Born of Legend (75 page)

Damn his soul for it. The last thing he wanted was to care again. The price was just too fucking high.

Now it was too late.

They were there and there was nothing he could do for it.

Embarrassed, he wiped it away. “I need to see about Jullien.”

“Thrāix—”

“I'm fine, High Mother.”

“You're not fine,
m'tana.
I don't have to be Trisani to know that. You've been alone for a long time, and I understand that. But Jullien and I do consider you our family. He may not say it, but you know it's true. And I feel the same. I just wanted you to know how much my boys mean to me.”

He swallowed hard. “I have no real memory of my mother. But I should like to think that she would have been as kind and beautiful as you.”

As if sensing her words and their mood, Jullien came awake with a curse, ready to battle.

Thrāix caught him before he accidentally punched one of them. “Easy,
m'drey.
You've no enemies here.”

Jullien blinked past the pain that was slicing through his skull. “What the hell happened? Did you hit me?”

“No, but I'm tempted,” he scoffed. “Old Chiller weapon. No one was expecting
that
to be on board.”

Jullien panicked as he realized that they must have detected his presence. “Are they after us?”

“No. We appear safe.”

“Appear
? That's a bullshit word.”

And his body wasn't listening to anything comforting as his breathing turned ragged and he rushed for the con to double-check their settings and make sure of it.

After a few nerve-wrecking minutes, he realized Thrāix was right. He didn't see any sign of the cruiser.

Still …

They had detected him.
Booted him out of their system. He ran more analysis to see if they were after them.

Thrāix exchanged a worried frown with Unira. “Jules, what are you doing?”

“Making sure they're not tailing us.”

“They're not.”

“You don't know that.”

Thrāix put his hands on his hips. “Pretty damn sure.”

“Yeah, but—”

Moving to stand by him, Thrāix gently cupped Jullien's face in his hands and forced him to meet his gaze. “Look at me, buddy. Focus. You're safe. It's just a panic attack. Breathe through it.”

Dizzy and belligerent, he had to curb the impulse to strike out at Thrāix. In the past, it was what he'd have done to anyone else. But the well-trained Trisani warrior wouldn't react well to such an attack. Not that the fear of bleeding stopped him—it never had before. He just didn't want to rupture their friendship with his stupidity.

Thrāix kept his gaze locked on his. “Come on, Jules. In and out. Slow and easy … First time you get knocked down with a Pulsator, it's a beast. Trust me, I know. It's what caused our army to fail. We thought we were indestructible. No human could touch us with our psychic powers. We got blindsided, just like you. And when you find out that you're not the baddest ass on the block, it takes you a few to recover.”

He tightened his hand in Jullien's hair. “You still with me?”

Jullien finally began to calm a degree. “Yeah. Think so.”

Thrāix patted him on the shoulder and let go. “Just remember that warning sensation,
drey.
Next time, pull back the instant you feel it. It's that weird-ass hum and buzz. Treat it like a live electrical wire. And remember that unlike us, you're Andarion. You got all that strength and the ability to breathe fire. It won't leave you in a coma for a week. Most of all, you're not alone. You have reinforcements.”

Unira placed her hand on Jullien's back.

He would never get used to this feeling of having a family. Of unity.

“Sanguine inter fratres devoto,”
Jullien breathed.

Thrāix smiled as Jullien spoke the words that had been the official motto of the Trisani royal armed forces. “That's right.
For my brothers, I will bleed.
”

Jullien pressed the heel of his hand to the ache in his forehead. “Did Jory make it out?”

“He did. Otherwise, I'd be all over them. Probably have my brains scrambled as a result. I laid the course in for Haven II, where we're meeting him.”

Jullien nodded as he checked everything one more time … just in case. “Uh.… I feel like I've gone a round with Talyn Batur in a Ring match.”

Thrāix laughed. “I don't think you'd be standing upright if you'd done that.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know. I'm still dizzy from the last punch he gave me.”

Thrāix arched a brow at his comment. “Seriously?”

