Havik: Warlord Brides (Warriors of Sangrin Book 9) Read online

  This was his home. He was made for it.

  In the distance, a vehicle approached, kicking up a plume of dust. Havik felt no need to move from his current position on the rocky outcropping. Eventually, the vehicle stopped, and his father emerged.

  Large and with a complexion as red as the dirt, Havik knew he appeared as a younger version of his father. Occasionally, a warrior looking to ingratiate himself with the warlord would comment on the strong resemblance. More fools them. If Kaos ever looked at his son with fondness or affection, Havik never noticed.

  Kaos carried a silver canister.

  “Is that…?” Havik took the canister with both hands, surprised at the lightness. The vessel containing the remains of his mate and son should be heavier.

  Kaos lowered himself to the rock next to Havik. Their legs nearly touched. “You need to report to Observation Station Prime in two days.”

  “Yes, wonderful to see you again, Father. My journey was long, but I found some measure of peace,” Havik said.

  “Do not mock,” Kaos warned.

  “I would not dare.” Perhaps he dared a little. With only his thoughts, the stars, and the wind for company, he forgot how to speak to his warlord. “Forgive me,” he added.

  Kaos huffed, apparently mollified. “You are not ready to return, I see. Take the vehicle. Leave immediately.”

  With the vehicle, it would be a hard two days’ journey to the mountains to reach the observation station by the deadline. “I can take a shuttle and be there in hours,” Havik said.

  “The winds are too fierce. Take the vehicle.”

  Havik bit back the retort that he was a skilled enough pilot to safely land a craft, but the winds at the observation station were notorious. "And what will I be doing at Observation Station Prime?”

  “The communications array is out of alignment. When that is complete, I will have another task for you.”

  Kaos offered a mission devoid of meaning but Havik accepted. Perhaps it was too soon for him to return to the clan.

  “I will need supplies,” he said.

  “The vehicle is stocked. You can resupply when you arrive at the station.”

  Havik rose to his feet. Kaos did the same. Without thinking, Havik’s arms spread wide, as if inviting an embrace.

  Kaos stood still, watching him with a scowl.

  Havik retrieved his bag from the dusty ground, turning his face away to hide his momentary discomfort at the situation.

  Nothing had changed. He did not know why he thought otherwise.

  Thalia

  Thalia worked until the morning sun came through the kitchen windows. Fortunately, the worst injuries were a gunshot wound that grazed an arm and a dislocated shoulder. She had a half-dozen lacerations to clean and stitch, one broken nose, two busted lips, and a set of bruised ribs. She had treated worse but never in such volume. The heat was on Nicky’s entire organization, and everyone felt the burn.

  She threw her bloody clothes in the garbage, rinsed off in a shower, and collapsed in her bed. When she woke after sunset, she found her door locked. She hadn’t been concerned about Nicky’s anger when she fell asleep, but she should have been. She wasn’t useful to him anymore.

  Shit.

  The acid in her stomach churned. Rummaging through her nightstand for the bottle of antacids, she swallowed the pill dry.

  Not even Doc could have saved Nathan, but Nicky didn’t see it that way. All he saw was Thalia failing to do her only job.

  Thalia had worked for Nicky in some capacity since she was thirteen and crawling through windows for basic burglary. She knew how he operated. People had jobs. If they didn’t do their job, they were relocated. Usually that meant they were moved into sex work because while some sex workers were amazingly skilled, Nicky didn’t service the type of clients who appreciated anything more than a warm hole to fuck.

  He didn’t kill people that often, unless they fucked up majorly, so that was some cold comfort. If he wanted her dead, he would have fired her in the permanent sense last night after she patched up the last minion. She got to shower, she got to sleep, and she got to wake up, so that must mean he meant to keep her alive. Hooray.

  Her stomach gurgled. It’d be great if she got to eat that day, but she wasn’t going to push her luck.

  Best-case scenario, Nicky was pissed and would keep her locked up for a few days to teach her a lesson.

