Born of Legend (42 page)

As he walked off, she was tempted to shoot him in the head.

Maybe later.

Desperate to find Jullien, Ushara quickly scanned the fighters. Her heart sank as none of them looked familiar.

At all.

This was useless.

“Wait!” Ryna flipped it back two. “Look.” She pointed down. “His arm.”

Ushara wanted to vomit as she saw the familiar bleeding winged heart that was pierced by a sword.
Indurari.
She didn't even recognize the hooded male in that picture. They'd beefed Jullien's size up, most likely from steroids or some other dangerous drug, and his lower face was misshapen by bruises and cuts. His eye color was hidden by the dark hood that fell over them.

But for the tattoo and the scar near his heart, she'd have never known it was him.

The Annihilator
.

Fury tore through her as she saw the other photos they'd posted of him in brutal, gory fights. They'd shaved his head and beard. And kept him caged like an animal.

Her hands shaking, she met her sister's gaze. “I might yet kill your father when we return home.”

Ryna didn't flinch. “I might help you.”

By the time they were able to place the bet to locate him, Trajen and Davel had finally joined them. Ushara waited impatiently for the coordinates that would guide them to Jullien.

And she was terrified of what she'd find when she got there. As bad as Andarion Ring matches were, this was so much worse. These weren't just fighting matches meant to show off skill and stamina, these were all-out savage bloodbaths that were meant to be as ruthless and raw as possible. The kind of primitive gore-fests that were banned by any civilized government. Which was why they were held on stations where no government held any jurisdiction.

The crowd was so thick, they could barely move through it. And she had no idea where they kept the fighters or how she and her sisters and Trajen and Davel would go about getting Jullien out of this mess.

She looked up at Trajen. “What do we do?”

Trajen let out a deep growl as they neared the stark, fenced arena where Jullien would be fighting. “The cage is highly electrified.”

Which meant even he would have trouble with it. While Trajen could manipulate and play with low electrical currents, higher ones tended to go awry and have unforeseen reactions. His powers could detonate that cage like a bomb if he tried to use them to access it.

“Can we blow the circuits?” Davel asked.

Oxana gave him a droll stare as she pointed out the fact that those circuits would be kept outside the station, in space, and they had no way to access them. “Sure. You get right on that,
drey
.”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcasm, then scowled as he glanced around for more viable options. “Do they not clean the cages out between fights?”

Ushara frowned at Davel's question. Before she could think better of it, she glanced to see what he was talking about, then wished she hadn't as a wave of extreme nausea hit her.

No, they didn't clean the cages out between fights and what remained of the losers was barely identifiable in the dirt and sawdust that covered the floors.

Bile rose in her throat. She shook her head to clear it before she gave in and undignified herself in public. “We've got to get him out of here before the next fight.”

A deafening roar went through the crowd.

Davel cursed. “I think we're too late.”

Ushara watched in horror as a buzzer sounded and two fighters were literally slung into the cage from opposite doors. They rebounded off the electrified bars that sent green and blue sparks arcing out into the cheering crowd. And the instant she recognized the Andarion with red eyes, it ignited a fury within her that she'd only tasted one other time in her life.

The day she'd gone after Chaz's brother.

In that heartbeat, everything went dark and her sight dimmed.…

Davel stepped back in fear at the same time Trajen caught the expression on Ushara's face.

“What do we do?” Davel asked him.

Trajen had no idea. This was what he'd hoped to avoid and it was why he'd chosen Ushara as his VA. While Jullien's Samari lineage was the first among the Fyrebloods, Ushara's Altaan was the second. Unlike the other massive warrior tribes of Andaria, the Fyrebloods had always been extremely reclusive. They'd taken to the highest mountains to cluster in small family clans. Their numbers had intentionally been kept tiny in comparison to their darker counterparts on the ground. Mostly in an effort to keep the Ixurianir from noticing them and attacking them.

