Page 98 of Warrior's Reign
Vykhan moved, grabbing the Yilsa’s wrist before he could finish the sign, his apparent serenity shattered into jagged edges. His voice cut, drew blood. “Do not test me. Reign Obe’shan is mine, and my responsibility.”
When he was certain the male would obey, Vykhan released him. Yilsa’s warriors already flanked him, ready to enforce his softly spoken orders.
Yilsa stared at Vykhan with contempt in his sewage water eyes. “I will informEyahunAdevega you allowed your human to escape.”
Vykhan turned away. “Do so. What you report is not my concern.” Mother would rebuke him for his less than political response, but right now he didn’t care. It took all his energy not to unravel. He must go after her. It was the only option.
It was the option he had hoped for, planned for—and loathed.Lohail, you will get what you want, ‘ashara. Brother.
“Tai’ri,” Vykhan said. “You have command in my absence. I go after Reign to deliver her to justice.”
Tai’ri nodded, mouth tight. None of Reign’s cohort liked this. But they would follow his command. He gestured to his Second and their warriors retreated. Vykhan hailed his transport, taking the time to clear his flight through the atmosphere and inform Ibukay of events—Reign had fled to Anthhori, Vykhan was in pursuit.
* * *
He returned to his quarters to don attire and weapons suitable for Anthhori, divesting himself of any Imperial insignia. He pondered whether the frozen stillness in him was Silence or just the cold, hard center of his rage.
Detached, he decided it did not matter.
He would not lose Reign to Lohail’s games. Once, he’d had the strength to let her go knowing that if Haeemah willed it, their paths would cross again. He had promised himself that if she was ever again within his reach, he would take it as a sign that his desire was a part of his path.
And even after she had appeared in his life again, by the hand of the beloved little sister he served with his life and death, Vykhan had waited. Giving her time to settle into the new skin she wore, to determine what shape her new life would take. The last thing she needed was the complication of a suitor. Especially when from the start he had the advantage over her, knowing her in a way few others did. She already loved him in both his guises.
She would come to love him in his third, even if it took death and seduction.
In his bedroom he withdrew a locked chest from his wardrobe, and placed it on the bed. He pressed his thumb, and the lid opened, two trays emerging to display a set of clothing, carefully tended jewelry, and a selection of custom crafted weapons made for their beauty as much as their function. The clothing, in sumptuous fabrics and jewel toned fabrics, screamed indulgence.
He ignored the classic flesh toned garments and withdrew a shirt in a deep wine red, fitted pants with a metallic sheen, and dressed.
The pants hugged his musculature and drew the eye to strategic locations. The shirt draped his shoulders and revealed his chest, tucking into the waistband of the pants. He put gold and silver cuffs around his wrists, and pierced his lobes with a gold hoop, a single blood red gem dangling from the end. His hair he left unfettered.
He knew how he looked—a walking seduction. Male and female eyes would follow him, unable to look away if he wished it.
He only cared about one pair of eyes, one glazed gaze. Vykhan flexed his right hand into a fist and the cuff warmed, responding to his silent command. When he did nothing else, it settled. Under the silk and metal his marks stirred, nerves in his arms sparking as if they knew he was going after his mate.
They knew, of course, by whatever sorcery and technology from the gods that was long lost to anyone but the Inkmasters. Yet Vykhan had waited, gritting his teeth during the nights towards the end when she had invited him to her bed and he had done nothing but lay there while she slept, exhausted, in his arms. He’d had to leave soon after—his control would not have survived her. And each night suppressing a side of his nature that he had worked to eliminate, he had feared she would awaken what was now awakening.
It had taken decades to crawl out of Anthhori in his youth. He had sworn to never return. But he would, for her.
Descending into the other side of his self, he lined his eyes in black, enhanced his lashes and eyebrows and finally created subtle shadows under his cheek and jaw to give his face a nearly Aeddannar appearance. Sculpted, sharp, savage.
Weapons came next, chosen for their secrets, and their ability to pass the various security checks on Anthhori. Lohail would expect Vykhan to be so armed, of course.
Vykhan stared at himself in the mirror, the glitter in his eyes, then turned to the chest one last time and withdrew a ring. Another blood red gem set in a wide band of gold. He slid it onto his finger, then lifted a black cloak and shrouded himself, pulling up the hood to conceal his face.
He was no longer Vykhan,BdakhunIbukay’s FirstAdekhan. Not. . .quite. He still held on to some strands of his painstakingly claimed identity. He would not allow decades of work to unravel in mere hours.
But it was close.
And Lohail. . .Lohail would pay the price of maneuvering Vykhan’s hand.
Haeemah willing Reign would not pay the price as well—but he understood the value of hope and decided, instead, to pray for her to have the strength to face the inevitable.
He left the palace, taking care to meet none of his warriors, and accessed his personal transport. Once inside, he programmed the coordinates then with a deep inhale, powered on his cuffs.
After a moment, a voice sounded through the transport comm.
“Ah, ‘ashara,” Lohail said. “I see you’re on your way. I’ll inform Reign we’ll have a guest.”
