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  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2015 Angelique Voisen

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-280-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, as always, thank you for your support. To Evernight Publishing, for giving Brale, Dyos, and J’s story a home.

  MERCHANDISE

  Angelique Voisen

  Copyright © 2015

  Prologue

  Past

  Before a young Hadarian boy learns to grow addicted to the taste of a man or woman’s lips and heat and foolishly call it love, he has already been conditioned to hate. He learns to detest the centuries-old enemies of his race, the backstabbing serpentine Cobrini, without fully understanding why. No questions tolerated, only an expectation of obedience.

  Pillaging, raping, and killing without thought, bound by no oaths and beholden to no one, the Cobrini spat on the word “honor”. Seemed like reason enough for other warriors, but not him.

  “Sounds like freedom to me.” The newly minted Hadarian warrior hunkered in the dark with his brothers, nervously checking the straps of his breastplate plate, surcoat, even his newly polished steel-edge boots, before tightening his grip on sword and shield. Above their heads, the homeworld’s twin moons bled to an ominous shade of crimson.

  “At least we’re spared of the sight of the battlefield being painted copper.” Words didn’t mean much, not in the midst of a battlefield, but they lent him the courage he sorely needed. Helped him clear the grotesque image of his corpse floating in his head. What was the death of one unblooded Hadarian warrior against the rising death toll?

  “Did you say something, Storm?”

  The lie flowed out of his lips with ease, while the truth remained buried. “It’s a good night for a surprise siege, Captain.” What worth is our honor, if we sink to the level of our enemies and resort to tricks, not tactics?

  The cover of night at their side, their company snuck through the trees, their footsteps hardly making a sound. The closer they edged to the Cobrini encampment, the more Storm scented the sickening bloodlust rising from his fellow companions.

  They’re so eager to sink their untested blades into the vulnerable bellies of their sleeping enemies, without knowing why. Blindly following orders without knowing why. For the longest time, Storm always asked his gods why he’d been born different from the rest of his race. Flawed. Faulty.

  What did they really fight for? Honor? Freedom? Vengeance?

  No. Every Hadarian male conscripted to the army after coming of age knew they’d been born in chains. Years of being taught to hate, of conditioning, made them think they were freely fighting for their oaths, for the honor of king and planet.

  A hard grip tightened on Storm’s shoulder. Instinct made him unsheathed his blade, but a hand caught his wrist mid-draw. Only Captain Theras, his gray brows furrowed.

  “Easy, Storm. This is your first battle, but there is nothing to be afraid of.”

  Just beyond the last grove of thick and scarred trees, Storm spotted two rows of tents. Smoke rising from a dead fire, the twin coiled serpents of the Cobrini standard fluttering in the background.

  Beside him, some of the men from his company started a small fire. Archers dipped their arrows in the flickering flames, notching their bows, while the swordsmen tensed, ready to spring into action. Peerless and fearless each one of them, wonderful stock for the stories sung by minstrels. All ready to give their lives for the war, all except Storm.

  “Archers, loose!” Theras bellowed. Dozens of flaming arrows pierced the sky before descending on the tents of their unsuspecting foes. “Nock. Draw. Loose!”

  More arrows flew, tents and nearby trees burned, but still no screams. No visible sign of movement. Worry prickled down Storm’s spine.

  “Captain, something’s wrong.”

  “Forward, warriors!”

  His voice became lost in the din of battle cries and blades clanging on shield. The warriors in his company charged forward with thoughtless regard, almost as if they flew rather than ran. Storm’s legs refused to move. His arms felt heavy, suddenly unused to the weight of heavy shield and sword.

  “Die, Cobrini scum!”

  “Tonight, you snakes meet your foul end!”

  Storm’s stomach dropped. A black seething mass poured from trees right behind the encampment, their numbers far too many to count. A trap. They expected a dozen men, not three times that number.

  “By the gods,” Storm breathed. They hadn’t been ordered here by their superiors to mount a surprise siege. They’d been sent here to die.

  Anger welled inside him, urging his legs forward, but he only managed a few steps before sinking to his knees. The gasping and dying cries of his company filled the air.

  “No pleading and begging though. Hadarian honor demands it.” Storm broke out into hysterical giggles, unaware his sword and shield clattered on the forest ground.

  “Look what I chanced upon.”

  At the voice, Storm began fumbling for his dropped sword. No time for relief as his hands grasped the hilt. He leaped up to his feet, no easy feat given the weight of his armor, but self-preservation fortunately won.

  Steel kissed, clashed, and made sparks. Storm hissed through his teeth, seeing his opponent. Pale skin, slitted serpentine eyes, and the black military Cobrini uniform.

  Thinking of his lost and silenced brothers, Storm let rage fill him, strengthen him. The reckless fury of his thrusts forced his opponent’s back to a tree. The Cobrini let out a snarl when Storm disarmed him, nicking a long cut across his sword arm. The wicked curved scimitar clattered to the ground with a satisfying sound.

  Storm pressed the edge of his blade against his enemy’s pale throat, his breathing hard and uneven.

  Despite the precarious situation he was in, the Cobrini spoke. “Get on with it then. Aren’t you going to slit my throat, little warrior?”

