WarlordsBounty (7 page)

“Why is Tolui using guns?” Khan wrinkled his nose in
disgust, a
Chamele
warrior’s natural weapons quieter and more effective.
“Has he forgotten, in his exile, how to be a
Chamele?
”

The door blasted into the corridor, metal clanging against
metal, and Khan ducked into an alcove, hiding from direct view, deeming not to
fade into the surrounding walls, his invisibility, as Zeta called it,
ineffective with other
Chamele
warriors. He waited, his blood pumping
through his veins, one of his fingers resting on the gun’s trigger, ready to
wreak sweet revenge on his enemy.

The big male rolled through the open doorway, wearing black
leather warrior garments, guns in both of his hands. Tolui huddled behind the
damaged door and scanned his surroundings through the bulletproof porthole.

Khan tensed, prepared to return fire, his muscles coiling in
anticipation. Tolui’s gaze flicked over his hiding place, no telling hesitation
as he turned his head, no glimmer of awareness lighting the warrior’s dark
eyes.

I’m a Chamele. He should sense me.
Khan frowned,
suppressing his primal instinct to engage, fight and kill.
Something is
wrong, terribly wrong.
He watched, studying his enemy, searching for an
explanation.

Tolui cocked his head and tapped his ear with his index
finger, as though he waited for instructions. It was an action the rash Warlord
would never take, Berke’s previous attempts at peace talks abruptly dismissed.

Tolui’s broad forehead creased with lines and he nodded,
staring blankly ahead of him, as though his target wasn’t standing to his left.
Whom is he communicating with?
Khan followed his line of sight, seeing
no one, the silver wall panels reflecting his form.

The planet-less Warlord surveyed the otherwise empty
corridor once more, slowly, thoroughly, his guns cocked, ready for an attack.
Khan braced himself for battle, his adrenaline flowing. Tolui’s gaze swept by
the alcove, the warrior oblivious to his presence.

He can’t sense me.
Why?
Khan examined his
enemy closely, searching for any visual clues. While Tolui’s angular profile
belonged to a
Chamele
warrior, his coloring was a faded copy, his black
hair not reflecting the light, his natural tan washed out.

Copy.
Khan stiffened, the explanation hit him harder
than a punch to his stomach.
Clone.
“You’re not Tolui.”

The warrior released a barrage of shots, the bullets
peppering the panel Khan hid behind, pinging off the tough surface. Khan
pressed his body against the hidden supply chamber door, waiting for a break in
the gunfire, requiring more answers, those answers needed to protect his
people, to protect Zeta.

“No, I’m not Tolui.” The male ripped a device out of his ear
and threw it to the floor, the metal bouncing along the wire mesh. “My name is
Seven. The master suspected this was a trick and sent me in his place.”

“He sent a clone.”
Tolui has gone too far this time,
breaking too many of our laws.
Khan pressed his lips together, cloning
forbidden for all
Chameles
, that ruling set by his late father.

Empty cartridges clattered to the floor as Seven quickly,
methodically reloaded, the male exhibiting a smoothness of movement gained only
through experience.

“Not a clone,” Seven clarified, the bitterness edging his
voice surprising Khan, harsh emotions rare in manufactured beings. “I’m a clone
of a clone.”

“Even worse.” Khan swung into the corridor, exposing half of
his body to attack, and he blasted a round of ammunition over the damaged door,
seeking merely to wound the clone, more of his questions requiring answers. The
male returned fire and bullets arced, rays of color and projectiles lighting up
the corridor.

A thin red line etched across Seven’s cheek, the clone
warrior bleeding as readily as any other
Chamele
. Seven rolled, shooting
high and then low, right and then left, forcing Khan to dodge and duck at top
speed, his muscles burning and his chest heaving.

He didn’t move fast enough, a breathtaking pain streaking
over Khan’s right shoulder. “A clone shot me,” he muttered, retreating into the
alcove to peruse his damage.

“A clone of a clone,” Seven corrected, the male crouching
behind the door, his breathing loud and ragged. Both of them suffered from
minor wounds, their fighting abilities equal.

Equal to a genetically weakened clone of a clone.
Khan shook his head in disbelief as he prodded the wound with his fingertips,
its depth reassuringly shallow.
I’ll live.
He tossed Zeta’s tiny gun
away from him and he drew his long gun.

