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  A second later, he was gone, running toward the library.

  Isa sat up and looked at the truck with its engine running and three doors left hanging open. Then she looked at the library door. From here she could see a pile of books strewn across the entry. Another handful hit the door, knocking the bell around. There were shadows of at least three people—or things—moving around in there.

  Something bad was going on inside, and the man who’d saved her life was in there with it.

  She searched for her cell phone to call the police, but it wasn’t in her pocket. Her purse lay nearby, its contents strewn over the frozen grass. She didn’t see her phone, but maybe it hadn’t been knocked out of her purse.

  The front doors of the library shattered. Glass crashed, tinkling as it hit the ground. An instant later, she felt the heavy impact of the fleshy creature as it hit the asphalt. It kept sliding until it collided with her car hard enough to rock it.

  The thing was much more agile than anything its size had a right to be. Within seconds, it regained its footing and charged back into the library, chin down, fur-wrapped feet moving easily over the ice.

  She froze there, still and silent, hoping it wouldn’t notice her crouched by the bushes.

  As soon as it plunged back through the doors, she grabbed up her purse and dug through its contents. Her phone wasn’t there, either. And she desperately needed a phone. Any creature that could take a hit like that and keep going needed more firepower than one truck full of unarmed people could offer. They needed help. Police with lots of guns, and maybe a sturdy cage.

  She walked on the grass to keep from slipping, edging around the perimeter of the parking lot until she was close to where the salt had been laid out. She really didn’t want to go back in there, but someone needed to call for help, and with all the commotion going on in the library, she wasn’t sure that any of the people inside had found the time. That left the job to her.

  Isa peered through the cluttered doorway, making certain the coast was clear. She could see motion at the back of the library. More books flew around. A shelf toppled over, making her cringe so hard it hurt her injured shoulder.

  Mrs. Bird was going to be pissed that all of her beloved books were being abused so mercilessly.

  With no one in sight, Isa hurried inside and headed straight for the phone behind the front desk.

  Her cherry red cell was sitting on the desk, right where she’d left it. She’d been in such a hurry to get out, she’d forgotten it. But now she scooped it up and tucked it in her pocket while she used the land line to dial 911. If she had to run, she could leave the phone off the hook so the police would know where to come.

  She hadn’t yet finished punching the last number when something flew past her head, missing by less than an inch. Before her hair had stopped swaying, she looked up and saw the fleshy gray creature lumbering toward her. Its orange eyes were lit with victory, its huge hands stretched out for her. “Child of Loriah.”

  She didn’t stop to think, she just took the object in her hand and aimed at its head. The cordless phone sailed over the desk, hitting the creature in the cheek. Its many folds of skin flapped as they absorbed the blow. She hadn’t even slowed it down, and now the phone was gone.

  Isa pushed herself back, using both arms and legs to get out of his way. Her dressy shoes slipped on the floor. Her long skirt impeded her movement. It felt like she scrambled forever—like some kind of cartoon character—but finally she found enough traction to spin around the giant desk and duck behind a sturdy shelf.

  Through the stacks, she could see three men charging her way. The first in line was the man who’d flown through the air to snatch her out of the way of the truck. The second was shirtless, with deep bronze skin, wearing wide leather bands around his wrists. The third had a shaved head that was covered in intricate tattoos. All three of them were big, scary, and headed her way.

  The man with the braid wore four rings on each hand. He clapped his hands together, and when he pulled them apart, filaments of blue-white electricity stretched between the rings, forming a kind of net.

  He let out a bellow so loud the shelves rattled. She didn’t understand the word he’d uttered, but he said it with such force and conviction—such complete and utter command—she felt herself freezing in place.

  So did the creature. It stopped and turned, baring thick teeth that looked like chips of gray granite. A deep rumbling warning vibrated its lips and cheeks.

  The man with the braid stepped onto the top of the main desk, moving as casually as if he’d gone up a single stair. The light between his hands crackled as he spread his arms wider, splaying his fingers to thicken the streaming web of electricity.

  “Warrian,” the bare-chested man said. “The woman.”

  “I see her,” the man with the braid answered. “I will let no harm reach her.”

  Isa waited for the metallic taste of his lie to coat her tongue, but none came. He truly believed she was going to be okay.

  For some reason that bolstered her courage. She’d seem some freaky things tonight—his electrical finger web included. Maybe he knew something she didn’t. She sure as hell hoped so.

  His gaze flicked to her for a split second. “Run.” It wasn’t an order. It was barely a suggestion. But his complete confidence surged through her, both infectious and welcome.

  Isa ran for the door.

  Before her second step had landed, she saw him move. The man called Warrian leaped from the desk, flying toward the beast. The web of light flowed between his hands like water, answering to even his smallest of movements.

  His booted feet hit the creature’s saggy stomach and bounced off, landing neatly on the floor in front of it. It reached down beneath its tattered clothing and pulled out two red blades—each one the length of her forearm. They looked like table knives in its giant fists, but much more deadly.

