Targeted

  Emily had pushed the thoughts away. He wouldn’t do that. He promised! He’s probably out there waiting, wanting to make sure I’m okay.

  Anyway, that was what she had to believe to pull off the plan that had formed in her mind. The plan she was about to put into effect right now.

  Lifting her chin, Emily gave herself one last look in the mirror.

  “Are you ready, my Khalla?” Lit’aal called through the closed fresher door.

  “Oh, yes,” Emily called back. “You better believe it—I’m ready.” She opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  The Sacred Grove was just as she remembered it except the green and purple trees had been decorated with small, white lights that winked and twinkled beautifully. At first Emily thought they were some kind of Christmas lights until she got a better look and realized they weren’t strung together on any kind of a wire. In fact, they appeared to be some kind of lightning bug type creatures. Except instead of the lights being in their abdomen, they were on two long stalks sticking out of their heads. Were they the creatures’ eyes?

  Before she could find out, a kind of procession started and she was walking down the aisle between the trees with Lit’aal right behind her.

  Waiting at the end of the aisle, standing in front of the huge statue of the Goddess of the Kindred, was Mother Chundra. The High Priestess wore a stern, no-nonsense look on her face. She was flanked on either side by the two male priests who had greeted them when Emily and Tragar first came to the Temple. They looked solemn and wise but Emily was sure they were just window dressing—the High Priestess was the only one with real power here and she knew it.

  Turra was standing by the priest on Mother Chundra’s right with a sour expression on her face. When Emily caught her eyes by accident, she looked away with a grimace. Apparently she was still pissed off that Emily had ejected her from her room yesterday—not that Emily gave a damn.

  On Mother Chundra’s left, Daro was waiting patiently, wearing a white robe that looked a little like a toga. Emily thought her would-be chosen mate looked sad, though he was trying not to show it. She saw his golden eyes flick over to Lit’aal with longing. The expression confirmed what Emily already knew—she wasn’t the one he really wanted. Well, good—he wasn’t the one for her either and knowing that made what she was going to do much easier.

  They reached the end of the aisle and she stood facing Daro while Mother Chundra cleared her throat. She waited until the assembled priestesses quieted down and began to speak.

  “We are gathered here today in the sight of the Goddess to join this Khalla-to-be with her chosen mate, who—”

  “Excuse me,” Emily interrupted loudly.

  Mother Chundra glared daggers at her and kept going.

  “As I was saying, we will join this Khalla-to-be with the mate whom she has chosen—”

  “Don’t you mean the mate you chose for me?” Emily demanded, raising her voice.

  The High Priestess couldn’t ignore her any more.

  “Be silent!” she barked. “The Khalla-to-be is not permitted to speak during the bonding ceremony.”

  “Or have anything to say about who she gets bonded to either, right?” Emily shot back.

  “How dare you profane these holy proceedings?” Mother Chundra’s green-on-green eyes flashed.

  “How dare you tell me who I can and can’t marry—er, bond with,” Emily asked angrily. “You don’t even know me.”

  “All I need to know is that you are a Khalla-to-be which puts you squarely under my authority,” Mother Chundra snapped. “Now be quiet and let us proceed.”

  “So I can be bonded for life to a man I don’t love?” Emily took a step back from the bonding ceremony party and slipped her hand in her sleeve.

  “You are the most obstinate and willful female I have ever had the misfortune to meet!” The High Priestess glared at her. “Guards! I need a gag for this Khalla-to-be so the ceremony can proceed in peace.”

  “I don’t think so…” Emily whipped the long, still oozing stalk of Bitter Sorrow plant out of her sleeve and held it up. “Do you know what this is?”

  Beside her, Lit’aal gave a gasp.

  “Bitter Sorrow! Oh my Khalla, be careful! That is the most dangerous of poisons!”

  “I figured it was,” Emily said grimly. “Stay back or I’ll use it.”

  “You would not dare!” Mother Chundra’s face was filled with disbelief but dancing far back in her green-on-green eyes, Emily thought she also saw fear.