Nodding, he pointed to the scar on his forehead. “Oh yeah. They don't call him the Iron Hammer for nothing. He took down my entire guard while they were firing point-blank at him.” He laughed at the memory. “Never saw anything like it in my life. Still don't know how he took that many stun blasts without going down. That giant shit's a beast.”

“Adrenaline. If you want, I can teach you both how to do it.”

Unira screwed her face up at his offer. “I'd rather go down if I get blasted. After I shoot them back, of course.” She winked at them. “While I'm a priestess, I am an Andarion one.”

Thrāix laughed as he replaced Jullien at the helm. “You rest and I'll take the ship. Call your lady. Rest your nerves. It won't take long to reach Jory.”

“All right. Thanks.” Jullien headed for his cabin while he tried not to let his paranoia overtake him again. He didn't like being overpowered by anything. It brought back too many bad memories of his childhood, and always sent him into a vicious panic attack. Things he wasn't ready to deal with. While he tried to joke about it, it really wasn't funny.

PTSD never was.

He tended to go rabid in those situations, even catatonic. His reason fled so fast that he couldn't think straight. Or rationally. He lost all sense of himself and the world around him. Even time. Worse, he never knew how he'd react. Sometimes he could fight back and protect himself, and at other times …

It was like being as helpless as an infant. His body locked up and paralyzed him, until he couldn't move or breathe. He just sat there, shaking uncontrollably as memories flashed through his mind on a strobe-like playback that made him want to rip out his eyes.

Gah, why couldn't he get a handle on this? He'd tried everything in the Nine Worlds to move past it. Still, it lingered and kept on until he felt as if he were going mad from it all.

Needing peace, he went to his bunk to rest, and there, he pulled up the videos on his link of Ushara and Vas. Of Nadya and her sisters, and his Tavali family.

He watched them as they did nothing remarkable.… They were baking cookies. Coloring pictures they'd drawn. Working on, or rather screwing up the ships he'd been assigned to repair. Doing Vas's homework and teaching Nadya her letters and basic colors. And yet everything they did amazed him. Biting his lip, he traced the lines of Ushara's smiling face, wishing he were with her. Wishing even more that he was inside her, because truthfully, she was so deep down inside him that he felt as if he were drowning.

And at the same time she was the only thing that kept him afloat. If something were to happen to her, he would lose his mind for real. In all his life, he'd never had anything. Not until she'd made him hers.

She, alone, gave him purpose and sanity. And he wasn't about to allow the Anatoles to take her from him. Not without a brutal fight.

He clutched the link to his chest as anger consumed him. One way or another, he was going to finish this and make sure no one ever threatened her again.

*   *   *

Jullien froze as they entered the Tavali café where they were to meet Jory and his crew. The instant he stepped inside the quaint Ritadarion-themed decor that made him feel as if he were outside on the dual-sunned planet, he had an instant déjà vu that he'd been here before. He glanced around at the blue walls, gold, scuffed tables, and hand-carved, rustic furniture and chandeliers.

Yeah, even though he'd never stepped foot in this place, he knew it intimately.

Thrāix duplicated his scowl. “What's wrong?”

“I've seen this restaurant.”

Unira arched her brow. “When you were on the run?”

Before he could answer, his gaze went to the back corner, and he saw the exact table from the picture he'd been sent.…

More than that, he saw the ones who'd sent it.

Nyran
and
his grandmother. This must be their usual haunt.

Shkyte!
Cursing under his breath, he backed out of the door hurriedly so that neither caught sight of him and blew
his
surprise that he'd been working so hard to give them.

It's Eriadne.
He sent the warning silently to both Thrāix and Unira so that they could duck and cover, too. Which they quickly did as they followed him outside. Since they didn't know for sure who they were ducking, the way they dodged would be comical if he wasn't so pissed off about it.

Once safely on the street, he quickly vanished into the shadows of a nearby alley so as not to be seen by any of the Andarion bodyguards or entourage.

