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“Very little, soft princeling. But I know much of sweetness and see that you could use a treat.” His voice had taken on a familiar purr, the kind that tingled straight down my spine and tempted me into hidden alcoves and treacherous jungles where we might escape the doubtful eyes of the Thorzi for a while.
“I’m in no mood for that,” I snapped, annoyed already by his incessant need to act as if this did not matter. Our people were dying, our legacy in jeopardy as we relied on humans to save us, and all he could think of was a touch and tumble.
He scoffed, bumping into my arm with a familiarity we saved for bonded warrior pairs, or for mates we both doubted we would ever have. No true-born Thorzi warrior would submit to a hybrid son, and no prince could become king who could not command his own bedchamber.
“You pout for nothing! Your father will name you heir. You will be king of all Thorzan. Rejoice, sulker! Our destinies will be made when you take the throne. No more holding our people back. No more weakness and simpering.”
Jax was grinning, his full lips split over his gleaming white teeth. If I became king, he would be the first warrior of Thorzan, the one I chose to stand at my side, where he had stood since we were children.
But when he spoke of our people, he did not mean Thorzi. He meant us—Rantor and Jax and Vorian and Lethen and me—and all the others like us. The sons of Thorzi and humans taken from Earth, the faraway planet of my mother’s people.
We were hybrids—smaller than the Thorzi, our pink and brown skins quicker to burn in the light of Lyr, our sacred star. We could bear fewer marks of power. We were weaker.
Once, the Thorzi were great fighters. Star-marked warriors with powers granted by the sacred second star of our people, and the mages who could harness and amplify that power standing by their sides. We had taken this inhospitable world and made it our own. But the sacrifice for our hubris was our progeny. Mages had disappeared, and worse, our people lost the ability to continue our species. Only the dedication of Crux the Progenitor in finding suitable genetic mates had saved us. Even now, he led an expedition to Earth to obtain the material needed to continue our species. It was our last hope, and it was failing.
My father would have named me his heir already, if I were not hybrid. If I weren’t half human.
But I was, and now, I was meant to breed. I would mix my genetic material with a true-born Thorzi, and then—then, my people hoped, there would come a deserving heir.
I was not he.
Jax grabbed me by the arm and pulled me around, the heel of his hand there to give my chest a solid thunk when I came to a stop. “You are the light of your father’s heart, Kaelum. He will choose you. Stop worrying.”
I sighed, hanging my head as much from the weight of my title as to keep my scowl hidden and protect my foul mood. I’d not have Jax pull me out of it with his good nature.
“Thank me, dear friend,” Jax said, thumping his palm against my chest again, “for I have the answer to all of your woes.”
That, finally, earned him a glance, and a skeptically lifted brow. “Is that so?”
“Yes. You are a great commander, are you not?”
My frown returned. Some days, I thought I was. I had earned my place on my ship, had fought in many battles and slain many enemies. I had a necklace made of the teeth of a zintar I had killed with nothing but my own hands. For seventeen revolutions, I had fought to earn my father’s love and my people’s esteem.
Yet now, I felt a flash of doubt. Had I earned my place, or had I been given it to satiate my father’s pride?
No. That was unacceptable. I was a Thorzi warrior, and I had time left to prove my greatness.
I rolled my shoulders back, turned my head up, and met Jax’s bright eyes. “I am.”
“Then we will patrol. We will rout out the Zathki scum and lay their heads at the base of your father’s throne. And then?” He spread out his arms and stepped farther down the hall, toward terrapads that would carry us to the dock of ships the palace maintained. “Then, you will become king, and I will destroy all who doubt you.”
CHAPTER3
LUCAS
Waking up was hell. My head was three sizes too small for my swollen brain, my mouth tasted like dirty sawdust, and I was prepared to call the day a loss and go back to sleep for the rest of the year. The last three months of any year were no prize in a small Colorado mountain town.
Oh, and my phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Dammit, how late was it? Was I late to work and getting a pissy call from Katie about it?
I reached for my pocket and found it... missing. My pocket, and not only the phone, was missing.
I pried my eyes open, even though they felt gritty and glued shut, and looked down to find myself in a sort of beige, short-sleeved turtleneck shift dress. With the utilitarian feel, if it had tied in the back, I’d have called it a hospital gown.
But it didn’t. And it was sure as hell no fashion I’d ever pick for myself. Or anyone else.
The ringing cut off, and that was when I realized it hadn’t resembled my ringtone or alarm at all. More like a buzzing, really.
Like it was a movie, my brain cut to an image of a giant blue alien, looking down at me impassively as I stared at him, and then passed out.
