Page 83 of Havik: Warlord Brides
“Loves,” Havik said.
“Pardon?”
“We do not know if she is deceased. Do not presume.”
The warlord’s lips twisted into a smile. “So young and optimistic. It was wrong of me to deny Mais her status as your mother,” he said, as if conceding a minor point. “She was your mother in every sense. Can you forgive me?”
Suddenly very aware of himself and feeling awkward in his skin in a way he had not since he was a juvenile, Havik studied the map. He tried to keep his tail still, but every position felt wrong. Kaos spoke the words Havik had longed to hear his entire life and it hit the wrong notes.
Kaos frowned at Havik’s lack of an answer. “I am becoming an old male. Will you return to the clan and help me lead? I always planned for you to be the next warlord.”
Havik cleared his throat and focused on the map. “The settlement dates from the great wars. Did you check the tunnels?”
“Surely those have collapsed.”
“We will investigate. It will not be difficult to determine if the tunnels are occupied.” Havik climbed back into Kaos’ vehicle. The tunnels stretched for miles and entrances were built at regular intervals. They merely had to drive the length of the tunnels and looked for spots where the sand had been cleared away.
The sun hovered over the horizon when they found the entrance. Partially buried, enough sand had been moved to expose the hatch door.
Havik checked his weapons and carefully approached the entrance. A fetid, damp smell hung in the air, indicating the presence of water. Several of the ancient tunnels had been built to take advantage of underground springs.
The hatch opened with ease, and the scent of water increased. This was more than a spring. This was centuries of water filtering through sand and rock, only to collect in a low point and grow stagnant.
He took the lead. Not far into the tunnel, he heard voices. The poachers were not even trying to hide their presence. Signaling for Kaos to follow, he crept forward. The uneven walls and reinforcing pillars that lined the tunnel provided cover.
Light flickered ahead at a juncture.
Using the scope on his rifle, he assessed his quarry. A group of five males, armed, sat without cover. Two figures huddled in the back. Correction, one huddled. The other moved forward, into the light. While the scent of stagnant water hid her scent, light glinted off the glass of her spectacles. Her pale beige face shone in the darkness.
Thalia.
Thalia
So, this sucked.
After being stripped—what was it with the bad guys always getting her clothes off?—and dragged off the ship, Thalia stopped fighting. She’d be a good little hostage.
Her captors took her to an underground tunnel. Water dripped somewhere in the black depths. A little camp had been organized around a brazier of burning coals that cast deep shadows. Her captors appeared to be waiting for someone.
Very atmospheric. Very post-apocalyptic.
Thalia joined Mais. With their hands and feet bound with plastic ties, they had nothing better to do than watch. Correction, Thalia watched. Mais drifted in and out of consciousness.
Pressing the back of her hand to Mais’ forehead, Thalia realized that she had no idea if the woman ran a fever or not. Havik always felt warm. Mais felt warm. Was that normal?
In the flickering light, the woman did not look well. Blood matted her hair at the temple.
“Hold on. Havik will find us,” Thalia whispered. Mais nodded, her eyes glassy.
“Can we have some water?” Thalia asked.
The closest man jabbed the point of a pistol into her chest. “Quiet, Terran.”
She immediately held up her hands in surrender. “She needs water.” Then, for good measure, “I need to pee.”
“I do not care.”
“Okay, I’ll just pee myself then. I’m sure that’s cool and the smell won’t bother you. Or the puddle won’t trickle over to you. There is a slope, though, so you’ll probably get the runoff. But you don’t care.”
