His Human Prisoner (Zandian Masters 2)

Not that he was prejudiced, either. He’d grown up among aliens of all kinds. He didn’t have the luxury of presuming his species was better than another. But Zander and his pod were known for keeping to themselves, allowing only Zandians to work there or even enter the pod. The fact that Zander had invited his crew in for the meal meant he must really want something from Rok.

His crew sat at the far end of the table, but they didn’t seem to mind being relegated to the lower class section. Janu and Jaso, his two foster brothers, kept raising their glasses toward Rok and Zander in appreciation of the delicious meal. He was grateful they’d shown some modicum of manners, as the small but ferocious Stornigians could be as rowdy as animals, especially when there was wine involved.

Mierna, his Venusian copilot, had also obviously indulged in the wine, but then she functioned half-drunk on a regular basis, so that was nothing new. His giant, one-legged friend Gaurdo, an Elau, ate heartily but watched the entire affair in wary silence. Rok had rescued him from a pack of wild beasts outside a trading station once. That was how he’d lost the leg.

Depri had also taken in everything, particularly the opulence of the palatial pod. He’d probably already devised a hundred schemes for how Rok and his crew could benefit from trading with Zander.

When the meal ended, Prince Zander, his human mate, and her mother remained, along with four older males. Lamira was as beautiful as he remembered Lily, but without the fire behind her eyes. Lily had been magnificent—her treachery as impressive as the way she’d handled a weapon, burning determination in her gold-flecked green eyes. And her scent...he still remembered that feminine musk. He’d stroked himself off to fantasies with her in the months since she stole his ship. Particularly to the thought of punishing her soundly for her misdeeds.

Lamira and her mother had grilled him on everything he knew about Lily, which was little. Their excitement at hearing about her was not diminished by what he considered the considerable unlikelihood she was still alive. Escaped slaves didn’t last long in this universe, or any other, for that matter.

Still, he had a feeling there was something else Zander wanted from him, so he wasn’t surprised when, at last, the prince asked if he and his advisors might have a word in private.

Lamira and her mother, Leora, stood. “Your destiny is woven with ours,” she murmured, as if only half intending him to hear. “And it is great. You were born to lead armies.”

Zander seemed to take this prediction in stride, as if his mate normally spoke in riddles like a Venusian. Rok frowned, but didn’t have time to respond, as Lamira had already glided from the room, one hand on a slightly swollen belly, signaling what he’d missed before—she was pregnant.

His crew waited for his command. He gave a single nod, which they would understand to mean, retire to the ship but remain alert.

When they all had left, Zander touched his fingertips together and leaned back in his chair.

“Your primary occupation is as a pilot?”

Rok narrowed his eyes. If this was coming back to the smuggling warrant, he needed to lea

ve.

“Any battle experience?”

“Why? You planning on taking Zandia back?” He snorted.

The prince didn’t answer.

He sat forward in his chair, interest spiking. “You are, aren’t you?”

Zandians didn’t lie. Well, he might lie, to get himself out of a pinch with officials, but true Zandians didn’t. He watched Zander closely, waiting to see what he said.

The prince chose not to answer, which, to Rok, was as good as confirmation.

He tried to remember the vow his father used to give and lifted his fist, elbow bent at ninety degrees. “On Zandian honor, I will not speak of anything I hear here.”

Zander and the four warriors all held their fists aloft to acknowledge his vow.

“You have a battleship?”

“I may have access to a number of battleships.”

Rok’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? And you need pilots to fly them?”

“We are all experienced and battle-ready pilots,” he said, indicating the males present. “But I need hundreds more. There aren’t enough Zandians alive to build such an army.”

“Do you have the coin to hire such an army?” It was a rhetorical question, really. The Zandian prince was known for his enormous wealth, gained not only from what he’d escaped with, but from years of savvy investments.

Zander nodded.

He considered. Stornigians trained in combat flight were easy to come by, but they’d be unlikely to engage and fight with another species. If he led them, however, they might be willing. Still, could he find hundreds? He could only think of a dozen he might ask.

“I may be able to round up an army. I’d be their commander, though.”