Daahn Rising (13 page)

Her instincts warred with her training. Hiding had failed her, and without her mate to protect her, instinct dictated she escape and run to him. Her training was to do as much damage as she could to Reynolds on the way, to kill him if she could. He wasn’t her mate, and he was touching her, hurting her, intent on raping her.

Both sides agreed she had to stop that last eventuality, whatever it took. Discounting the emotional damage a rape would do to both herself and Evan, she was carrying, and the physical damage was too much to risk.

For one mad moment, Zondra considered opening her mouth and using her hunting teeth against his tongue. The thought of tasting his blood made her physically ill, and the stench of him in close quarters prompted her gag reflex.

Instead she dug the fingernails of her free hand into his face and raked through his flesh with the crossbred talons. Reynolds reared back with a roar of rage and pain, giving Zondra the opening she needed to grasp the work knife and drive it into the hand compressing her wrist bones.

He released her with a howl of pain, and Zondra pushed past him, scurrying to the corridor. She hadn’t considered where she’d go from there. Med Call was amidships; engineering was aft, just as she was. Evan was in engineering.

Zondra squeezed her eyes shut at the glare in the corridor. The overheads were set to low light for sleep, but even fifty percent was double what she considered a comfortable level. Movement behind her vetoed the idea of going back for her glasses, and she rushed toward the stairs, hobbling on her injured foot.

Working from her Xxanian memory, Zondra made the turns that led her to the stairs. She navigated the three levels down into the belly of the ship, then farther aft to the pressure tunnel.

The scent of oil and scrubbed air sent her stomach roiling, but she forced herself to breathe through her mouth. Without her eyes to guide her, she needed to tongue-scent. Halfway down the tunnel, she scented Evan. That was all it took to double her lagging speed.

****

Evan looked around at the shouts from below, shaking his head in disbelief at the sight of Zondra.

There was no mistaking the green and gold
S’suuhhea
she wore that so closely matched her eyes. But why was she wearing it here? Though it covered her from beneath her arms to her ankles and had a thick loop of fabric around her neck, it wasn’t something Xxanian women wore in public.

But the
S’suuhhea
wasn’t the most disturbing part of the image. Her cheek was purpled and swollen, the tender flesh marked as even their roughest sex rarely did. Her left hand was coated in blood and gripping a blade, and she’d left a bloody trail into the engine room, most likely from the foot she was favoring.

The operators below had backed to their panels and were busy shooting nervous looks at one another. The JO on duty grabbed the code pad and summoned the Marines.

“Five minutes to defuse the situation or they’ll kill her,” he muttered. Evan dropped off the machine and sprinted to her, alarms blaring several decks away.

Zondra reached for him, sobbing.

He sidestepped the blade. “Knife, Zondra. Give me the knife.” If she was unarmed when the Marines arrived, they had breathing room to solve this.
Whatever this is.

Her hand came out, shaking hard, and she offered the weapon to him. Evan took it slowly, making a show of her willingness to release it. Once he had it, Zondra wrapped her arms around him and sank against his chest.

Evan stared at the work knife in confusion. His own was weighing down his right pocket, which meant she’d taken it from another crew member who used them. He turned it, searching out the engraved name and service number through the slick of tacky blood.

“Reynolds.”
I will kill him for this.

As if in answer to the challenge, the bastard stumbled through the tunnel doorway, blood coursing down his cheek and hand. “Guess I just have to kill him to have you,” Reynolds mumbled.

Zondra fled to Evan’s back, her breathing rasping and uneven.

“You scaly types get off on that, right? Two men fighting to the death for you. That’s how you do it.”

She shook her head against Evan’s shoulder.

Evan took a step away from her, growling an order for her to stay where she was. Zondra sank to the deck plates, probably too exhausted to stand.

Or too injured.

Reynolds launched at him. That was the final blow which shattered Evan’s strained control. Evan dropped the work knife and laid a punch to Reynolds’s chin that knocked the latter off his feet. He landed hard, and Evan came down over him, both fists raising bruises and crushing bone.

Someone grabbed him, and Evan threw the interloper off. Then there were two sets of hands pulling him off Reynolds... three... four.