  Storm’s hand shook. Why? Why did he hesitate, because of his affliction? Born different. Born wrong. If it had been another Hadarian warrior, any brother in his company, the foul deed would have already been done.

  His enemy, his so-called dishonorable adversary, looked into the face of death and didn’t flinch. What could be said for him, who had remained cowering, while his company ran willingly into a slaughter fest?

  The Cobrini went on without a care in the world, speaking so casually as if they were boon companions or just two civilians meeting for the first time on a bloody date. “If you haven’t decided what exactly you want to do to me, why don’t we introduce yourselves? I’m Second Lieutenant Brale Kevlas of the Cobrini Army’s fifty-sixth division. Well, I stand corrected. I don’t pull any rank now that I’ve deserted, so you can just call me Brale.”

  Furious, Storm pressed the blade further, drawing a thin line of blood. He snarled. “Your dishonorable tricks would not work on me, Cobrini. Deserter? Don’t take me for a fool.”

  Brale sobered up. “From my angle, you’re the smartest of the lot that just walked into our trap. Besides, I do not think you’re entitled to throw the word ‘honor’ so freely around, eh?”

  Shame made his cheeks burn. The faces of the men he’d trained with, who’d lost their lives
for no reason other than fulfilling some ancient Hadarian commander’s blind hate, haunted him. Would continue to haunt him for years after, but he didn’t regret following them to their end. Dirty truth of the matter, but honest truth nonetheless.

  Looking calmly at Brale, it occurred to Storm he no longer saw a faceless enemy he’d been taught all his life to hate, but just another man. Even worse, he saw a man whose gaze reflected a soul as confused and haunted as his own.

  “I’ll kill you,” Storm whispered, suddenly spooked.

  Brale and he stood at opposite ends of the spectrum—Hadarian and Cobrini, captor and captive. Enemy. Soul mate. Storm wanted to laugh hysterically like a lunatic again, to weep, to scream at his gods at the absurdity of the situation.

  “Why haven’t you?” Brale taunted back.

  Storm loosened his grip. “Because we are too frighteningly alike.”

  Brale’s hand lashed out, clamping on his sword arm like a vise, forcing Storm to drop his steel with a shriek. Not as alike as I’d like to think. Fucking fool. Did I really think he’d accord me the same courtesies I did him? Make the same mistakes I did?

  “Your name?” Brale repeated.

  “Do you think I will give the man who kills me, my name?” Storm sneered.

  Brale’s lofty look of confidence unsettled him. The look shattered the remains of his pride. His pulse unexpectedly leaped at the surface of his skin. Storm’s heart miserably fluttered and thudded agonizingly against his chest, like a bird straining to be free of its cage.

  “Before a young Hadarian boy learns to grow addicted to the taste of a man or woman’s lips and heat and foolishly call it love, he’s already been conditioned to hate,” Storm whispered.

  Brale’s hands snaked around his throat like a noose. Storm didn’t fight, didn’t even make an effort of it. Why bother fighting when he’d fought all his life? Yielding to an enemy who understood him more than any other Hadarian would, well, not such a bad way to go.

  “What did you say?” Brale whispered, voice cracking, fingers shaking. “Why the hell aren’t you fighting me? Don’t you want desperately to live?”

  “Freedom and choices are just illusions, always have been. If none of us can see past the bars of our invisible cage, then we’re all born wrong.” Storm looked straight into Brale’s eyes. “Kill me, set me free.”

  “You crazy, selfish, and miserable bastard. Give me your name at least, before I strangle all the life out of you,” Brale growled, fingers on his throat trembling.

  Storm’s lips quirked to a crooked smile, his last attempt at defiance peeling away when Brale leaned in close and mashed his lips against his. Heat mercilessly seared down his throat, and Brale’s hands fell away from his throat, tangling into his hair. Pain, sweet and subtle, ran through his scalp.

  “Your name,” Brale hissed, parting his mouth from Storm’s tormented lips.

  Storm couldn’t speak. His head reeled in confusion. Brale reached downwards, past the leather brigandine he wore under his chest plate, disappearing to his trousers. His fingers found what it sought. Storm’s cheeks burned, this time with shame.

  “Tell me your name,” Brale demanded, beginning to fist his cock.

  Up and down, relentlessly, rhythmically, as if his hand and Storm’s prick were old friends. Each rough movement stirred and forced back something inside Storm. Life, maybe. Confidence certainly. Unwavering belief something else existed beyond the sea of despair they’d both swum in for most of their lives.

  A moan tore out of him. His entire body trembled, wanting to be rid of his cumbersome armor so flesh could clash and collide.

  Inappropriate. Abhorrent thoughts.

  What about the Cobrini company stationed just a few feet from them? Some part of Storm, the terrified part of him, wanted to be caught so this illogical charade would end. The other part of him didn’t care. Let the world condemn them. Let it see centuries of sown hatred unraveling and disappearing in a single night.

  When Brale asked again, he finally answered. “Dyos Storm.”

  “Dyos, eh. Good solid Hadarian name. Well, Dyos.” Brale threw a glance over his shoulder. “I think it’s about time we make our escape.”