  “Oh, yes I would,” she said grimly. “I’d much rather be dead than bonded to someone I don’t love for life.”

  “Guards—” The High Priestess called but Emily brought the oozing stalk right up to her mouth.

  “Stay back! I can drink the Black Milk before they can get to me. And how will it look to the rest of Rageron when they find out you let a Khalla-to-be kill herself right in the middle of the Sacred Grove?”

  “You insolent girl!” Mother Chundra stormed. “You—”

  “Okay, now listen up—this is how it’s going to go,” Emily said, raising her voice so everyone in the room could hear her. “First of all, I’m not getting bonded today. At least, not to Daro.” She spared the tall Beast Kindred a quick glance and saw the shocked look on his face. “No offense to you—you seem like a really nice guy. But you should bond with Lit’aal, not me.”

  “Oh, but my Khalla,” Lit’aal protested. “Daro is your chosen mate—not mine.”

  “No, he’s not. Tragar is.” Emily lifted her chin and glared at the High Priestess. “And you’re going to let me go to him right now or I’ll drink every bit of this nasty-smelling sap. I don’t care if it kills me—it’s better than the life you have planned for me.”

  Mother Chundra glared back at Emily, her eyes cold.

  “You are bluffing,” she said coolly. “You will do no such a thing. So if you are finished making a fool of yourself, we will continue.”

  “Fine—don’t believe me?” Emily lifted the ragged, oozing end of the plant stem to her lips. The acerbic scent of Drain-o hit her nose and she winced but didn’t let the smell stop her. Inside she could feel the other turning restlessly. Emily expected her to protest but instead, she felt only approval.

  “Do it—you’re right,” the other whispered in her brain. “Death is better than a life of slavery and a bonding without love. Anything is better than losing Tragar.”

  Emily was glad they were in agreement for once. She tilted the stalk and squeezed, waiting for the first oily drop of Black Milk to fall on her tongue…

  “Stop!” The deep, male voice thundered through the Sacred Grove. It startled Emily so much she nearly dropped the stalk of Bitter Sorrow. Looking up, she saw a commotion in the assembled priestesses who had gathered to watch the ceremony. As she watched, they parted, their pure white robes separating like waves in the ocean to let someone through. A large figure dressed all in black came striding down the aisle.

  Emily’s heart leapt.

  “Tragar!”

  “Emily…my Khalla.” He reached the front of the aisle and dropped to one knee before her. “Forgive me,” he said, looking up earnestly into her face. “Forgive me for not doing all in my power yesterday to stay with you.”

  “I forgive you—you’re here now,” Emily whispered.

  “Which does you no good, since I will simply have the Temple Guards remove you again. This time, permanently,” Mother Chundra declared. “Guards—”

  “Stop!” Tragar roared again. He rose to his feet and faced the High Priestess head-on. “I invoke the Right of Conflict to win this Khalla-to-be as my mate.”

  “You what?” The High Priestess looked completely nonplussed. “There is no such thing. You cannot—”

  “Actually, High Priestess, there is and he can.” Brother Hurx—the Council member with the long gray beard spoke up. He and Brother Gr’nir had been whispering together behind the priestess’s back and now he stepped forward.

  “Wha
t are you talking about?” Mother Chundra demanded. “How dare you contradict me?”

  “I must speak the truth of the Law—it is my office and my function,” Brother Hurx said gravely. “The Right of Conflict is an ancient law which has not been used for over one hundred cycles—since before you yourself came to power. But it is still valid.”

  “It allows one candidate to challenge another for the right to the Khalla-to-be’s hand,” Brother Gr’nir said, taking up where the other priest had left off. “And once it has been invoked, it must be followed through—preferably in the Arena of Conflict.”

  “The Arena of Conflict?” Mother Chundra looked more confused and angry than ever.

  “The grassy area behind the garden which you turned into the Dancing Pavilion,” Brother Hurx clarified. “In ancient times, it was used exclusively for contests such as this.”

