Dark Planet Warriors: The Serial (Books 1-3) (26 page)

“Prince Xalikian is fishing in the ice, so we go to find him.”

“And then?”

“We talk, we decide on a course of action, and we follow it.”

“To Earth?”

“Probably.”

Okay, that seems like progress. We’ve gone from ‘perhaps’ to ‘probably’. I still can’t figure out what’s going on in this infuriating male’s head, but at least he’s starting to become a little bit more open with me.

He needs to be, because I didn’t understand a word of what just went on between him and those tribal looking guys. It was the strangest thing. In the middle of a macho male-off between Tarak and the tribal guys, he suddenly knelt down and reverently recited something in a different language. It was soft and melodic, so different to the harsh Kordolian tongue.

After that, they all suddenly became cool with him.

Urgh. There’s so much I still don’t understand. Such as, who are these wild looking Kordolians who amazingly seem to be able to survive in the middle of the most barren place I have ever been to?

When I was a kid, I went on an Antarctic tour with my dad. I thought that place was cold. The entire trip, I couldn’t wait to get home. This is ten times worse. How do they manage to live out here? The chill doesn’t seem to affect them at all. I would love to have access to a text on Kordolian physiology right now.

Again, and this is starting to become a recurring theme, those young Kordolian males behind us are barely dressed, wearing simple loincloths and not much else.

They look like characters out of some ancient, dark fairytale, with their wild, long hair and menacing black horns. Like all Kordolians, their eyes are varying shades of fire, from deepest red to striking yellow.

Now I understand what those little bumps on Tarak’s temples are supposed to be.

The horns are unearthly and beautiful.

Why the hell would any Kordolian cut them off? When we’re back in relative civilization, we are going to have a talk about that.

We sprint across the flat, icy surface, Tarak slowing a little so the others can catch up. He’s not even out of breath. They shout at him in Kordolian, and he yells back. It sounds like playful banter.

Now, they’ve become totally chilled.

Maybe it had something to do with Tarak’s approach. Instead of his usual threaten-first-ask-questions-later style, he went softly, softly on this one.

I was rather impressed. There’s hope for him yet.

We reach a defect in the ice. It’s a large square-shaped hole. Tarak sets me down and I peer over the edge, fascinated.

There’s water at the bottom. It’s black and sinister and totally flat. I get the shivers just looking at it.

The ice must be about twenty feet thick, and somehow they’ve cut a hole in it. A metal ladder stretches down from the surface of the ice to the water, and there’s a small floating platform at the bottom.
 

“What’s that?” I ask, mesmerized by the dark water.

“Waterhole,” Tarak replies, staring down into the depths. “So they can hunt what’s beneath the ice.”

“And that just happens to be-”

Before I can finish, something black and sleek breaks the surface for a second, before disappearing into the depths again.

“Lamperk.” Tarak nods towards the water. “Watch.”

The black thing surfaces again, and this time I see its giant, gaping maw. It has teeth. Lots of sharp, white teeth. No eyes, no face, just teeth. It’s like a massive, underwater leech.

Alongside the lamperk, a flash of sliver appears. There’s a Kordolian swimming around down there.

“Oh shit, there’s someone down there! That thing’s going to kill him.”

Tarak just laughs.

I stare at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you going to help him?”

“Of course not,” he shrugs. “Wait and see.”

The water starts to churn, becoming a chaotic, turbulent mess. I see intermittent flashes of silver and black as the two bodies twist and turn in the water.

A plume of white liquid appears, clouding the water, contrasting with the inky blackness. Ew. Is that some kind of bodily fluid? The creature’s blood, perhaps?

The Kordolian seems to be gaining an advantage, because the lamperk’s thrashing is becoming less savage. Then all of a sudden, it goes still.

The Kordolian swims around and sticks a giant hook through its mouth, the sharp barbed end breaking through the creature’s black skin on the other side. A trickle of white blood streams down its skin where the hook has pierced it.

Is this guy the Prince Tarak was talking about? He doesn’t seem very, uh, princely.

The Kordolian swims through the water, dragging the limp beast towards the floating platform. With one hand, he hauls himself up, dragging the dead lamperk after him. The creature flops onto the hard surface with a loud squelching sound. It’s huge. It has to be about six feet long.