  The blades moved toward the heart of the man who’d saved her life, yanking a scream of fear from her chest. She stopped, trying to warn him of the danger, but no words came out. She couldn’t look away. She stared in shock, completely consumed by the battle playing out.

  Warrian moved his hands in a big circle, making the web dance between them. The strands looped around the creature’s wrists. He pulled hard, causing the muscles of his arms and back to bulge under the strain.

  Both of the creature’s hands flew off, completely severed by the brilliant net. Not a single drop of blood fell, but the smell of burning hair and flesh filled the air. The creature roared in pain and rage, but the man didn’t back down. He jumped up, tumbling over the creature’s head and looping his webbing around its neck. By the time his feet were firmly on the floor, the creature’s severed head was tumbling down, bouncing off its fleshy gut to land on a pile of books.

  Isa stumbled to a halt, her heart pounding hard. She couldn’t believe what she’d seen, and yet the reality of it was all around her in the form of toppled books, monstrous body parts, and the smell of charred flesh.

  All three men turned and stared at her as if expecting her to say something. Or maybe they were seeking applause.

  Whatever it was they wanted, they were going to have to get it from someone else.

  “I’m calling the police,” she said, pulling her phone from her pocket.

  The bare-chested man reached for her phone to stop her, but Warrian gave him a warning growl. “She is of House Loriah. You may not touch.”

  “Are you certain?” asked the dark-skinned guy who was mostly naked and doing a fine job of pulling off the look.

  “I am. She looks like her mother.”

  Isa went still in the act of dialing her phone. “What did you say?” she asked, nearly too shaken to get the words out. Her mother had been dead for years, since Isa was an infant. She didn’t even have pictures, and yet somehow this man knew what her mother looked like?

  His gaze hit hers and held fast as he made his way to her, stepping over toppled furniture and books a
s if they were no more an obstacle than blades of grass. When he got close, she had to tip her head back to look him in the eyes.

  He bowed his head. His voice was calm, almost reverent. “I am Warrian of House Loriah, Your Imperial Majyr. You look like your mother.”

  Imperial what? She had no idea what he was talking about. He had to be mistaken. “My mother is dead.”

  He closed his eyes and bowed his head momentarily. “Yes, sadly. A fate which will not find you while I yet breathe.”

  “We can’t stay here,” the man with the tattooed head said.

  Her savior seemed to be in charge, and started issuing orders. “Talan, destroy the body, then head outside and scout the area.”

  Talan, the tattooed man, nodded and pulled a small metallic spike from his belt. He knelt over one of the huge, severed hands, plunged the metal spike in it, and seconds later, the hand fell into a pile of white powder.

  Isa stared in shocked gratitude. At least no one was going to have to clean that up.

  “Radek,” said Warrian, turning to the half-naked guy. “Search the building. Then we go separate ways. The Dregorgs rarely travel alone. There will be a hunt.”

  Radek clenched his fists in anticipation. “We’ll need her scent to draw them away.”

  Isa was having trouble keeping up with everything. It was all happening too fast. But there was one thing she had caught. She looked up at the man with the braid. “You mean there are more of those things out there?”

  “Many. We must go.” His gaze slid past her to the parking lot. “Do you have a vehicle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your keys.” He held out his hand in expectation.

  His palm was wide, square, and marked with calluses—the hand of a man who was not a stranger to hard work. She remembered how his fingers had felt sliding through her hair as he searched for signs of injury, gentle yet insistent, just as his mouth had been. She swore she could still feel the heat of his touch lingering along her scalp.

  Each long, thick finger was encircled by a ring covered in tiny, intricate symbols she didn’t recognize. The rings on his right hand were silver, while those on his left were a rich, dark gold. There were no more strands of electricity spilling from the odd weapon, but she knew what it was capable of doing.

  Isa swallowed hard to make room in her tight throat to speak. “I’m not giving you my keys. How will I get home?”

  “You will not go home, Your Imperial Majyr. The Dregorg found you, and once his master sees what was done here he will know your true identity. More Dregorgs will follow.”

  Who she was? A sick sense of dread began forming at the base of her skull. She wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but something in the back of her mind began to tingle, like a distant memory slowly surfacing. “Just exactly where is it I should go then?”

  “With me.”

  “Of course,” she snapped, fear and frustration getting the best of her. “Why didn’t I think of that? Just hop into a car with a monster-killing stranger with electrified hands. No big deal.”

  “I will not harm you,” he said.

  And unlike with the creature, she tasted absolutely no hint of a lie in his words. “I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.”

  He flinched as if her words had hurt him, as if her lack of trust was some kind of wound to his pride. “I will not leave your side. You’re not safe here.”

  “And where will I be safe?”

  “That is a question that requires a longer answer than we have time. Please. Come with me. Your life depends on your cooperation.”

  Again, no lie. Whoever this guy was, he really believed what he was selling.

  “What happens if I refuse?” she asked.

  His shoulders dipped on a sigh. “Then I will force you to come with me and accept the consequences of my actions once you’re safely away from this threat.”

  “You mean you’ll abduct me against my will and just deal with me being pissed? You know I’ll press charges, right?”