“And that’s not worse. That’s better,” Seven proudly
informed him. “I’m enhanced by science and honed by the best training, my life
having only one purpose—to defeat you.” Empty cartridges skittered across the
wire mesh floor, the slide and click of a weapon being reloaded punctuating his
words.

“And Tolui’s goals?” Khan tapped the trigger of his long
gun, more comfortable with fighting than with these fact-finding discussions.
“Do you know what they are? Or would he not tell his plans to a clone?”

“You think Tolui has your biases against clones?” Seven’s
chuckle held no humor. “You don’t know—”

“Khan!” Zeta’s frantic cry echoed through the ship, the
sound chilling Khan’s soul and diverting his attention, the conversation with
Tolui’s warrior fading in importance.

She freed herself too soon.
Khan glanced at Seven,
cursing himself for underestimating his female’s abilities. The clone he should
have killed immediately stared through the porthole, protected by the door.

“Khan!” Zeta’s calls grew louder, originating from the other
end of the corridor.

Turn around, Zeta. Turn around.
Acidic bile burned
the back of Khan’s throat, his stomach churning, his panic rising.

“Khan!” Her footsteps rang out, falling faster and faster,
her heavy tread revealing her worry, her caring, her love.

She’s coming to protect me.
“Zeta, stay back!” Khan
bellowed, frantic to stop her. “It’s a trap.”

“Khan?” She skidded into view, a twisted piece of metal in
her hands, his fearless
gerel
unaware of Seven’s presence, the clone
positioned between them. “Where in the stars are you?”

Khan turned his head and his gaze met Seven’s. The clone’s
dark eyes widened with awareness and then narrowed with speculation.

Son of a Gechii.
Khan sprang into the corridor,
moving faster than he’d ever moved before, desperate to reach Zeta first, to
protect his
gerel
, his love, his life.

Khan’s surroundings blurred around him. His lungs ached and
his muscles strained, his efforts futile. Seven remained ahead of him, reaching
her first, his lead insurmountable.

The clone wrapped an arm around Zeta’s neck and yanked her
back, slamming her body against his chest, daring to touch, to hurt Khan’s
small female. Zeta dropped her makeshift club and clawed at Seven’s
leather-clad arm, shrieking and struggling.

He’ll die.
A calmness filled Khan, a certainty. He
approached his
gerel
and his enemy with his long gun braced against his
shoulder, the muzzle aimed at the clone’s head.

“Don’t take another step,” the clone warned, shaking Zeta by
her fragile neck.

He’ll die soon.
Khan froze, standing an arm’s length
away from them, his senses amplified. He heard Seven’s rapid breathing, smelled
Zeta’s fear, felt the metal notches on the long gun’s trigger.

“Drop the weapon, warrior.” The clone increased the pressure
on Zeta’s neck and she wheezed, her face turning an alarming shade of red. “Don’t
make me hurt her.”

I’ll kill him slowly, painfully.
“I’m dropping the
weapon.” Khan placed his long gun on the floor, unconcerned by the transaction,
his claws better suited to inflict pain. “I’m unarmed.” He held his hands up,
showing the clone his empty palms.

Seven eased his hold and Zeta gulped air. “This wasn’t the
plan, little one,” he murmured as though apologizing, his voice low. “You were
to collect the bounty on him. The master was prepared to pay the credits. All
he wants is what is rightfully his.”

“I know,” Zeta croaked. She went still, too still, her hands
dropping to her thighs.
Don’t take any foolish risks, gerel
. Khan edged
nearer, preparing to act when she did, the tips of his claws pricking his
knuckles, eager to extend.

“Tolui has no right to any of our planets,” Khan replied,
seeking to draw the clone’s attention away from his reckless female and toward
him. “The
Chamele
system has belonged to my family for generations.”

“Exactly.” Seven smirked. Zeta reached behind her, her
fingers closing around the clone’s gun, and Khan coiled his muscles, readying
for attack. “Which is why—”

The report cracked through the air, the deafeningly loud
sound echoing off the walls, and Seven bellowed with pain, bending over. He
released Zeta’s neck to grab his leg, blood spurting between his fingers.

