Stolen by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 7)

“Don’t let your guard down now,” Khrys warns. He’s back on his feet, and his stance is that of a warrior, peering around. “Work fast. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

“We’re alone, except for the antlex. Right?” It’s beautiful and empty, even with the darkening skies, just us and some far off animals and the rolling fields, miles of them, as far as the eye can see. There’s a closer herd of antlex, too. Their musky odor drifts over on the breeze, mixing with the fresh scent of the fields.

“Why do you have a bad feeling?” He is a warrior, after all. I should pay attention to his intuition. I stand up and check the area, but I don’t see or hear anything unusual.

“It seems too easy.” He lowers his voice. “I’m not used to simple situations. But the only thing around is the beasts.” He shakes his head. “Keep an eye out while you work.”

I slide the first canvas bag off my shoulder, pull on the gloves, and remove the shears. Holding them in my gloved hand, I bend down. “Get as many as you can,” I urge, but he’s already busy and has half a bag filled.

The stalks are thick and reedy, but the sharp blades cut them like water. The pale blue blossoms are heavy with thick yellow pollen. On the ripest plants, the heads hang low, weighed down by their golden treasure.

“So many,” I whisper, piling flower after flower into my bag. On a whim, I taste some pollen, wondering if extra doses can keep me headache-free longer. It’s got a neutral taste, but is oddly appealing, so I eat more. Then I stuff some flowers into the pocket of my jacket, just in case I need them later. I feel the urgent need to have them on my person at all times.

“On Zandia, we have ag experts who can figure out how to make these grow.” Khrys looks at me. “Humans, Kailani.” He’s digging up a few by the roots and placing them into storage bags with root support.

“Slaves?”

“Not slaves. Humans must have a Zandian sponsor—a master, if you will, and they must be contributing members of society, but they are free. I told you that.”

“Free but with masters.”

“Yes. Usually their mate.”

Mate. I dart a look at him, heat suddenly swirling between my legs.

Would he be my mate? My sponsor?

My...master? I hated the word before now, but remembering the way he corrected me on the ship, I might not find such a master so unappealing.

I sneak a glance at his impossibly large hands. The way his horns tilt and lean in my direction when he catches me looking. His nostrils flare like he catches my scent, and I flush, realizing, suddenly, what he must smell.

My arousal. I’m wet for him. What would it be like to breed with such a male? I’ve never thought of such a thing without shuddering, but now, I find myself suddenly quite interested.

I give my head a shake. Focus, Kailani. We have flowers to pick.

My hands blur as I gather as many flowers as I can, stuffing the bag until it’s overfull, and I have to push the flowers down to close the water-tight seam. Then I start on filling my next sack.

“I’m getting the dried seeds, too.” He snips some withered blooms and shakes them into another container.

The sky rumbles. A sudden mist descends, patchy fog, thicker in some areas, swirling like smoke. “Veck, this weather is odd. We need to go soon. Let’s finish.” Khrys’s voice is taut.

I glance upward. The clouds have darkened and seem lower. Is the air thicker?

“I think it’s going to storm right now,” I whisper. “The pressure is changing fast. I feel it in my body.” I touch my ears and my chest.

Khrys nods. He says something, but it’s drowned out by a louder crash from the sky, like boulders tumbling down a metal chute. The closest antlex tense up; one flicks its tail, and another goes silent, head to the side. Without warning, I feel the unease that Krys seemed to sense before, but I can’t tell why—

Suddenly Khrys’s horns shoot up. “Kailani!” His voice is sharp. “Get down. Now.”

He grabs me and tugs my arm hard, and I crash down beside him into the packed earth, crushing flowers beneath my body. Something whirs over my head, and the flower beside me is sliced clean from the stalk. By an arrow.

“We’re not alone. The locals have found us.”

My breath comes fast and my cheek presses into the dirt and rough detritus of old stems and leaves, dried out and scratchy. The scent of the crushed leaves and blossoms, green and woodsy, rises. “Where?”

“Straight out. And behind us. They’ve encircled us. Veck. They must have used the herds of antlex as a cover.”

“And now that they’re attacking, the animals are scared.” I put my hand out and touch the sack. “We have to get away.”