  He frowned for a second as if he didn’t understand her words. Between that and the slight accent lilting through his words, she was sure that English wasn’t his native language.

  “No,” Radek, the bare-chested man, said. “Warrian means that he’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, and then when he gets you back safely where you belong, they’ll execute him for daring to go against your will. Is that what you want for the man who saved your life?”

  Isa was struggling to find some scrap of sense or thread of logic she could grasp on to help her figure out what was going on. No one was going to execute him. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but all that she could shove out was a fumbling, “No, of course not.”

  “Then give him your damn keys.”

  She looked at Warrian’s square palm, then up at his face. There was no hint of anxiety in his expression. All she could see was a stoic kind of patience; he’d accept her decision—whatever it might be. His gaze moved slowly over her face, as if he was looking for something or memorizing her features. He lingered over her mouth for a moment, his eyelids drooping slightly.

  She didn’t know who this man was or where he’d come from, but the need to know more swelled from deep within. Every time she glanced at the braid, some distant memory tugged at her, tickling the edges of her mind. It was almost like she knew him, except that if she’d ever met a man like him before, she never would have forgotten it.

  Warrian was too big, too solid, too completely male. Even with ribbon in his hair, he screamed badass.

  Isa had been staring too long, yet she couldn’t pull her eyes away. Watching him calmed her nerves in a way she couldn’t understand. And every time she looked at his mouth, she remembered the feel of his warmth sliding into her and the spicy taste of him.

  She licked her lips to see if any hint of him remained. Warrian’s shirt shifted as his stomach clenched, but other than that, he had not moved. He was still standing there, solemnly awaiting her decision.

  There were many things about what had happened in the last few minutes that Isa did not understand or care to dwell on. The one thing she knew for sure was that whoever this man was, she wasn’t quite ready to let him leave. He was the key to something—something important. And until she figured out what that was, she was willing to go along for the ride.

  “What the hell,” she said, slapping her keys into his hand. “It’s not like tonight can get any scarier.”

  Just then Talan came sprinting in from outside. The chains dangling from a multitude of piercings along his ear glittered under the fluorescent lights. “Two more Dregorgs are closing in fast. It’s time to go.”

  Isa sincerely wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  Chapter Two

  Warrian tried not to stare overly long at the empress. He’d already dishonored her by putting his mouth to hers, and he refused to add to that shame by gawking at her like some kind of besotted adolescent. No matter how beautiful she was.

  Fear stained the hollows beneath her cheekbones and widened her eyes. They were the color of deep, turbulent seas—a fathomless mix of blues, greens and grays. Her blond hair was worn loose, without a single sign of her house or status braded into the locks. Being in her presence like this was similar to seeing her in a state of undress—something only close family would ever witness back on Loriah. It was a form of intimacy that she wouldn’t understand, and, therefore, he would refuse to acknowledge. No matter how much it intrigued the baser parts of him. There was nothing to gain by embarrassing her, or shaming himself.

  His family already carried enough shame.

  Her frame was more delicate than it would have been had she been raised on her home world. The mass of this planet was slightly less, leaving her bones thinner and more breakable. His commander had warned him that she might appear strange, but there had been no warning that her fragile appearance would stir up and strengthen the protective instincts that had been bred into Warrian’s bloodline. It was his d
uty to see to her safety, but what he felt now went much deeper than duty, drilling down all the way to bone-deep, undeniable instinct.

  This woman was important, and he would give his life to see to her safety. That was to be expected. What surprised him was that he realized even if she hadn’t been from House Loriah, he would have felt exactly the same way. She was an ethereal, priceless creation that was meant to be protected. By him.

  Warrian tossed the empress’s keys to Talan, the soldier representing Imon’s national interests on this mission. A trio of chains dangled from metal loops along the outer edge of his ear, twinkling with tiny, complex charms. An intricate trail of markings covered his shaved skull, cascading down to disappear beneath his shirt.

  “Lead the Dregorgs away in her vehicle,” ordered Warrian.

  Talan nodded once. “I’ll need her scent. Something fresh for the Dregorgs to track.”

  Warrian nodded, and turned to the empress, regretting the haste with which he had to treat her. “I must pluck some of your hair.”

  She took a small step back, covering her head with trembling hands. “My hair?”

  Talan shifted impatiently, but didn’t touch her. No one outside of members of House Loriah would dare touch her. Warrian would only do so if absolutely necessary, which had happened within seconds of seeing her. Even now, the thought of cradling her slender body against his again was enough to make his stomach clench with the need to see her to safety.

  “The Dregorgs can track your scent,” said Talan. “We’re going to lead them away, but we need something that smells like you. Your hair, a piece of clothing—”

  “No clothing,” said Warrian. He wanted her as fully dressed as possible in front of these foreigners.

  She lowered her hands and leaned forward. “Okay. Sure. Whatever. Just do it fast before more of those whatever-you-called-thems come back.”

  “Dregorgs.” Warrian did his best to touch her as little as possible, but the strands clung together, forcing him to slide his fingers in deep enough to feel the silken glide of her hair over his skin. He separated two strands and gave them a quick tug.