Page 65 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior
Nevskol.
Ved’s vision narrowed. A numbness worked its way into the thick artery that connected his two hearts. It spread and spread until he was nothing but ice and brutal efficiency
No vulnerabilities, no weaknesses.
It all hinged on this one moment. Otherwise, it had all been for naught. He would lose.
Everything.
Ved stepped closer to the bars. “I was ambushed by an enemy clan, they killed my bruvya.I have a blood vendetta to see to.”
Xaal and Blood Vultures didn’t share a language. They didn’t share history or ideals. But a blood vendetta was a sacred thing to both.
It was a gamble, the last card he had to play.
Noxol was silent for far too long.
Finally, he rasped, “This data pack, you have it with you?”
“Yes.”
“If I find this is all a ploy, or you reveal what has happened here, I will kill the female and hunt you down myself.”
Ved inclined his head, fighting the urge to react to his threats. “I understand.”
They stared at each other, only paces away. Mask to mask. Darkness into darkness.
The cell powered down with a low hum, and Ved stepped out.
Chapter 29
Isobel
“Aunt Isobel? Are you still awake?” Clara asked as she opened the door. She peered inside, her curls wrapped in a rose-colored scarf to match Isobel’s—a much-loved birthday gift from a much-loved aunt.
It was late, and the candelabra in Clara’s hand cast long, flickering shadows on the walls of Isobel’s bedchamber. She wanted to say no or that she was too sick. She wanted to be left to her grief, but Clara’s expression reminded her so much of how she felt that she couldn’t deny her.
“What has you looking so morose?” Isobel asked, pulling the covers back and patting the bed beside her.
Padding across the floor, Clara let out a huff of a breath. “I got another letter from Mr. Briggsly,” she said, her frown deepening as she placed the candelabra down and scooted under the covers.
“And? I thought you were becoming fond of him?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m as fond of him as you are ofDick.”
“Clara!” Isobel scolded half-heartedly.
“He should have defended you the other day with his parents—he was the only one who could have done so. Instead, he sat there like acoward. Besides, you didn’t mind me calling him that before,” she said slyly.
“Just don’t let your father hear you. He’ll think I put you up to it.”
“He’s fully aware I am responsible for my own detours from polite society, and that I’m more than capable of my own mischief, thank you very much,” Clara said with pride.
Isobel couldn’t help but smile a little. The distraction was nice—it took the edge off her own unbearable misery. “Fine, then, you rebel. So, the esteemed Mr. Briggsly wrote to you. What about that, particularly, has you so upset?”
“I think he is intending to propose.” Clara didn’t hide the disgust from her voice.
“You can tell him no,” Isobel offered.