Silently spewing profanity, he met Thrāix's gaze. “What are the odds they'd be here? Having fucking tea?”

“For you? Good. 'Cause, let's face it, your luck sucks.”

Jullien snorted. “Ain't it the truth?” He raked his hands over his face as he tried to get a handle on this.

And on his temper, which really wanted to go back into that restaurant and choke the life out of both of them until they were dead at his feet.

Or at least cut into bloody chunks.

“So what do we do?” Unira asked.

“Don't, Jules,” Thrāix said in the warning tone of a parent with an angry toddler. “Don't even think what you're thinking, and I don't need any powers to know what that look in your stralen eyes means. Stop right there before you get us all killed.”

He was right, and Jullien hated him for it.

Stepping back, he forced himself to calm down, then let out an evil laugh. “Fine, then. If I can't storm in there and kill them like the Andarion I am, let's do what we initially intended.… You two meet up with Jory, in private, and make sure everything's fine with his crew. I'm going off to screw with the bitch's head a bit. I'll meet you at the hangar later.”

As Jullien started away, Thrāix caught his arm. “Be careful. She's not alone.”

“I know, and I will. Believe me. I'm not giving her the satisfaction of putting me in the ground.” Jullien lifted the cowl on his long black coat to conceal his features, and took a minute to calm his temper, before he went to one of the alley tables at the café's side. Once seated at the farthest table that was tucked beneath an awning shelter, he ordered a drink from the kiosk there.

While he waited for it to be served, he used the terminal to access the video feed so that he could spy on his grandmother and cousin with his powers.

What a peculiar and ironic day this had turned into. The gods had to be bored.

As a prince, he'd been the one who couldn't so much as jerk off without them spying on him. Back then, he'd never had a minute's peace. Either Merrell, Nyran, or Chrisen had made a point of being planted at his side every second of every day. Literally.

The only time he was spared their onerous company had been his stints in prison, under the tender care of Eriadne's wardens and personal thugs, who made sure that he had regretted every ounce of Anatole blood that flowed through his veins. The very thought of it all was enough to send him into a homicidal rage.

Stop it!

He needed a clear head so that he could pay attention to them. Not dwell on his past.

Irritated at himself for letting them into his mind, he fished his coins out for his drink. He forced his thoughts to remain here in the present, on them and only on what they were saying now.

Screw the past.

It'd definitely screwed him.

Inside the restaurant, Nyran sat at ease in Eriadne's presence, something Jullien had never been able to do. She'd always put him on edge. Made him nervous and twitchy to the point, he'd been more jittery than an ADD cat trying to cross rush hour traffic. There'd been a time in his childhood that whenever he heard her so much as whisper his name, he'd wet himself in terror of having to face her.

Tylie, too, for that matter. He could hear the clicking of that bitch's heels in the hallway outside his room, and his bladder would start leaking.

And his wife wondered why he never got nervous around his enemies.…

They were all pussies when compared to the venomous shrews who'd raised him with their bitter cocktail of murder, betrayal, insults, and hatred.

Enlarging the view from the café's internal surveillance on his kiosk, he watched as Eriadne sat back in her chair with complete decorum and grace. Ever refined. He had to admit that for such an old whore, she looked good. No human would have any idea she was over a hundred years old. She barely appeared a well-preserved fifty.

Still lean and voluptuous, she had a body most human women would kill for. Her long black hair was coiled in an elaborate style around her perfectly chiseled features, which barely held a single wrinkle anywhere on that smooth caramel skin. Of course, she never smiled, which gave credence to the old saying that resting bitch-face preserved beauty. It definitely had worked in her case.

She was ever a creature of elegant grace. Nyran, however, was still a foppish ass, who was hanging on her every word, with the sickening tenacity only an accomplished sycophant could master. As if she were too stupid to know better.

Eriadne's a bitch, dumb-ass. She's not a fool.
And she never respected a suck-up. While she wouldn't hesitate to use them to her advantage when she could, she was just as quick to cut their throats once they were no longer useful to her.