  “But…but this cannot be!” Mother Chundra looked angrily at the other two Council Members. “This male is not worthy—he is a blasphemer!”

  “And he’s not under your thumb, isn’t that right?” Emily demanded. “Isn’t that the real reason you don’t want me with Tragar? Because I love him and he loves me and he won’t automatically follow your agenda?”

  “How dare you?” The High Priestess was giving her a murderous glare. “You cannot do this! You do not decide matters here—I do!”

  “In this, I am afraid you do not, Mother Chundra,” Brother Hurx said mildly. “As Brother Gr’nir and I explained, once the Right of Conflict has been invoked, it must be carried through.”

  “But this male—”

  “Was named a candidate by you, yourself,” Brother Gr’nir said blandly. “Had you rejected him outright and not so named him, he would have no right to invoke the ancient law. But since his candidacy was acknowledged by the High Priestess and Head of the Holy Council, he is well within his rights.”

  “I suggest we all go immediately to the Arena where this matter can be settled in combat,” Brother Hurx said.

  “We…I…” Mother Chundra seemed to be at a loss for words. Clearly, Emily thought, she was used to the other two Council Members just falling in line and doing everything she said. The fact that they were backing someone besides her seemed to have left her momentarily at a loss.

  “Come, the sooner we begin, the sooner the victor can be declared,” Brother Gr’nir urged her. “We must hurry—the Khalla-to-be may slip into the fourth stage of her Tenrah at any moment.”

  “Very well,” Mother Chundra snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I am not pleased about this. And there will be a reckoning for it—you may depend upon it.” She glared at Tragar and Emily and then swept down the aisle, looking neither right nor left as she went. She was followed by the other two members of the council, Turra, Lit’aal and Daro, murmuring earnestly together, and the twittering flock of priestesses. Emily and Tragar found themselves bringing up the rear.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she whispered, looking up at him. “I was about to do something, well…desperate.” She held up the stalk of Bitter Sorrow.

  “Poison!” Tragar grimaced and took it from her, throwing it down on the grassy floor of the grove. “I too, was about to do something desperate when I got a call from Xen’dex. He was the one who told me about the Right of Conflict.” He smiled and cupped her cheek. “That was when I decided to come back and do what you asked me to do—to fight for you.”

  “Tragar…” She put her hands on his broad shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Thank you. But why don’t we just run away from here? Look, everybody else is going out to the Arena. Let’s just go get in your ship and make a break for it.”

  His face looked serious. “I cannot. I must win the right to have you, Emily. And even if there was no sacred oath involved in invoking the Right of Conflict, you still need to stay here through the end of your Tenrah.”

  “Why? What’s here that I can’t get anywhere else?” she demanded.

  “The lovesuckle vines growing in the breeding suite,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Their blossoms breathe out a fragrance that make the passage from Vlammen to Hel much easier and less dangerous. Their scent contains a chemical your body needs when you begin to go into your breeding cycle.”

  “All right.” Emily squeezed his hand. “We’ll stay. But I want you to know, you’re the only one I want in that breeding suite with me. You’re the only one I want to…to breed me when the time comes.”

  His golden eyes flashed.

  “I would not have it any other way, my Khalla. Now, come—the Arena awaits.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Arena area was a large, grassy circle with benches on either end of it that reminded Emily of every high school sporting event she’d ever been to. Daro was already there, standing beside Lit’aal who was gazing up at him with an expression of mingled fear and admiration on her face. For the first time, Emily wondered uneasily, what exactly this Right of Conflict involved. Was it just a hand-to-hand combat kind of thing? Or was it some kind of duel to the death?

  She didn’t like to think about that. Though she didn’t want Daro for her chosen mate, he was a nice guy and she didn’t want him killed either. But she could foresee no other outcome of a death match with Tragar. He was, after all, a trained assassin. And he looked so much more deadly, standing there all in black in the pale Rageron sunlight, his long hair blowing in the wind and his golden eyes gleaming.

