Page 41 of Alien's Heart
“No.” The planet of his birth struggled through a long civil war. “My mother died during the conflict, but not as a casualty. She was ill with a treatable condition. Treatable if we had been at peace. As it was, there was no medical care for her, and she died.” The war left a lasting mark on Talmar and its people. Beyond the people lost outright to battles and bombings were those who perished because of a lack of health care, adequate food, and shelter.
“She was a casualty. How old were you?” Ruth asked.
“Young. Barely old enough to understand what was happening.” His hand clenched. Memories were hazy, but he had pieced together the sequence of events. His mother’s mate leaving. His mother growing paler and frailer. The day she was too weak to walk without leaning on his short frame for support. Finally, the day she sent him away so that he did not have to witness her end.
He had known, as young as he was, that both of them getting off Talmar had been impossible. Tickets were expensive and seats limited. His mother had been torn between two terrible choices: keep her kit with her while she died before his eyes or spend all her credits on a ticket for him and send him to her brother.
For years the cruelty of it filled him with rage.
Humility. Patience. Kindness. Justice. Fortitude. Prudence. Forgiveness.
Nox unclenched his hand. “My uncle Ashen took me.”
He waited to see if she responded to the name. Fear was the common reaction. Apprehension. Occasionally excitement.
Rather than appear frightened or worried, she reached for his hand. “That was kind of him,” she said.
“It was not,” he said, his tone harsh enough for Ruth to attempt to pull her hand back. How foolish of her. He would not let her go. Now or ever.
He tugged her over to him, not satisfied until she sat in his lap. Much better. Content with the arrangement, he rubbed the side of his face against the top of her head.
There was more to the story. There was always more. He needed to tell her about his family. If he did not, others would fill the void with rumors and half-truths.
“My uncle is not a good male,” Nox said. “Ashen operates several fighting rings. Cage matches on luxury barges, always conveniently on the move and just outside the grasp of law enforcement. It’s blood sport for the wealthy.”
“Is that what you’re running from?”
“No. I did fight for a handful of years. I have a…” He paused, wanting to choose his words carefully. Sharing this, voluntarily exposing this part of himself, felt strange. “I have a condition, a mutation, that is advantageous for a warrior but the body ages fast with that type of sport.” Nox half-remembered the fights. Correction, he remembered the anxious moments before a bout, wondering if this would be the fight that would end him. He recalled the noise of the crowd, hidden behind blinding lights. The surge of the bloodlust. How good, how correct it felt to let the feral part of his brain take over and act on instinct. Freeing. He found release from worry and grief in the red.
When the frenzy left, he came back to himself battered with a new collection of bruises, and a disappointed uncle.
“I was valuable to my uncle as a fighter, until I wasn’t. Too much scar tissue. Too many badly healed injuries slowing me down.” Falling into a rage only entertained the crowds for so long. Nox had no showmanship. The bouts were over too soon. None of the wealthy patrons would gamble against him. As an asset, Nox was worthless to his uncle.
“Wait, what is this condition?” She twisted in his lap as if trying to look him in the eyes.
His arms tightened around her, holding her in place. It was easier to speak like this. He could share his secrets in the dark if he didn’t feel her watching him. Judging him.
“Bloodlust.”
“Do you need medication? A doctor?”
“No, pretty mate. I am touched by your concern.” He nuzzled her hair to hide a pleased smile, burying his nose in the scent of lingering rain. He shared his defect, the thing that made others regard him with fear or view him as a tool. She was only concerned for his well-being. “It is an overproduction of certain hormones to blunt pain perception, increase stamina, and temporarily boost strength.”
“Adrenaline has some of those characteristics,” she said, speaking in that intrigued tone that meant her mind was racing ahead of him.
“I do not know the biology. I do know that the greatest heroes of legend had bloodlust.”
“Oh, that’s interesting.”
“I also know that warriors become lost to the red. They are reckless and lose control. They end up dead.”
“And that’s tragic.”
“It is fact. When I was no longer useful to my uncle as a fighter, I collected unpaid debts on his behalf.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Not at all. I enjoyed working with people.”