When the rifle muzzle rammed into his chest, Evan put his hands up in surrender. He came back to his senses slowly, wincing at the amount of blood on his hands, splattered on his clothing, and soaking into the knees of his dungaree pants.

“Stand down,” the Marine sergeant on the other side of the rifle ordered.

“Stood,” he answered, unable to curb the inner smart-ass.

A second Marine reached a hand between them and searched out Reynolds’s pulse. “Dead,” he reported.

Evan closed his eyes, envisioning the trial to come. The best he could hope for was a military prison. If they handed down the death sentence, Zondra would pine to death after him, either taking the baby with her or leaving their son an orphan.

“Don’t kill anyone.”

Fucked that one up. Right, MacNair?

“Get the woman to Med Call.” A dig of the muzzle into his ribs punctuated the order.

Evan opened his eyes as the second started moving. His fury uncorked. “You do not touch her,” he thundered.

He tried to reason with himself. Zondra was injured. She needed care.

This wasn’t a rational state. His bonded mate was injured and traumatized. “Reynolds assaulted her. Let me move her or —”

“You go to a cell in the brig, Duncan. Nowhere else. Not on my watch.”

Evan scowled at him. “Then find a woman to help Zondra. She won’t accept a man near her right now, and I won’t accept one touching her.” It was a blatant threat.

The two Marines shared a pained look. Finally the sergeant sighed. “Lieutenant, find out if Med Call has a female corpsman or doctor on duty.”

“Roll one out if you have to,” Evan added.

The Marine nodded his agreement, and the JO called it away. In the minutes following the call, more Marines arrived and took the place of the E-Divvers who’d restrained him.

Not that anyone had to muscle Evan into place anymore. He was content to kneel in the cooling puddle of Reynolds’s blood and stare at Zondra.

She lay, curled on the deck plates, shivering, her eyes closed and inflamed. None of the men were stupid enough to approach her, which meant they’d all make it out of engineering alive... including Evan.

“Time to go, Duncan,” the sergeant boring a hole in his chest announced.

“When the corpsman has Zondra,” he countered.

“This isn’t a discussion or a negotiation,” the one at his right shoulder snapped.

“You’re right. It’s not.”

The tension stepped up another notch, and the Marine who’d pronounced Reynolds dead waved them off. “Why fight him? You’ll come quietly when she’s gone?”

Evan managed one snap of his head in a nod.

“Then let him. What can it hurt?”

After a moment, the sergeant agreed.

The corpsman wasn’t one Evan recognized, but she was female. Zondra roused to her call, though she seemed groggy, and she kept her eyes squeezed shut.

The light.
“Give her my safety glasses,” Evan requested.

“What?” the corpsman asked.

“My glasses.” He jerked his chin down toward his shirt pocket. “They’re shaded.”

She liberated them from his shirt pocket and settled them on Zondra’s face. “Come on, Mrs. Duncan,” she urged, helping Zondra to her knees. “Doc is waiting at Med Call.”

Zondra turned her head, assessing Evan’s position. Her brows went up in surprise. “No. You can’t. He —”

The Marine at his right shoulder tightened his grip. “Your husband is under arrest, Mrs. Duncan,” he informed her.

Before she could protest, Evan did. “You’re injured, Zondra. Go to Med Call and let them treat you. Contact Aleeks or MacNair. I want you safe at home. I can’t protect you here.”

The rifle gave another warning poke at his ribs. “
That
will be up to Captain Pira. If he lets her leave, she’ll leave.”

“He’ll let her go home.” Pira had to. Evan no longer believed she was safe on board.

Zondra hesitated and then nodded. She leaned to embrace him, and two of the Marines reached out to pull her back. Evan surged against the restraining hands, shouting a protest. Marines piled onto him, forcing Evan nearly to the deck plates. The corpsman yanked Zondra out of the fray and eased her down to her knees again at the periphery; both women stared at the scene, wide-eyed.

Evan forced a calming breath, his blood boiling. “Get her to Med Call before one of these idiots touches her.”

The corpsman nodded, hauled Zondra to her feet, and ushered her to the pressure tunnel. Evan swallowed down his rage. Watching her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

Chapter Twelve

“Admiral MacNair?”