  The High Priestess and the two other members of the Holy Council were conferring in whispers at the far side of the arena and the other priestesses had already taken their seats like spectators at a sporting match. Turra was standing behind the High Priestess with her arms crossed over her boney chest, the same sour look on her face.

  “It appears that everyone is assembled—it is time.” The look on Tragar’s face was grim but calm.

  “Tragar, be careful!” She gripped his arm hard. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

  “But I do.” He cupped her cheek gently. “And I want to—it will be my honor to fight for you, my Khalla.”

  “But—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, Emily saw a strange sight. The grassy arena was located on the edge of the plateau the Temple and its various adjunct buildings was built on. A few feet from the wide circle, it sloped down sharply into a steep hill. Now, coming over the crest of the hill, she saw four people—two men and two women.

  The men looked to be Kindred—or something like Kindred, anyway. Both were extremely tall and muscular although one of them had slightly pointed ears. Both of the women had red hair but they didn’t look like sisters. One was tall and slender with long auburn hair that fell in waves down her back. The other had a riot of coppery-red curls that blew in the slight breeze. There were strands of gold in her hair that made it glimmer in the pale sunlight like a shimmering mass of rubies. She was tiny, Emily saw—no bigger than a large child. But she had the full breasts and hips of a woman and she moved with ease and confidence. In fact, right now she was moving directly towards Emily—all of them were.

  “Emily!” the petite woman with the riot of red curls called. “Emily Brooks!”

  “What in the Seven Hells?” Tragar growled, stepping in front of Emily protectively. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded, glaring at the woman, who was the first of the four to reach them.

  “What we want is to know that Emily is safe.” She lifted her chin defiantly and looked him in the eyes, though she had to crane her neck to do it. “We have reason to believe that you abducted her from her home on Earth some time ago and we were sent by the Kindred High Chancellor, Commander Sylvan, to be certain that she’s well and safe.”

  “I’m fine,” Emily said, stepping out from behind Tragar. “Really, I am! Or I will be if this whole Right of Conflict goes okay.” She looked uneasily at the arena and the High Priestess who was eyeing the newcomers with barely veiled hostility.

  “What are you talking about? No,
never mind—just touch me.” The girl with curly red hair put out her hand. “Then I’ll understand everything and I can explain to the others.”

  “Is everything all right, Lalli?” the big male with slightly pointed ears asked, coming up behind her. He put an arm around her protectively and Emily thought she had never seen a more mis-matched pair—size-wise, anyway. He was huge and she was so tiny and delicate looking. Plus there was something animalistic about him—even more so than a Beast Kindred…

  Suddenly she knew what he looked like—the men she’d met in the Howlund on G’nera. The ones Saskia had rescued her from! Could he be a Wulven Kindred? Weren’t they supposed to be incredibly dangerous?

  For a moment she was worried about the tiny girl with curly red hair. But she was leaning into his touch, taking the support he offered freely. And from the way he was looking at her, his glowing blue eyes filled with love and adoration, Emily could tell there was a trust between them that anyone would envy.

  “It’s going to be fine,” the girl answered him. “I’ll explain as soon as Emily shakes my hand. Go on,” she said, to Emily. “It’s okay—I don’t bite. I have a gift that will tell me all about you the minute our skin touches.”

  “Well…” Emily didn’t see the harm in it but Tragar frowned and held her back.

  “How do we know it’s safe for Emily to touch you? Who are you and what do you really want?”

  “We’re trackers,” the big Kindred with the pointed ears and glowing blue eyes, growled. “I’m Rone and this is my bonded mate, Kate. We were hired to track Emily shortly after you abducted her. But our ship broke down so Solar and Kaylee here…” He nodded at the other couple who waved briefly. “Came along and helped us out. Otherwise we would have been here sooner.”

  “We only want what’s good for you, honey,” the girl called Kate said earnestly. “Please, come back with us! We were sent to take you home.”

  “But I can’t go home until…” Emily shook her head. “Oh, to heck with this. There’s too much to explain.” Reaching around Tragar’s restraining arm, she gripped the other girl’s hand.