It looks as disgusting as I’d imagined. Its face, if it can be called that, consists mostly of a huge mouth, with hundreds of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. Its head is bulbous and eyeless, tapering into a long, glistening, snakelike body.

“Lamperk are a delicacy,” Tarak informs me. “They make for good eating.”

The thought of eating a piece of that thing makes me nauseated. My attention turns to the hunter, who’s shaking his head, droplets of water cascading around him.

Like the other tribal guys, he’s impressively built. His silver skin gleams with moisture, emphasizing his rippling muscles. His snow-white hair is long and wild, crowned by a pair of curving black horns. He brushes a slick of wet hair back from his face, revealing his aristocratic features.

If Tarak is a dark elven warrior, then this guy is the fucking Fae Prince.

Predictably, he’s totally butt-naked. I sigh.

Besides Tarak and myself, the other tribal guys are now standing at the edge of the hole, peering down. The Prince looks up, sees us, and shouts an exuberant greeting in Kordolian.

Hauling the monster over his shoulder as if it’s nothing, he starts to climb up the ladder, grinning, his body wet and glistening.

These guys really must enjoy the fact that they’re totally immune to the cold.

Tarak and I are the only ones who seem to be wearing wearing clothes around here.

As the Prince reaches the top, he throws his catch onto the hard, icy surface. Its weird milky blood spills around it, starting to freeze as it touches the ice.

He sees Tarak, lets out a stream of rapid Kordolian, and then proceeds to punch him in the face. Tarak doesn’t even flinch.

“What the hell?” I gasp, without even thinking, moving to step between them, reaching for my dagger. Tarak curls one arm protectively around my waist.

“Do not worry,” he whispers. “It’s a traditional Aikun greeting.”

Traditional, my ass. What kind of numbskull says hello with his fists?

Tarak’s grinning. The crazy idiot. That Prince is crazy, too. All Kordolians, I’ve decided, are crazy, and I’ve just happened to become very attracted and attached to one of them. Therefore, I must also be crazy.

I feel for the black knife strapped to my thigh, my fingers curling around its familiar, reassuring shape. For the most part, it looks as if Tarak has things under control, but this is Kythia, and these are Kordolians.

One just never knows what’s going to go down.

Tarak throws off his robes, carefully placing his weapons beside them, but to my relief, keeps his pants on. He stretches, the taut muscles of his back and arms flexing.

Then he returns the punch, his fist slamming into the guy’s nose. The Prince smiles back, and then, even more confusingly, they hug, with lots of masculine back-slapping.

Tarak moves across and puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Relax,
amina
. This is perfectly acceptable. It may seem strange to you, but amongst the Aikun, fighting can be a show of affection.” He squeezes my shoulder, then turns to the Prince.

What happens next makes me roll my eyes in exasperation. They both move away from our group, giving themselves a little space.

The Prince, still wet and dripping from his underwater escapade, tries to get another punch in. This time, Tarak dodges it, feinting to his left. He responds with a blow of his own, his fist connecting with the other Kordolian’s jaw.

It’s not a hard punch; I get the feeling Tarak’s holding back. The Prince launches into a flurry of blows, trying to get a hit on Tarak. They weave and dodge, using some impressive footwork. Some glancing blows land on Tarak, but the Prince can’t really get a good hit in.

The attack picks up pace, and it’s the Prince on the offensive, with Tarak blocking and dodging.

They’re both grinning, their expressions reminding me of children who are playing with their brand new Christmas gifts.

Males. I sigh as this ridiculous spectacle unfolds before me.

It’s obvious that Tarak’s the better fighter, but the Prince is putting in a solid effort. In other circumstances, he’d be considered an excellent fighter. A Human wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

But with Tarak, it’s like the master schooling the pupil.

He lets the guy attack. He dodges, blocks, and doesn’t give an inch. He doesn’t go easy on him, but he’s not fighting back, either.

The tribal guys are cheering them on with loud, raucous cries.

If the whole thing weren’t so stupid, it would be an impressive thing to watch; two large, bare-chested Kordolian males at peak physical fitness, battling it out.

Tarak and the Prince keep at it for a while, but eventually the Prince starts to tire, and
 
Tarak executes some kind of swift grappling move that leaves the guy flat on his back and breathless.

