Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
L egion Warship – Floating Above the Black Cathedral
The metallic walls of the warship vibrated with energy, a deep hum pulsing beneath the deck plating as the Legion transport settled into the hangar. The air smelled of ionized metal and burnt fuel , sharp and sterile—a stark contrast to Plateau’s fresh, untamed beauty.
Roan felt the shift in pressure as the ship docked, his muscles coiling with a readiness he couldn’t act on.
Beside him, Julia sat tense, her wrists bound in Legion restraints.
Their journey had been silent , filled only with the occasional rough shove from a soldier or the hum of the transport’s systems. But now, as the hatch hissed open and the warm artificial light of the warship flooded in, Roan knew exactly where they were.
His father’s ship.
A simmering rage, as tightly coiled as a Torrian viper, resided within him, though his face gave nothing away, remaining as still and impassive as stone. Julia’s steady gaze held a hint of wariness, but there was also a quiet confidence that radiated from her eyes, promising everything would be alright.
Roan lifted an eyebrow at her, but she just gave a barely perceptible shake of her head and flicked a quick glance to the soldier sitting across from her. Frustration rose inside him. She wasn’t afraid. Not yet. But she should be.
Because his father would be waiting to interrogate them.
* * *
Sergi Lazaroff kept his steps measured and tried not to rotate his shoulders in his ill-fitting, stolen uniform. His focus was on the woman sitting across from him. La’Rue Gant, skilled freighter captain with a sharp tongue, resourceful mind, and a hidden compassionate side, was also the love of his life and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.
He carefully studied her slender form. La’Rue’s auburn hair was tangled and her dark brown eyes were snapping with fury. She was not happy that General Coleridge had ordered his men to confiscate her freighter. Personally, Sergi was happy that it had been. Otherwise, it would be at the bottom of the Plateauan ocean when the massive floating island sank down beneath the waters. The islands and the energy field surrounding it that allowed it to be protected as it disappeared beneath the azure waves of the planet’s surface were a technological wonder that he itched to learn more about.
His mouth tightened and his eyes glittered when he noticed a bruise forming along La’Rue’s temple. The discoloration stood out against her creamy tan skin before mixing with the faint spots along her temple. He tapped his fingers on his knee and stared at the soldier who was sitting next to her.
Retribution will be high, my friend. No one harms my woman, he silently vowed.
He rose when the lights inside the cabin shifted from red to green. Moving into position behind LaRue, he waited as the hatches opened. Soldiers filed out first.
The guard beside LaRue waited until the others had disembarked before pulling her forward. