Zandian Lights (Zandian Brides 4)

I grab the pack from the floor and put it to my mouth, gasping at the healing mixture that soothes my scarred tissue. There’s a reason I’m no longer a fighter—I can’t keep up in these extreme situations. Thank veck for Kianna’s unusual assistance.

Kianna. Why does thinking of her sear so badly?

“Leave her for now.” Domm raises his hand. “We will close the pod for maximal healing.”

As the pneumatic lid hisses shut, the lights glow more brightly, and her chest rises and falls.

“Will she be all right?” Mirelle, wide-eyed, puts her hands on the glass, her face right up to it.

We’re all mesmerized. We don’t see Zandian females often and this one is stunning.

“She’s exquisite.” Mirelle’s voice is hushed. “She’ll be okay, yes?”

None of us speak. Finally, Lanz says, “I think so, yes. She was standing and cognizant when we arrived, just weak, probably from life without crystals. Unless she has severe internal injuries, she should recover and grow strong quickly.”

Hektor clenches his fists. “If she needs it, I will give her my blood. I’ll give her everything.” His voice is tortured.

“I claimed her.” I clench my fists. Again, the searing in my chest. “I spoke to her as I carried her. Told her she was mine.” It was wrong of me to lay claim to her, but I have no choice. My promise to my father must be fulfilled. Even though for the survival of the species, King Zander probably would grant her to no fewer than five males. But I don’t have to petition to mate her. Not with the king’s decree for Zandian Lights.

“Do you think I care about that?” His eyes burn. “I just want to see her live. And thrive. If she chooses you, that does not matter.”

I look away. “Brother, I do not wish to fight.”

Lanz steps up. “None of us will fight, and we all need to replenish. Mirelle, fluids, now. The rest of you, use your crystal enhancers. Mykl, use another lung breathing pack. That’s an order.”

We fall back, obey, eyeing the healing pod as we use our kits. Hektor can’t take his eyes off her, and I should snarl and hold my ground, but I find myself remarkably… unenthusiastic.

Even as I stare at the female I’ve claimed, my thoughts turn back to Kianna. Her scent, the feel of her silky hair between my fingers, her human beauty—different, but no less exquisite. How she helped me get to this very moment. I feel such gratitude for her that I wish she were here so I could look into her eyes and tell her how heroic she was, how special.

In my mind, I kiss her. I imagine how she’ll react, her little moans and whimpers. I remember how soft her skin was. Unlike Zandian skin, which is much firmer and harder. Do Zandian females even enjoy the mix of pain and pleasure that the little soft humans seem to crave? I frown. It’s hard to imagine that they would. Although who knows?

The female stirs. Opens her eyes. Clear brown rimmed with purple. She raises a hand and the dome hisses open.

She sits up, blinks, then stands.

“My name is Alena.” She speaks in Ocretian, then switches, haltingly, to Zandian. As if she barely remembers the words. “I heard Zandia was free, but I didn’t know how to get word to my species. But you found me, anyway.”

She looks at each of us in turn, lingering on Hektor. She gives him a small smile, then turns to me. Her smile fades. She looks into my eyes, determined and steadfast. “You claimed me while you saved me.” She bows her head. “I am grateful for this rescue. I would be honored to be your mate.”

I step forward and take her long, elegant hand in mine. It’s cool and firm, and doesn’t send sparks of arousal down my spine. She’s tall, like me. I sense her quiet strength in the way she stands.

She looks once more at Hektor, then down at the floor. Her shoulders slump.

“I am Mykl. I promise, I will do everything to make your life perfect.” I raise my voice to catch her apparently flagging attention.

She looks up at me, and I stare into those eyes, so similar to mine. I wait to feel a spark of intense recognition, as if our essences are meant to be together. Instead, I note that she has flecks of gold in her irises and that she smells different from Kianna.

I take a breath and squeeze her hands. “Perfect,” I repeat, enunciating, as if saying it more carefully will make it so.

This is everything I wanted. My father’s dying wish, my promise, my legacy. My genes. She’s the one I’ve been waiting for all this time.

Why does it feel so very wrong?

Chapter 8

Kianna

* * *