Forever One Read online

  In a flash, Vadyn appeared at her side. He didn’t say a word, aloud or through their link, just reached out and gathered her in his arms. This time, she went without protest, appreciating that he had let her deal with Sean. Perhaps, he had read her feelings just as she now read his. To say the warlord was angry was a vast understatement. But he gently held her, sharing silent comfort. Just his unspoken concern eased her pain. Some of her rioting thoughts settled. She looked back at her brother in time to see his gaze burning with hatred. Obviously, Sean wasn’t pleased with their union.

  Brilliant moisture shimmered in his eyes as he charged them. Sand flew from his boots in a spraying arc. “And just where the hell were you and your lover when all this was happening?” He swept his arm toward the bodies and cursed a vile oath, his bitter gaze taking in her passion-bruised lips, flushed cheeks, and the torn silken rag that had once been her bright green gown. Vadyn stiffened with another low growl, but she grabbed his forearm with just enough pressure to plead for peace. Sean must have a death wish to confront Kasara’s ruler so. Immediately, she felt the backlash of the warlord’s rage. Visibly trembling, he held his temper but just barely. Only his previous affection for Sean stayed his hand.

  Oblivious to his danger, Sean surged forward again. He stood up close, crowding them and swaying on his feet, his hands knotted into fists. “How could you, Cayla? Doing that—that, while our parents lay dying.” His angry cries brought the milling warriors to a hesitant standstill. Finally, even her brother fell silent before their intimidating visage. The tall, golden lieutenants scowled, standing in a packed circle as their growls rose at the sight of the bodies on the ground. Cayla hugged her arms around herself and closed her eyes. Grief still threatened to overwhelm her, but she swallowed in the fierce gazes of the warriors. Her cheeks still burned, knowing what they had seen from the air. What must they think of her? She peered at them, hesitantly.

  But the warriors’ attention was solely focused on her parents. Astonished whispers of “the el’kota’s Quanta” and “the Sabre” echoed from the jostling mass. Incredulous molten stares swept the area, staring at the bodies of their leader’s “jewel,” as the Kasar called Elizabeth, and the “sword,” their term for Logan. Logan had been Vadyn’s right hand, his lieutenant in battle. Cayla listened with her strange enhanced hearing to a warrior from the search team who approached Vadyn and quietly reported that all the Slytreen patrol members remaining were indeed dead. Their Xeetag transport fighter had vanished.

  One side of Vadyn’s mouth lifted, exposing glittering fangs, and he snarled, “Dispatch a Vyper.” Even though he spoke to his lieutenant, the warlord’s cold yellow glare never left Sean’s. Another golden warrior jumped to follow his command. A long muscle worked under his clenching jaw. Cayla’s heart raced. She had to do something, or her brother was lost, too.

  Please, Vadyn, he’s all the family I have left!

  Vadyn’s eyes flashed with a spark of blue. She knew he heard her, but he didn’t reply to her through mind-speech. She alone knew he held his temper by only a thread. He snarled a low rumble meant only for Sean. “You will never—ever—speak to your sibling with such disrespect again.” The warlord’s next growl reverberated loud enough to be heard by all. “Cayla is now my life-mate.”

  More snarling broke out again among the Kasar, but Vadyn ignored them. His gaze still pierced Sean. She saw the long tremor that visibly shook her brother before he straightened. He looked so strange, his face stiff and his eyes hard, but, then so did Vadyn. The el’kota of Kasara had never looked so fierce. His eyes glittered in mere yellow slits. A cold wave of gooseflesh swept over her arms and up her back. Vadyn’s threats continued for all to hear.

  “As my mate, Cayla is due all the respect that the title I hold offers—to offend her is to offend me.” His words rumbled in the quiet desert air. Even the ever-present, swirling arid wind that never stopped brushing new shapes in the soft dunes seemed hushed in anticipation. Not one warrior stirred. Cayla’s face tingled, drained of feeling. She flicked her gaze to Sean. A corner of his tightened mouth lifted in a sneer, but he didn’t speak. Finally, after a moment, he shrugged as if unconcerned, and his disinterested gaze shifted from her to the warlord. His gesture blatantly said that she could save her worries for someone who cared.