Though they were as war-loving as the rest of their Andarion brethren, they were also every bit as honorable when it came to the rules of battle and conflict. The Fyrebloods knew they had a distinct advantage with their pyrokinetics, and so they'd avoided conflict with the Ixurianir, seeing it as dishonorable to battle those who couldn't defend against them. They turned to philosophy and became the teachers and priests of Andaria.

Until technology arose that leveled the playing field and forced the different species to merge together again. As Andaria became civilized and their castes were set, the Fyrebloods, unlike the winged and Ixurianir Andarion clans, were barred from the noble and warrior ranks, and given to a caste below both groups. They weren't even allowed to fight in the First Plenum for a place in their ruling government or military.

Something that hadn't set well with a group that believed themselves to be descended and birthed from the original gods of Andaria. So the Fyrebloods had become even more reclusive and withdrawn. Resentful. And that had led to more suspicion from the others who feared what the Fyrebloods might be plotting against them in seclusion.

Until the inevitable happened and war broke out between the groups. Overwhelmed by sheer numbers and no match for the growing technology that could launch a targeted missile from a farther distance than their incendiary breath, the Fyrebloods were pushed into an even lower caste and their numbers reduced to near extinction levels.

Those who possessed the stralen genes were the first to sacrifice themselves for the protection of their families. And they were the ones systematically targeted by the Ixurianir for execution.

Then just as it seemed the Fyrebloods were done for, a miracle happened. A single Altaan warrior rose through the ranks to lead her people in rebellion against the Ixurianir. And she was the one who had been entrusted with the last Samari son—her own nephew. An infant whose mother, Zira, had died moments after his birth of the wounds she'd sustained in battle, fighting beside her sister warriors. Yvera Altaan was the one who'd taken that infant into hiding and raised him.

It would be his son, Edon Samari who would be sent years later as an envoy to negotiate peace with their tadara, Eriadne eton Anatole. Renowned for his charm and wit, Edon won more than Eriadne's support.

He, alone, had won her frigid heart.

Even though she was already married, with children, Edon had set out to seduce her and had plotted against her husband. In true, ruthless fashion, he manipulated and vied for power, hoping to save the last of his race. His goal was to bring down the tadara and her consort who'd already purged the winged clans from Andaria.

Wanting to save the Fyrebloods from another “Cleansing,” he intended to murder Faran and replace him as tadar, then kill Eriadne and see his own children as the reigning monarchs of Andaria.

That had been his plan.

Until the unthinkable occurred. Somehow during his seduction of his queen, he became the one enchanted and lost his heart in the process. By the time she conceived his son, he was thoroughly in love with his enemy. So much so, that he could no longer bear the thought of causing her any harm.

Edon knew then that his days were numbered.

And so they were. As soon as her husband uncovered her scandal and learned that two of Eriadne's children had been fathered by another, he ended their affair in the most brutal of ways.

It was a courtesy she returned to him tenfold, delivered to her husband by her own hand while he ate breakfast at her table.

Only to learn that he hadn't been the one who'd uncovered the lie or the one who'd killed her lover. Rather, it'd been her own sister who'd murdered Edon.

And so she'd handled that betrayal in true Anatole fashion.

She'd gutted her sister by dinner.

It was that kind of cold-blooded ruthlessness that had ended Trajen's family, too. While he despised bloodshed with every part of his being, he understood that there were times when it was a necessary part of life. A time when to preserve life you had to brutally take it.

Some sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. To save the body, the cancer had to be cut out.

Trick was to know how to prune and how to surgically remove only the part that was bad. And to not damage the rest.

That was where Ushara came in now.

His powers were worthless here.

Hers …

“Heads down!” Trajen shouted to her brother and sisters as Ushara's eyes turned as red as Jullien's. Fire shot from her hands up her arms and danced all over her body.

No one could summon or control fire like a female Altaan Fyredancer. They were as dangerous as any stralen male.

