“You need to leave. Look what you did to the railing.” His half-brother’s constant whine buzzed like an irritating insect in the background. “I told you. You will embarrass us all.”
“Peller, shut up before I show you what a true savage can do.” The little shanus was a constant pain in his side, but he wasn’t the real cause of DaKar’s anger. That was reserved for himself.
He shouldn’t even hesitate. She needed him.
All his life he’d heard his blood was tainted, that his mother’s Martian Warlord heritage was barbaric and not befitting of their family—and neither was he. He’d pretended not to care, but up until tonight, he’d done his best to prove them wrong.
Tonight, he needed to put ego aside and gladly prove them right. She was what mattered.
He prowled forward once more, following the railing that led to the stairs, his gaze still locked on her.
“Stop right there.” Another voice, higher-pitched and far more dangerous. “You were told not to show your face tonight and you will do as you’re bid for once. Turn around and crawl back to your hole. You are not welcome here. I have a reputation to uphold.”
He didn’t have to turn around to know his stepmother loomed behind, her streaked gold and black hair piled high on her head like a coiled snake and laden with glittering danashe stones while her meticulously maintained body was draped in the finest of iridescent red fabrics that fastened tight to her body and billowed out behind her like the echoes of a scream. Nor did he have to look to know her face was pinched in a sour expression. Or that she was surrounded by the same four burly, blank-faced guards with thick forearms and brutish knuckles that followed her every command.
Most of the servants were kind to him, sneaking him food or patching up his injuries on the sly, sharing what they had, despite having very little. But not these four. They served his stepmother with pleasure, and her pleasure was his pain.
She hated him for having Martian blood and golden skin. She hated him for his father’s refusal to remove him from her home. Mostly, she hated him because he was his father’s firstborn, and élithe rules were very clear on lines of inheritance. Her younger son Peller would never inherit the full title, lands, and shares of the Starlight estate. Half-breed or not, freak or not, that right belonged to DaKar.
“I may not be welcome, but I am still going.” His stare still on the girl, he suddenly felt far older than his ten planetary rotations, his blood pumping with an ancient impulse that gave him the wisdom of a thousand Martian Warlord ancestors. “This does not concern you or your precious reputation.”
“Everything you do concerns me.” A slight pause, her voice sharp with excitement as she issued her next directive. “Teach this half-breed some respect.”
It hurt to turn away from the girl, his soul ripping like shredded fabric as the connection severed, but he couldn’t protect her if he was dead. His fangs lengthened. His chest expanded, the seams of Peller’s old clothes giving way.
He ducked, air hissing against his cheek as he barely dodged the meaty fist slamming toward his jaw. He was not so lucky with the next kick to his stomach. His bigger body was unfamiliar and awkward, making it harder to avoid the blows, while the roar of possession and protectiveness in his blood made focusing difficult. He had the instincts, but not the skills or understanding— and despite the ancient drive throbbing through his veins, he was still only ten. Smaller and weaker than the handful of grown males closing in.
He went down hard, the railing and half wall hiding him from the ballroom below. His palms slammed into the tiles, along with his chin. His fangs punched into his lower lip. Blood splattered. Fists and boots battered him.
“Not here.” His stepmother’s hiss cut through the haze of pain. “Take him to his room. Make sure there’s no chance he can make another unwanted appearance tonight.”
Firm hands gripped his arms and jerked him upright and forward, his toes barely skimming the ground. Bucking and thrashing, he tried to escape the males flanking both sides. Minel. He needed to get to her.
“My Lady,” Tom, a hardworking servant in his mid-twenties who’d only recently been promoted from outside work to doorman and floater driver, appeared from behind the column, his expression a mix of nerves and determination, “the boy meant no harm. If you would show him some kindness, I—”
Before DaKar could even open his mouth to warn the man off, his stepmother flicked her fingers. “You’re dismissed.”
Her lackey’s brutal fist plowed into the brave male’s jaw. Eyes rolling back, he crumpled. “No.” DaKar fought harder.
“I do not want a scene.” His stepmother flicked her wrist once more.
A slight hiss of air and something hard punched the back of his head. His neck snapped.
Black dots danced in front of his eyes as his body sagged and his senses shut down one by one. Until all he knew was the grim beat of his heart and the knowledge that he’d failed those he should have protected, her worst of all.
The connection, the heat, the golden tendrils growing fainter with every step they dragged him away, until it was only a mocking echo, until he wasn’t sure it had even been real, and then, there was nothing at all.
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Excerpt from Trapped, Book One in the Condemned Series
Want more Condemned series heat and fierce warrior convicts? The first three books in the Condemned series are available as well…
Below is an excerpt from TRAPPED.
“You can’t just leave them here.” A woman’s furious voice reached prisoner 673 through the rocky canyon. He froze. Cocked his head. Inhaled, but scented nothing except the usual arid scent of dirt and dust.
After so many years alone, the sound of such loud squawking was jarring. And that the voice was a woman’s? His cock twitched and rose, taking notice. Eight years was a long time to go without. The last time the droids had dropped a woman on Dragath25 was five years ago. 223’s pack had gotten hold of her first. She’d lasted five minutes.
It was a good reminder. Fragile things didn’t last here. And nothing, not even long overdue pussy, was worth risking his survival.
“You hear those shrieks? They’re coming.” An equally enraged male’s voice boomed through the canyon, thoughtfully telegraphing his precise location. “Our shuttle streaked through the sky like a clear come-and-get-me invitation for the entire penal population of murderers and psychopaths. We don’t have time to dick around. We don’t have time for those who’ll only slow us down. We’re moving out.”
“You coward. I saved your life. The least you can do is try and return the favor.”
673 cleared the canyon in time to see a bull of a red-haired soldier dressed in fatigues grab a far smaller woman in a torn gray uniform, her boots dragging along the ground as he shook her hard.
673’s whole body went tight. He didn’t like bullies. He dropped into a crouch, instinct taking over as he slunk forward, his gaze absorbing everything: the way the soldier bastard favored his right side, the large firearm strapped to his holster, the second weapon at the man’s back… the way the woman’s ripped uniform clung to her curvy body and the outraged rigidity of her spine even up against a man twice her size. Then, there were the nine other thick-necked, smug soldiers with similar military-issued buzz cuts standing close by, no clue of the danger he represented, their sole attention on the woman.