  Thalia filled a cup at the sink in the bathroom and drank. Despite brushing her teeth twice, she could still taste blood. The taste isn’t real, she tried to tell herself. It was just her mind stuck in a stress-induced feedback loop, playing the same sensory information again and again.

  Nicky had to put down his best friend last night. It was a mercy killing but Thalia had shown that her apprenticeship with Doc wasn’t good enough. She remained just an assistant. Nicky needed a real doctor, an unavoidable necessity as the violence of the turf war escalated.

  The best-case scenario was not happening.

  Okay. What’s the second-best scenario? Nicky finds a new doctor and keeps Thalia on as an assistant. Not having to waste time retraining a new pair of helping hands. Nothing changes. Life goes back to normal.

  Except the smile Nicky gave her… his teeth stained pink and his eyes cold enough to freeze the blood in her veins. He wasn’t in a forgiving mood. Nothing was going back to normal.

  Time to brainstorm worst-case scenarios.

  Nicky would move her into sex work and call it poetic justice, as Nathan handled that side of the operation. Best worst-case would have her being sent to one of the brothels or clubs. The best brothels registered their members and screen for violent behavior and disease. They had security and kept the facilities top-notch. They sold an experience and treated the workers well. That was the case with the more exclusive houses. If she was willing to get into kink, that would slot her into an even more exclusive niche, but what she knew about kink came directly from her romance books. Brothels ranged in quality but even the shadiest brothel was better than walking the street.

  Which brought her to the worst worst-case scenario: street walking. Out in all weather, fucking in cars or an alley. Sex work was dangerous, and she’d be exposed to the very worst in people with no way to protect herself. Forget about insisting her clients wear a condom. It was a hard life, and Thalia didn’t think she’d last long.

  Both scenarios sucked. Nicky was mean and vindictive. Whatever punishment he chose, he would aim for maximum suffering. Her best option was to run away.

  Damn Doc for being right about needing to run away. Damn him for leaving her.

  Thalia glanced at the window, then inspected the room. Getting out wasn’t an issue. She’d snuck out plenty of times before. Cash was her biggest concern. Other than her electronic reader, she didn’t have much; certainly nothing to pawn.

  At least that Nicky knew about.

  Thalia kneeled at the opened closet, pulled back the corner of the carpeting, and lifted a loose floorboard. Carefully, she took out the pill bottles. Before stuffing them in a backpack, she wrapped them individually in clothing to muffle any pills rattling about. Doc failed to keep a close eye on the medicine stock, and Thalia had grabbed whatever purloined loot she could. Everything had a street value, especially pain meds. If she wasn’t picky about the buyer—and to be honest, she wasn’t picky at all—she could get enough to catch a bus out of town.

  Her identity chip was the bracelet kind issued to kids. When she turned eighteen, she should have applied for an implanted chip, like every adult on the planet, but that never happened. She’d need a new one eventually, which meant more money.

  She never finished school but got her graduation equivalency. That wasn’t so unusual. Lots of people never finished school, some because the school physically wasn’t there anymore and others because they had been displaced. Turning up in a new town with no identity and minimum education wasn’t the best way to start fresh, but it was better than whatever Nicky had planned.
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  Thalia stuffed the backpack with anything that could be sold: a few pieces of jewelry, her digital reader, a sluggish tablet computer, and even the pair of designer heels that Nicky bought her a few years ago. He went through a stage where he tried dressing her like a doll and it was creepy as fuck. Thank God he got distracted by something else.

  Pulling up the hood of her sweatshirt, Thalia climbed out the window and into the night.

  Chapter 2

  Havik

  Havik reclined back onto his elbows. Through the dome glass, the stars shimmered with distortion. Years of abrasions from sandstorms created imperfections in the material, giving the night sky a soft, muted appearance. The first time he had seen the true night sky as a youth, without the filter of the city’s dome, he had been stricken speechless. Ren had teased him mercilessly, but that was his duty as a friend, to keep the ego of the warlord’s son in check.