Patrons screamed and ran, as fire exploded all around them from Ushara's well-placed firebombs.

With her head bent low, Ushara stalked toward the cage like the fiercest of predators. Trajen pulled out his blasters and took up point for her to cover her advance. Guards came running. Ushara blasted them with her fireshots before they could shoot her. Not even the electricity of the cage could slow her down when she reached the door.

She wrenched it from the hinges with her bare hands and sent it flying with the same ease he'd used when he'd gone after the morons on his base. This was that mysterious “god-gene” that inhabited the Pavakahir females. It was as rare and unpredictable as stralen for the Ixurian male. Maybe one in five billion would be born with it.

Probably fewer.

To marry these two genes …

No one would ever attack his base and win, especially not with a Trisani at the helm.

The Gorturnum were now as solid as any Tavali Nation ever created.

Provided they got out of here alive tonight.

Trajen fell in behind her and opened fire on the slags coming up from the hallway.

Ushara ignored Trajen as she focused on the fighter in the cage who was still trying to kill Jullien. She blasted him away from her husband.

“Jules!” She grabbed his arm.

He spun on her with a growl so feral that she fully expected him to hit her. But he stayed his hand as his gaze focused on her features. Agony drew his brows into a stern frown as he stared down at her as if he wasn't sure she was real.

“
Keramon
?” She recalled the fire from her hand before she reached up to cup his face.

Jullien didn't seem to understand her.

Suddenly, he snarled and fell to his knees, then started clawing at the collar on his neck. The other fighter moved in to attack again.

Too late, she realized they had a neuroinhibitor around Jullien's throat they were using to control him and lock down his ability to protect himself. Ushara blasted the fighter away from them, then tried to rip the hinged collar from Jullien.

It wouldn't budge.

Shrieking in frustration, she let go of the collar and released as much fire into her hands as she could. She let it arc up, into the ceiling until it set off the fire extinguishers, which in turn released every alarm in the building and short-circuited their electrical systems.

All of their electronics shorted out and went down, then everything went dark.

“Trajen?”

Finally, he was able to use his powers to release the collar from Jullien.

It sprang free instantly.

Coughing and wheezing, Jullien fell forward while she fireblasted more guards. They continued to shoot at them. Dodging the blasts, Ushara fried any and every one of the bastards dumb enough to get in her way and to try and stop them from leaving. She'd had enough of this. Anyone between them and the door was a crispy fritter.

Davel helped Jullien up and put his arm around his shoulders so that they could quickly get him to their ship. But they had to blast their way back, every step.

Not that she cared. She was more than willing for the payback, given the condition Jullien was in. Even Trajen seemed to be enjoying it.

“I thought your race profaned violence,” she reminded her boss.

“Some days. Sadly for them, today isn't one of them. Today, I'm rolling around in it like an Andarion on holiday.”

Yes, he was.

With her sisters covering their retreat, they made their way through the ensuing chaos left in their wake back to Oxana's ship.

By the time they launched with Trajen at the helm, most of the Ladorian base had gone up in flames.

Davel let out a low whistle as he helped her put Jullien down on an infirmary bed. “Well, we can all add arson to our League warrants. Thanks, sis.”

Rolling her eyes, she ignored him. “Get a blanket.” She cupped Jullien's bruised and bloodied cheek while he lay on his side, facing the wall. He still hadn't spoken a single word to anyone. “
Mituri
? Can you hear me?”

Jullien didn't respond at all. Rather, he continued to stare straight ahead, his breathing ragged and pain-filled.

Davel covered him with the blanket. “I think he's in shock.”

She couldn't blame him for that. She'd be in shock to have survived that hellhole, too. “Can you take the helm from Trajen and send him back here?”

“Sure.” He left her alone with Jullien.

Ushara knelt down until she was eye level with him. Stroking his cheek, she wanted to cry over what they'd done. He was like Vasili had been. Completely traumatized and comatose. Unresponsive.