Page 62 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior
The male still had a bed, at least, and a wardrobe. Otherwise, this room was as sparse as the rest of his home.
This was the closest Ved had been to him since seeing him in the forest. He didn’t like the way he looked, the way he smelled. The mere scent of him alone was enough to make Ved draw his plasma dirk.
Richard slept on his back, one hand tucked behind his neck. Puny and defenseless. No weapons were in sight, but on a stand next to his bed sat several bottles, the aroma of which was chemical and sharp.
The male shifted in his sleep, drawing Ved’s attention again. He’d known Xaal like him—the kind that were born thinking they were better than everyone else. The kind that demanded respect without having earned it through blood and triumph. The kind whose names were never remembered.
Curling his lip in disgust, he stepped forward. In the same moment, he caught another scent he detested.
They’d arrived quicker than he had anticipated they would. He had maybe thirty seconds, and that wasn’t nearly long enough for what he wanted to do to Richard. The male didn’t deserve a quick death.
“Richard Seymour,” Ved barked.
The male startled awake, his arms flapping uselessly as if to fend someone off. His light-colored hair spiked up in a ridiculous manner, and his eyes were wild with fright.
But when he caught sight of Ved, who only allowed the glow of his eye shields and the spark of his plasma dirk to be visible, his face twisted in horror. He shouted something unintelligible as he backed away, plastering himself against the headboard. Bitter fear and the acrid smell of his urine filled the space.
“W-What are you?” he stammered.
“I’ll be back for you,” Ved promised in a growl, pointing his blade at his chest.
A floorboard creaked distinctly—purposefully—in the hall.
He was out of time.
Stepping out of the room, Ved found the two Blood Vultures waiting for him. They were mere shadows on the dark landing, except where their pistols pointed at his hearts.
Exxo, with only the slightest bit of smugness, said, “I told you this was reckless, Qon.”
Chapter 27
Isobel
Isobel was disappointed, but not surprised, to find herself in her bed.
If not for the ghost of Ved’s touch lingering all over, or the deep warm ache between her legs, she’d have thought she dreamed last night. It had been perfect—something that no story could ever rival.
She found she couldn’t rise for breakfast, though. In fact, she barely had enough energy to clean herself and don appropriate sleepwear before she collapsed back in bed. She was heartbroken and listless, but she’d also come down with some ailment that left her completely drained. Anna brought her broth and tea, and she was barely able to touch it. Instead, after being checked on briefly by Clara, she slept. It was a feverish type of sleep, full of distant planets and oceans made of stars.
And a certain Xaal she’d never see again.
By noon, though, Henry was at her door.
Anna helped her look as presentable as possible and propped up pillows behind her.
Her brother, pulling the chair from her vanity to her bedside, wasted no time getting to the point. “How was the opera?”
“Has Lord Richard not been by?” she countered. She thought he’d have surely come to tell her brother all about her misdeeds and how she’d ruined the evening. Especially if he thought he could speak to Henry before she did.
Henry frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “He has. Just now, before I came here. He seemed out of sorts—bloodshot eyes and pale. Perhaps you are both plagued with the same affliction.”
Doubtful.
“He brought by your cloak that you left behind, though. What happened? What did you do?”
Isobel wanted to be angry that Henry blamed her straight away, but she didn’t fault him for thinking it. Shehaddone something, after all, and Henry was just worried about the possible scandal, though he hid his worries safely beneath his stern demeanor. She cleared her throat. “I was feeling quite ill. Faint and feverish, even. I tried to explain that to him, but they are very serious patrons and didn’t want me to talk. So, I stepped out. Lord Richard was very angry,” she tested, “and tried to keep me from causing him further embarrassment, but before I knew it, I was outside. The rain ruined my dress and hair. I didn’t want to cause a bigger mess of their evening, so I bid the driver to bring me home with the intention of explaining everything to him today.”
She had no such objective, but something on Henry’s face told her he wasn’t ready for the full truth.