  Water gurgled and splashed in a nearby fountain, sprinkling the ground with moisture.

  A year had passed since he lost his mate. He had walked the sands and spent many a cold and brilliant night under the unfiltered stars. He had seen the heart of the desert, where past conflict melted the sands into a sea of glass, and nothing grew. He journeyed to the mountains in the west and crossed to the narrow swath of fertile land on the far side. He had spent time in the lush green lands of the south, uneasy with the effortless and comfortable life there.

  None of those places were home, but every step helped distance himself from grief.

  During his travels, when he found a spot that resonated with him, he spread the ashes of his lost mate and their son. He could not share the world with them in life, so he left pieces of them behind in incredibly beautiful places. What remained of the ashes, he kept in a cylindrical tube on a cord around his neck. He did not know where their final resting place would be, but he felt confident that he would know it when he discovered it.

  He took a swig from the wine bottle. The sakeder, his year of mourning, was at an end. Traditionally, one marked the occasion with a celebration. Havik thought he might organize a small gathering, as he had passed too many hours with only himself for company, but when he mentioned it to his stepmother, he received an icy frown.

  Not entirely unexpected, though.

  “Here you are, hiding away and having your own celebration.”

  With the bottle in hand, Havik gestured for Ren to join him, sloshing wine onto his hand.

  “Sloppy.” Ren plucked the bottle from Havik and sniffed, then took a long pull. “Only stealing the finest wine, I see.”

  “It’s a celebration, isn’t it?”

  A long moment passed. Havik returned to watching the stars. He picked out constellations with ease and remembered the stories. Why had he never shared those stories with Vanessa? Regret tinted the thought, but it did not pain him. Time created distance and with distance came peace.

  Ren made sputtering noises. “You disgust me,” he said.

  Havik turned to his friend, confused. “Don’t be so judgmental. Pass it back.”

  Ren looked at the bottle and his mouth twisted into a frown. He threw it hard, smashing it into the ground. Glass and wine exploded on impact.

  “I’ll be as judgmental as I please. This display is disgusting,” Ren said, contempt in his voice. “I defended you for an entire year. I said there were things we did not know, did not understand, and you could not judge you when you were so obviously upset. But I find you here, drinking and celebrating. It is unforgivable.”

  Havik did not understand.

  “I did not think you could be so selfish.” Ren stood over Havik; fists clenched.

  The wine left Havik pleasantly warm, but his metabolism burned off the alcohol far too fast for him to be drunk. “If you are going to strike, do it while I am prone,” he said.

  “Stand up then. I won’t let others do my dirty work for me.” Ren’s tail violently lashed side to side, the barb carelessly exposed.

  Now Havik was very confused. In the last year, no one offered him help or assistance. Every mile he traveled was on foot or in a vehicle he maintained. While he accepted food and water at his stops, he received the same hospitality as any other traveler and only supplemented what he gathered or hunted. He completed the missions the warlord gave him, on his own, without assistance, even for the missions that would have been easier with two. If Ren wanted a fight, Havik would give it to him.

  Havik rose to his feet and stretched lazily. Standing taller and broader than Ren, he didn’t mind rubbing sand in the male’s nose and flexed his considerable bulk. “What is it you think others have done for me?”

  Havik may have prodded Ren in the chest harder than necessary, but it made his point.

  “Your mate! You send her away like a spoiled child and mope in the dark, feeling sorry for yourself.” His nostrils flared and the spiraling tattoo design that started on forearms glowed faintly.

  “You have no control,” Havik said, giving his friend another shove.

  “And you have no honor!” Ren pushed back, grunting with satisfaction when Havik’s foot slipped on the slick gravel.

  “Ren, we have known each other since we were tripping over our tails, and I love you as a brother, but I will pull the tusks from your mouth for such slander.” He should not have returned. This place was no longer his home.