The Prince grins like a madman as Tarak extends a hand to help him up.
 

They start chatting as Tarak returns to my side. The Prince sets eyes on me for the first time and he raises both eyebrows, tentatively sniffing the air. His amber eyes go wide.
 

“Human,” he murmurs, his voice full of wonder. He babbles something to Tarak in Kordolian.

“Universal, Xalikian. Speak Universal so she can understand.” He slides an arm around my waist. He’s warm from the exertion of their little tussle, and he feels good. “She is my mate,” he proclaims fiercely.

The way he says it is unexpected; he actually sounds proud. A delicious, warm, satisfying sensation courses through me. Mate, huh? I think I’ll go with that.

Still, Tarak needs to learn how to make proper introductions. I’m not going to go around being referred to as ‘mate’. I pull the scarf from my face remove my hood, the cold air slapping me in the face. I ignore it, putting on my most winning smile. I hold out a gloved hand. “Abbey Kendricks, of Earth. Pleased to meet you.”

The Prince smiles, revealing his fangs. It’s a genuine smile that reaches his eyes. “Abbey of Earth, I am most honored to meet the female who has tamed the great General.” His accent is urbane and cultured. It’s definitely not what I was expecting from a guy who has just brutally killed a giant underwater slug.

I cast a sidelong glance at Tarak, who’s reverted to his usual stony expression.

The Prince does a funny little bow. I’ve seen a more elaborate version of that bow directed at Tarak before, but until now, no Kordolian has ever bowed to me. “I am Prince Xalikian Kazharan.” He winks. “But you may call me Xal.”

“Nice to meet you, Xal.”

He stares at my outstretched hand, then at Tarak, then back at me, uncertainty creeping into his expression.

“Uh-”

“On Earth, shaking hands is a way of greeting,” I inform him, realizing that Kordolians probably have no idea what a handshake is.

Beside me, Tarak stiffens. Xal glances nervously at my hand, then takes it, his fingers brushing ever so briefly against mine. “Interesting gesture,” he remarks, unconsciously taking a step back.

What’s got him so jumpy all of a sudden?

Is it because the big guy is staring at him so intently? Tarak reaches down and throws Xal his robe. “Put this on, Xalikian. It is not appropriate to be such a way in her presence.”

Of course, he’s referring to Xal’s naked state. I’ve become so used to seeing Kordolian males traipsing around in their birthday suits that I didn’t really think much of Xal’s appearance. It’s as if I’ve become desensitized to male nudity.

Xal takes the robe and dresses, giving Tarak a wary sidelong glance.

Looking up, I see that the little vein at Tarak’s temple is twitching. His pointed ears flicker, and he narrows his eyes at Xal. He’s annoyed.

My mouth opens wide in realization. Is the big guy jealous of the Fae Prince?

Oh, my. He
is
a possessive male.

Doesn’t he understand that he has nothing to worry about?

I snuggle into him, taking his hand into mine. To my relief, he seems to relax, the tension draining out of his body. Sensing the change, Xal looks visibly relieved.

“I sent a message through the Soldar that I wanted to see you, but I didn’t expect you here so soon.” Xal glances over his shoulder and says something to the Aikun in their tribal language. One of them unsheathes a big knife as the other pulls a round black device from a bag at his waist. They haul the lamperk over and start skinning it. Its raw, meaty smell drifts to me on the wind. It’s not unpleasant, just very, uh, fresh.

“There have been developments,” Tarak says. “I did not want to delay any longer.”

“I’m guessing this has something to do with the ruckus you caused with the High Council. And
she’s
at the centre of it, isn’t she?” Xal looks at me with a thoughtful expression. “My sources told me as much. It’s the reason I wanted to meet with you, actually.”

I disentangle from Tarak, crossing my arms. “Ta-rak,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “What is he talking about? What exactly am I at the centre of?”

I know those creepy scientists were after me because they wanted my Human body for some kind of experimental research, but I had no idea I’d become some sort of political football. And even Xal, who lives in the middle of nowhere, knows about it?

The General has some explaining to do.

Tarak shifts uneasily, but his expression remains carefully blank. I watch his wine-dark eyes, for once refusing to be distracted by his bare torso.