck for a breath of fresh air, I navigate my way through the beehive of tables already set up for the circus fair. The performers on the center stage are the main attraction. The rest of us surround them, carving out places for ourselves amid the crowd. Tonight, hemmed in on all sides in an amphitheater lit by hundreds of torches and filled to capacity, I feel like a Cyclops is sitting on my chest—suffocated.
Damp curls cling to my neck. I peel them off and tuck them back into my braid, scanning the crowd as I walk. I recognize some of the regulars. Others I don’t know. My eyes trip over a man and get stuck. He’s looking at me, and it’s hard not to look back. He’s striking in a dark, magnetic way, his size, weapons, and bearing all telling me he’s a tribal warlord. His build is strong and masculine, his gait perfectly balanced and fluid. He walks with predatory confidence, unhurried, and yet there’s no mistaking his potential for swift, explosive violence. It’s not latent or hidden, just leashed.
Watchful, alert, he’s aware of everything in his vicinity. Especially me.
Our gazes collide, and something in me freezes. His eyes remind me of Poseidon’s wrath—stormy, gray, intense—the kind of eyes that draw you in, hold you there, and might not let you go.
Adrenaline surges through me, ratcheting up my pulse. My heart thumping, I blink and take in the rest of him. Intelligent brow. Strong jaw. Wide mouth. Hawkish nose. Black hair brushes a corded neck atop broad shoulders that have no doubt been swinging a sword since before he could walk. Body toned to perfection, skin darkened by a lifetime in the sun, he’s battle-chiseled and hard, the type of man who can cleave an enemy in two with little effort and even less consequence to his conscience.
He keeps staring at me, and a shiver prickles my spine. Is this man my enemy?
There’s no reason to think so, but I didn’t stay alive this long without the help of a healthy dose of paranoia.
Wary, I sit at my table, keeping an eye on him as he weaves a bold path through an array of potions, trinkets, and charms. He’s flanked by four similar men. Their coloring varies, but they all have the same sure look about them, although they pale in comparison to the warlord in both authority and allure. The man with the gray eyes is a born leader, and only an idiot would mistake him for anything else.