  Chapter One

  Present

  “I will not repeat myself again. Release my kinsman, you dishonorable Cobrini fiend, or face the consequences!” the Hadarian commander yelled.

  Brale kept his utility blade pressed directly against the temple of his Hadarian captive. The warrior put up quite a struggle, but given Brale’s more solid build, he had no problems restraining his slender, well-built pretty hostage.

  Need to be careful. Only have a single shot at this. Brale had no illusions Farr would follow on his threat immediately. His first impression of the lieutenant? Farr embodied everything that defined the proud Hadarian warrior race. Too bad Brale also displayed the cunning, serpentine, and greedy stereotype of his Cobrini heritage.

  “Would you kindly give me a few minutes to think this through, Lieutenant Farr?”

  Farr made a disgusted sound in his throat, but as his honor demanded, he raised a hand to stop his fellow warriors from gunning or gutting down Brale. Brale’s tongue slid out to taste the emotions permeating the air. Even standing a few feet away from the Hadarians in the cargo bay, Brale could practically smell the thirst for bloodshed on them.

  The tense lines of their bodies, the hard expressions on their faces, betrayed their killing intent.

  “Lieutenant, the last thing this Cobrini scum deserves is our mercy,” one Hadarian shouted.

  “If he’s as honorable as he claims, then he would fight you, or either of us in a one-on-one duel to settle this fight,” another Hadarian cut in.

  After centuries of war, neither of their races had given each other an inch. It was a sorry business, this ongoing war, but unlike most of the members of his power-hungry race, the last thing Brale was interested in was risking his life. After fighting in the Cobrini army for years, he decided he had seen his fair share of bloodshed and loss.

  Brale may be good at killing, but that part of his life was over. He rather liked living and working as a freelance bounty hunter far too much, thank you very much.

  “What say you, Cobrini? Will you fight me one-on-one and settle this stalemate once and for all?” Farr said. “In my opinion, it seems more than fair, given you were fool enough to raid this merchant vessel and fool enough to get caught.”

  “When I took on this job, there was no mention of a Hadarian battle cruiser. Methinks you and your fine crew of bloodthirsty warriors cannot be simply just passing by for a game of cards.” Brale knew he’d hit the mark when the lines of Farr’s face tightened. “Unless there’s some shady business afoot?”

  “Lieutenant,” one of the warriors said impatiently. “This Cobrini scum must be eliminated at all costs.”

  “Aye. I’m afraid my offer has just expired, Cobrini. You are far too smart for your own good.” Farr made a purposeful step towards him, halting when Brale pressed the tip of his knife to the throat of his hostage. The small cut drew a line of blood.

  “Hadarians sacrificing their kinsmen to kill one Cobrini pirate for the good of the entire race? This is quite a predictable script we are following, Farr. Have you ever thought of changing it a little on occasion? ”

  “You dare question my honor, Cobrini? What does your race know of honor? Over the last month alone, Cobrini raiding ships have hit unsuspecting towns and villages near our northern planet shores.”

  One more step and he was free. Brale’s boots finally touched the edge of an enormous and bulky object covered by a sheet. Underneath the sheet was an emergency hovercraft strapped with the merchandise he and his partner were paid to recover. Once they got the package delivered to their well-paying client, Brale and his partner could finally retire and buy an island on some expensive off-world tropical planet.

  They’d still take on small jobs here and there just to keep life interesting, but they’ll no longer
be under the direct line of fire.

  “I am truly sorry, kinsman,” Farr said with obvious regret to Brale’s captive.

  His warriors raised their laser rifles. The Hadarian commander was a little more progressive than the other officers of the Hadarian army, Brale decided, by daring to bring modern weaponry. It was a curious and alarming observation, and one he could examine another time. He wasn’t out of the frying pan yet.

  “Your name, kinsman, so we may offer your spirit and sacrifice to our great Hadarian gods?” Farr was asking.

  “Fuck the gods. Where were the damn gods, when those in my squadron needed them the most?” Dyos spat.

  Farr looked taken aback by Dyos’s obscene curse, probably unused to hearing any Hadarian sound so crass. Brale loosened his arm and dropped the blade. It was getting stiff anyway. Farr’s eyes narrowed with calculation.

  “Sacrilegious traitor. You’re working with a Cobrini pirate?” Farr snarled.

  Laser shots whizzed through the air. Brale yelped when one nearly caught him in the foot. He hopped over to the hovercraft, pulling the canvas sheet aside and jamming his fist at the sensor pad to open the craft’s domed pilot seat.

  “Dyos, we need to make our exit before fortune favors these Hadarians and they manage to blow up our only escape craft,” he yelled.

  Dyos slipped into the second seat behind his. The transparent dome closed above their heads, deflecting the laser shots aimed at them, at least for a while. Brale programmed the tiny craft for flight. Soon enough, the engine hummed under them. The vessel hovered several inches up the enormous cargo bay of the merchant ship.

  He spotted Farr shouting against the chaos, probably telling his men to close the half-opened airlock still connecting the bay to their ship.

  “Is this piece of junk equipped with any offensive weaponry?” Dyos asked behind him.