  “I hear you, el’kota.” Sean spit the title from between tight lips. His neck and cheeks reddened, and she knew he, too, fought to control his temper. But to offend Kasara’s ruler meant brutal death. And Vadyn had never been more deadly than now. His purred threat lingered like a putrid stench in the stillness. All present had heard and understood. Now, the encircled warriors watched their leader’s every move with wary prudence. Only Cayla knew the dragging grief that filled his every thought, his every move. Despite all other emotions, even the overwhelming grief that filled him, the warlord must remain Kasara’s stoic ruler. And all must accept her as Vadyn’s mate, even her own brother.

  The danger of disobedience was as strong as sand grit against teeth. Tense moments passed. Then Sean looked at her with such hatred that she lost her breath. She clutched Vadyn’s massive wrist and silently pleaded for mercy for her brother while more grief tore aching, silent sobs through her. Why must her brother now hate her so? She swallowed against a throat so swollen that she could barely breathe. But she must not show such weakness in front of Vadyn’s lieutenants. Though her shivering fear formed a solid knot in her chest, she refused to give in to it. To do so was to admit defeat in the face of her new responsibilities. She straightened taller; no one would know her internal trembling.

  And, thankfully, her brother didn’t show his stupidity. He finally turned away from them, from all of them, the living and the dead. He, too, straightened his back. With uneven steps, he made his halting way back to the waiting skimmer—the damned skimmer that he had borrowed from their parents for a ride—the skimmer they could have used for their escape. Blackness swept through her from Vadyn’s thoughts. He did blame her brother! As if he knew the warlord’s mind as she did, Sean stumbled. After a moment, he squared his shoulders and hurried on.

  When he reached the skimmer’s mounting stairs, he lowered his head and rested it on his fists, leaning on the side of the little air transport. Cayla never took her eyes off him. From behind her, she heard the warlord’s murmured orders. The lieutenants were to load the bodies of her parents. They would be transported to the Valley of the Suns for their funeral farewell.

  The tension broke. Everyone hurried for takeoff.

  Through narrowed vision and barely suppressed rage, Vadyn watched Sean try to mount the skimmer’s side for the pilot seat. The boy’s feet slipped on the thin stairs.

  Help him, Vadyn. Please, do something!

  He drew a breath, and some of the tightness in his chest eased. At least, Cayla felt confident enough with him to use the mind touch. But the intimate action brought him little comfort. He had read her damning fears that he would hurt Sean. But, he couldn’t ignore her plea. Her reluctant link made him feel slightly ill with so much whirling distrust, but sorrow tugged at him too. “Go with him, Tallas,” he ordered a young female warrior, standing at attention nearby.

  “Yes, sire.” Tallas saluted and hurried to do his bidding. She needed no more encouragement. Her sympathetic gaze had not left Sean’s tragic figure. Vadyn wished her well in the long ride to the Valley of the Suns. The trip wouldn’t be pleasant under the best of circumstances; Sean’s distaste for all Kasars was well known. Now that he’d joined with Cayla, Sean’s hatred of him would be worse. But perhaps joined in grief, they could all get through the next few days together.

  By evening, all of Kasara would gather for the ceremony. Troops would spread the word to all the clans’ villages by the fleet bronze messengers in the old way, ignoring new technology in favor of honoring the dead. He wondered if Cayla would have the strength to get through the long proceedings. He despaired
that he would make a fool of himself with his human influenced emotions. And he knew how badly Cayla felt Sean’s rejection. He wished he could spare her further hurt. The loss of her parents cut her enough, but now, it was as if she had lost her brother, too. The uplifting joy he had felt over joining with her had died when she’d realized, with horror, what they had done. But he would never give her up. Couldn’t. She was in every breath he drew. He snorted and swallowed a growl. She was so very wrong to think that she could break their connection. Now that he had her, he would never let her go, even if it was a possibility—which it was not. He would wait until after the funeral ceremony to address her doubts about their union. But he would not wait long.