“Khan!” She darted away from the clone, leaving Seven open
for attack, and Khan sprang toward the injured male, roaring his fury. As he
flung his body through the air, he shifted into full
Chamele
battle form,
his claws extending and his skin hardening.

They rolled, locked in a death grip, Seven’s claws longer,
stronger, genetically enhanced, Khan filled with a killing rage, his plans to
negotiate with the clone vanishing the moment Zeta had been harmed
.
Khan
head-butted the clone, pain splintering across his forehead, bones cracking and
blood gushed from Seven’s nose, soaking them both. A dagger whizzed by the
clone’s cheek.

Zeta.
Khan bared his teeth in a grim smile as he
lunged toward his enemy, their claws connecting.
She’s protecting me.

Seven spread his claws wider, pulling, tearing Khan’s skin,
the agony acute, and Khan pushed him backward, using his strength, his feet,
his head. They kicked and bit, fighting to survive, no tactic too dirty, their
sole goal to defeat the other. Khan drove his head hard into Seven’s chest,
slamming the clone against the wall, the impact disentangling them.

Khan leaped to his feet to face his adversary. Seven’s gaze
met his and then flicked past him, his eyes widening. He ducked, his body
folding into two, the air whistling with warning, and a dagger impaled the wall
above the clone’s head.

My gerel.
Khan grinned.
Fierce.
He flexed his
fingers, blood dripping between his claws, scenting the air, and he slowly
circled Seven, looking for weakness. Rivulets of red flowed down the male’s
chin and right leg.

“I have him, Khan.” Zeta struggled to lift the heavy long
gun, sweat plastering her brown hair to her face, the sheaths strapped to her
legs and waist empty of daggers.

“She’ll blow her feet off, trying to save your worthless
hide.” Seven shook his head, his eyes sparkling. “You have so much, warrior.”
His face darkened ominously, his lips flattening. “Must you leave nothing for
your clone brothers?”

He surged forward, and Khan spun, the clone’s deadly tips
grazing his stomach, leaving a stinging trail across his skin. He raked his
claws across Seven’s back and the warrior hissed, bouncing back.

“You stole our females and our children, an act without
compassion, without honor,” Khan rumbled, waving his claws, eager to end this
before Zeta harmed herself, trying to protect him. “You’re no brothers of
mine.”

“We cherish the females we stole.” Seven’s jaw jutted, his
profile achingly familiar. “They want for nothing.” He sprinted up the wall and
flipped over, landing behind Khan, his boots ringing on the mesh floor.

Now, he dies.
Khan pivoted on his heels, facing the
clone, his enemy, the male who dared to hurt Zeta. Their claws clashed, flesh
stripping from bone, the pain excruciating.

Seven pushed and Khan pushed back, gritting his teeth,
having never before fought a warrior with Seven’s skill, his muscles straining.
He bent his knees, lowering, lowering, lowering, and then launched himself into
the air, throwing the clone backward.

“The females want for choice,” Khan huffed, shaking his
aching arms, irritated that the clone continued to breathe. “You gave them
none.”

“Would they have chosen us? Clones?” Seven’s face flushed
red, the veins on his forehead raised, sweat wetting his long black hair.
“We’ve seen how you’ve treated the master. Would your females treat us any
differently?”

Khan narrowed his gaze. “You are
not
your master.”
Or
is he?
He’s a clone of a clone of Tolui.
He tilted his head,
studying the warrior, his knowledge of cloning limited.
But he’s more
cautious, less cocky, different.
“No, not the same.” Khan decided, treating
Seven as an individual. “Tolui is judged based on his own crimes.”

“The master is judged based on who he is.” Seven rolled his
shoulders back, his joints cracking, a
Chamele
body’s normal reaction to
the stresses of battle. “On who we are. We take what we want.” He charged
forward, his head down, his claws extended.

A long gun boomed and Seven’s body was flung backward. He
smacked against the wall, his bones crunching, and he slid to the floor, his
mouth rounded with surprise. “She shot me.” He clutched his stomach, a gaping
bloody hole where his innards were.

“Zeta.” Khan glared at his strong fearless
gerel
,
pride battling with frustration, his victory over the clone snatched from him.

“Khan!” Zeta dropped the long gun and ran toward him. Khan
opened his arms wide and retracted his claws, forgetting everything except his
need to comfort her.