Matthew pivoted on his heel and headed for Pira, certain Zondra was in that direction. He was right.

Zondra lay in a secluded treatment room, soft cuffs around her wrists to hold her to the bed. Based on her stillness, Matthew guessed she was drugged into unconsciousness.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“She wouldn’t let the doctors touch her. She freaked, tried to peel one’s face off for rendering aid. We had to sedate her and restrain her, for our own protection and hers. Don’t worry. They checked with SLAL for the proper meds and dosage for a pregnant Xxanian.”

Matthew forced back his fury. He would have her out of the straps as soon as possible, and Zondra wouldn’t know she was restrained while she was out. There were more important concerns. “How is she?”

“We’ve healed the bruises, and the liquid stitches will have her foot healed in a matter of days.”

Oh, Zondra.
Matthew had seen the reports on the way over, but he hadn’t been able to visualize the portrait of Zondra they painted: bloodied, beaten, frightened, and lashing out at every turn.

He peeled the blanket back from the lower corner of the mattress and cupped her foot up to survey the laceration Pira had referred to. Matthew winced. It would scar.

“Daahn will be furious,” he grumbled. Xxanian warriors took attacks on a female or child very seriously. Her
gran-seir
would view Zondra as both. If Evan hadn’t already killed Reynolds, Daahn would be here with his
zuahhhbeahhh
and
s’saahhta
in hand, ready to gut Reynolds and anyone who stood in his way.

Pira shifted nervously. “He won’t —”

“No. Of course not. Not for Reynolds. He’s dead.” But if this cost Zondra her life, all bets were off and not even Matthew would be able to talk her
gran-seir
down.

Still, Pira lurked at the door to the room, as if he was afraid to leave his scent anywhere near her. “Good.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was.

“You can come closer, Pira,” Matthew invited. “I assure you Zondra doesn’t bite without provocation.” He settled her foot on the mattress, laying a hand over the soon-to-be scar. As a rule, Xxanian females and children were sheltered from battle. She shouldn’t have been scarred.

“According to Lieutenant Rice, Reynolds wasn’t four-oh before Duncan got to him. She shredded half his face and drove a knife through his arm. And the doctors...” He trailed off uncomfortably.

“The reports said Evan warned your men that letting a man touch her in her state was not a good idea. He asked for a female to treat her... and he asked for Zondra to be sent home to her family.”

“We didn’t have a female doctor on call,” Pira complained.

“Then you should have called one in or let Evan calm her while the doctors worked. Any injury they suffered was their own stupidity.”

“But Reynolds —”

Matthew turned on him, and Pira shuffled a step backward. “If Reynolds hadn’t broken into their stateroom, that never would have happened, Pira. Mated Xxanian females do not approach men without their mates for protection. It’s hardwired.”

Pira voiced a grunt that spoke his doubts.

“What do you intend to do about this?” He had to know to prepare for the fallout with Daahn.

There was a tense moment of silence. “I want her off my ship.” There was an edge of violence in his tone.

“Release Duncan to me, and we’ll be gone in —”

Pira darkened to crimson. “After what he did to Reynolds? We had to ID him with fingerprints. There was no face left to identify. Even his teeth were shattered.”

Matthew turned to the bed, arranged the blankets over Zondra’s foot again, and tucked them in as he had when she’d been a baby. Then he turned back to Pira and leaned against the foot of Zondra’s bed. “Reynolds had been warned at least three times to keep his distance from Zondra. This was the second time he’s assaulted her.”

“And if someone comes on to her without knowing?” Pira challenged.

“Zondra will turn him down, and Evan will send him packing. Reynolds should have stayed away. Any intelligent man with a shred of self-preservation would have.”

“You’ll guarantee that? An isolated incident? No more mangled bodies? What happens when you’re wrong, MacNair?”

Matthew managed a grim smile. “Ever wanted to kill someone, Pira?”

The captain stuttered and sputtered for a few moments. “I never
have
outside of a war zone.”

“But you’ve wanted to. Come on. We’re human.”

“She’s not.” He grumbled the rest. “I’m not sure Duncan is anymore.”