  Ren lunged, his arms clamping around Havik’s waist. He had enough weight and momentum to knock Havik to the ground. The males grappled, fighting for dominance. Ren struck with a flurry of quick blows. Gravel and shards of broken glass dug into his back.

  Havik grabbed Ren’s tail and pulled hard, causing the male to yelp. A dirty trick, but necessary. Using the distraction, Havik rolled Ren to his back and pinned him to the ground.

  The smaller male thrashed but he could not dislodge Havik.

  “Son of the warlord, always getting what he wants,” Ren snarled.

  “When have I ever gotten anything I wanted? When I lost my mate and son? When I scattered my family’s ashes on the wind? Do I look like a male who got what he wanted?”

  Havik’s arm pressed against Ren’s throat, not enough to cut his air but enough to make him pay attention. The males stared at each other.

  “You had your father send away your mate,” Ren said, his voice thin and scratchy.

  Havik eased back, relieving the pressure on Ren’s throat. “She died,” he said.

  Understanding drilled itself way inside as solidly at the jab Ren landed on his throat.

  He scrambled away, rubbing his injured throat, and needing to distance himself from the judgmental eyes of his oldest friend. Kaos had delivered the devastating news that Havik lost both his mate and their son.

  “I assure you she did not.” Ren rubbed his own throat.

  “The runt told you,” Kaos said, bent over his workbench. He wore a pair of spectacles designed for minuscule work. Without raising his eyes from the antique energy blaster, his tools manipulating the delicate components.

  Havik swallowed his immediate impulse to defend Ren, who was not undersized. This is how his father operated, tossing out distractions to delay the inevitable confrontation and changing the conversation. It worked on a young, hot-headed Havik, but no longer.

  “Did you imagine I would not find out?” he asked.

  Some internal piece of the energy blaster clicked into place. “It was an interesting experiment to see how long I could keep you distracted,” his father said.

  No. Not his father. Havik learned early that Kaos was the warlord first, and his father second, if at all, and at the moment Havik did not want to claim the male as his sire.

  “And what conclusion did you draw?” Havik wished he could claw back the question. He fell for Kaos’ distractions once again.

  His father looked up from the blaster and removed the spectacles. “You’re angry at me now, but you knew that Terran was a bad match for the clan, so you allowed yourself to be fooled. Perhaps even welcomed it.
”

  Allowed.

  Welcomed?

  His father’s arrogance disgusted him.

  “Vanessa was not—” Again, he nearly stepped into the male’s trap. “I cannot remain here,” Havik said.

  “No.” Kaos slotted the casing back on the blaster. It hummed to life, soft lights flashing as it powered up. “I went through too much work orchestrating events for you to run away now. You are my only son. You will take another mate—a suitable female—and give me strong grandsons.”

  “What trouble? Deceiving my mate into thinking I rejected her? Deceiving me about her death? Taking away the only thing that has ever belonged to me?” Havik’s voice rose as he spoke, until he shouted the last words.

  Kaos regarded him with a cool expression. “Terrans are unsuitable as a species. Have you ever wondered why there are so few Terran mates in the clan? Did the runt tell you that?”

  He had not, but Havik said nothing.

  Just as well, Kaos’ question was rhetorical as he continued to speak. “The males are given the choice to reject the female or leave the clan.”

  “That is no choice at all.” When Havik learned of his match, he immediately felt possessive of the female, sight unseen. He could not imagine a male willingly giving up his mate when faced with such an ultimatum. “How many good warriors have you driven away?”

  “Such judgment in your tone when you’re young enough to still be tripping over your tail.” Kaos shook his head and made a sympathetic clicking noise, but Havik sensed the insincerity.

  His warlord—his father—was mocking him.

  Havik growled with frustration. The blaster lay on the table between them. Kaos lifted one brow, curious to see what Havik would do.

  “How many?”

  “Enough. One warrior is much like another,” Kaos said, giving a dismissive wave of one hand. “Those who could not be replaced were allowed to keep their inferior mates.” Kaos gave Havik an appraising look. “And you.”