  Chapter 6

  CAYLA FACED THE port window of Vadyn’s troop carrier, but Kasara’s vast desert passed by unseen and unnoticed by her. All her attention was focused inward. Her thoughts still swirled, first in one direction then another, now her own and then not. And despite Vadyn’s warning that her jumbled thinking gave him a headache, she couldn’t seem to collect herself. Her parents were truly gone, killed, and what had she done? This joining with Vadyn, this bonded, mind-linking Kasar mating was too invasive. And the warlord wasn’t the person she had thought he was. She realized now, that in all her immature years, she hadn’t really known what he did as Kasara’s ruler. She had fantasized about a hero she knew nothing about. Heroes weren’t the savage, brutal fighters she had glimpsed in his mind. There was no way she could have known about the bloody battles he had fought: the deaths, the bloodlust of vache, the gore, and the wars that he had experienced. At least, she’d known nothing—until now. Now those fierce memories assaulted her senses, waited around the corner to fill her. She hastily shut down that part of her mind. A shudder chilled her spine, and she risked a quick peek to where the warlord spoke with three of his lieutenants. He raised his head, and his bold glance swept over her. His eyes narrowed. Obviously he knew her thoughts. With a snarled oath, she ducked her head.

  Was there no hope in ending this relationship? Despair filled her with the knowledge that she didn’t want this link that showed her so much of Kasara’s warlord and him too much of her. He was too violent, too—too different from what she had thought. Her dreams had been so childish. Oh, but, dear gods, why did the memories of what they had shared physically fill her with such yearning for more? Shouldn’t she be disgusted? Fagah! The growl in her mind snapped her head up. Vadyn’s blazing stare thrilled her even as she shivered beneath its hot regard. Damn this weakness! She drew sudden strength from somewhere and raised her chin. She glared right back at him, pleased to see his brows rise as if he were surprised. Well, good. That’s what he got for spying in her mind.

  Somehow when the funeral ceremony ended, she would find a way to dissolve this union. She didn’t like the way Vadyn now looked at her with the corners of his mouth turned up.

  IN NUMBING anguish, Vadyn watched Sean’s silhouette pace the steep parapets of the white needle tower rising out of the Valley of the Suns. Hours ago, on his orders, the boy had lit the first signal, the yellow blaze on the top that announced a funeral farewell. By now, all Kasara knew of the death of his parents. Vadyn sighed. He had shut himself off from Cayla’s mind, but the long nightmare continued, bleaker without her distraction.

  Dozens of transports now littered the area around the tower. The massive troop carrier bearing the covered bodies had landed. A quiet procession unloaded the burden while the rest of the people arrived in an assorted array of vehicles. In low flying skimmers, slow, tread-driven sand crawlers, along with the various clans’ massive jet troop carriers, they all came. Now, hundreds of black dots covered the plains. Kasara’s inhabitants blanketed the flat plateau almost as far as the foothills of the shadowy peaks of the distant black mountains. It seemed fitting that his friends’ final farewell was given here on the bleak desert plain. The flat desolation cut him to his very soul. Silent accusations abounded while the harsh, restless winds cleaned everything from their paths. The needle spire was the only thing standing in the open vista for a reason. Even the nine-foot-thick stone tower walls were sand-washed smooth, every sharp cut and angle worn flat and even. Given enough time, the blowing sand would even reduce the spire to rubble. A cutting breeze awoke him to the present passage of time. Out on the funeral plain, dark shadows had deepened, filled with the gathering. Activity buzzed around him, but still he felt separated, rooted to the spot. Final preparations for the funeral ceremony continued around him. Massive golden warriors carrying their clans’ war banners marched in first and assembled in group formation. The smaller, fleet-footed bronze messengers joined the loose assembly of rare, delicate red healers—healers whose talents only worked on Kasar, not humans.

  Next to them crowded soft brown workers and field laborers along with the honored white Elders. All gathered together to bid their friends farewell. The golden warriors’ features, cast in fierce exotic molds of high cheekbones and slanted eyes, gave them their human-like aristocratic air. And, he, as leader, was proud of them. They were such ferocious warriors. Thankfully, they lacked his linked weak human frailties. Perhaps, he should have died with his friends—perhaps, he shouldn’t have again linked to another human. Human emotions were too stressful, too distracting. Cayla’s depth of rejection still dragged at him. He had sent her to rest, but even separated, he couldn’t shake her grief or her despair. And he held enough of his own. He didn’t know what to do about their union. She hated it. He loved her, and what did she feel? He was no longer sure. But he couldn’t let his people know what had happened. His human-influenced rule was shaky enough. Again, time passed as he stood rooted like a statue.

