Stolen by the Zandian (Zandian Brides 7)

He slides a device from his tunic and presses it into my hand without looking, then hands me my laser gun from earlier. “Keep these safe.”

He uses his long-range laser gun to knock out the first approaching local, but dozens more appear over the tree line. “The craft is programmed to recognize my biomarkers and open for me. This is an override you can use to get aboard. I preprogrammed it with your fingerprint earlier, just in case. Get yourself there and wait for me.”

“But…”

“Go. Now.”

He shouts so fiercely that I take off racing, the bags bouncing on my leg, heavy and awkward.

He's right—I can’t run as fast or long as he, especially not with a load. This is the only way we can both make it. But I’m terrified.

I hear him roar a battle cry, but I don’t look back. Soon I’m far enough away that the screams of the natives are muted, and after a while, I hear nothing but odd squeaks from my bag.

And then I’m at the craft.

Kailani

I know I’m in the right place even though I see nothing because the device in my jacket pocket beeps urgently. When I pull it out and touch the smooth indent with my index finger, it glows green. Symbols I don’t understand appear, but I raise the device and point it in front of me.

Like magic, the craft shimmers, just at the edges, showing me the outlines of the curved hull and sleek base. The staircase hovers as if half formed.

I lurch forward and climb, and the door slides open with a pneumatic hiss. I toss myself inside, and when the door closes behind me, I sob with relief.

I’m alive, I’m safe, and I have the flowers. The vecking flowers. I use the curse Khrys says, liking the way it sounds. It’s a powerful word.

“Veck,” I mutter. I’m shaking. I drop into a seat on the craft, allowing myself to catch my breath then get up.

I suck down a nutrition tube and wrap myself in the silver blanket to warm up, standing at the port hole to peer out. Where is Khrys? He’s nowhere in sight. To my horror, the sky darkens.

“Where is he?” I mutter.

Squeak.

“What the stars?” I jump back. A lump unfurls itself from the top of the first flower sack. Sodden and dismal, but seemingly unharmed, it’s the whimmet from the field.

Squeak. It looks at me with its huge eyes.

“How did you get here?” I blink at the animal. “Were you hiding in my sack?”

Squee. It comes closer and winds around my legs, in and out. It has a pathetic-looking tail of snarled and matted fur, full of burrs and grass. It shakes itself and drops of muddy water fly around my boots.

“You don’t belong here.” But I can’t resist bending down and touching the top of its head. It’s ridiculously soft. “You’re supposedly a vermin.” But its nonjudgmental affection warms my heart, and I stroke it again.

It juts its chin into my thumb, as if enjoying the feeling of my fingers. Squee.

“I don’t have time for this!” I stand and pace to the port again. No Khrys.

On a whim, I sit down at his flight console and point the small hand device at the screen.

A musical chime rings out and the screen lights up with symbols and numbers.

I remember seeing him tap and glide his fingers along it and in front of the air earlier. There’s a symbol of an ear, so I touch it, and the screen cycles through languages. A few I don’t know, and then—Ocretion, the most common language in the galaxy.

“Start engines, Captain?” queries the screen. My pulse quickens.

I could leave. Right now. I have my flowers. I have a ship. I could be free—a free human in a galaxy in which we’re all enslaved. I don’t know where I’d go, but I could figure it out. I could try to find Jesel.

I hesitate. I look outside, where a few drops of rain are starting to flick the ports.