  The twin suns of Kasara finally set behind the jagged peaks of the mountains. The evening sky bloodied, turning the red and black shadows into long, eerie shades. They seemed like ghosts, haunting him with recriminations. Could he have saved them if he had come sooner—if he hadn’t been joyriding with Cayla? A snarl escaped, awakening him to his duties. His legs felt numb from standing in one spot for so long. In a daze, he pointed one long talon toward Sean on the tower’s rim.

  Obediently, the young man dropped another torch onto the waiting heap of wood. This time the fire flamed blue—time for the ceremony to begin. Visible for miles, the burning tower blazed the solemn hue, announcing the ritual. All waited, shuffling with impatience.

  When Sean finally emerged from the tower, all eyes focused on him, Vadyn’s included. Resentment stood in the boy’s gaze, and his chin jutted belligerently. His jerking strides kicked the folds of his dirty white robe out in front of him. In defiance, he hadn’t changed from his desert silks. Without pausing, he strode to his place next to his heavily-shrouded sister who wore the traditional dull gray mourning robes. Cayla had drawn a cold shell around her that Vadyn didn’t even try to penetrate. Perhaps she drew strength from solitude. The males dwarfed her between them. Towering over her on one side, Sean glared at him, and he couldn’t help but scowl back from Cayla’s right. Although their joining had not been formally accepted and announced by the Elders, he claimed the place as her mate. She glanced up at him in silent appeal. Only the vivid blue of her bloodshot eyes appeared above the gray silks. Without speaking, she looked toward Sean. Whispers rolled through the crowd, objecting to Sean’s disrespectful attire, no doubt. He barely caught her low words to her brother.

  “Your lack of respect offends.” Her breaths puffed the thin fabric of her mourning veil.

  “Your very presence next to him offends, dear sister.” Venom dripped from Sean’s words, and he glared at her.

  Vadyn turned a fraction and again scowled at Sean over her bowed head. The boy clenched his jaw and further thrust out his chin. Without raising her head, Cayla appealed to him. Please—if you care for me at all—do not do this.

  As you wish. He sighed and felt his shoulders drop their tension, but internally he fumed, literally shook with suppressed rage. He stared stra
ight ahead. How dare she suggest that after all they had shared—that he didn’t care and wouldn’t do as she wished! Blindly, he sought to gather his scattered thinking, knowing much of his anger was misplaced. Focus. He just needed to get through this before he lost his control. He raised his arm. The sleeve of his gray mourning robe fell back. It was so strange to watch his limbs move in this nightmare. The muttering among the shifting masses ceased. The desert wind stirred soft dust dancers from the sand. A storm was coming. Time was of the essence. He dropped his arm. The ceremony began. High-pitched, thin chanting rose from the female assembly.

  But, truthfully, he let Sean’s blatant challenge go unanswered due in large part to Cayla’s entreaty. An ancient warrior proverb urged fighting one battle at a time. Perhaps anger and hatred would carry the boy through this ordeal. Later they would talk. He had been putting off this talk for years. Whatever secret hurt Sean held had festered for a long time; a few more days wouldn’t matter. His attention jerked back to the present. The music from the children’s band that Elizabeth had formed echoed in faint, haunting strands. How very sad that the teacher who had taught them so well would never hear their greatest tribute. In a numb haze, he motioned again. This time, his signal had the first of his warriors filing past the silver-shrouded mound. They bowed deeply then the stoic lieutenants drew their daggers and with a quick slash, cut their hard palms on the razor edge. Rich, red droplets fell on the covered bodies before the veterans marched silently past to regroup. With their actions, they had vowed revenge for the couple’s death. On some of the experienced warriors, countless white scars lined their callused palms from the numerous vows given over the years. He fingered the ridges of own palm rich with scar tissue. Growls disturbed his musing.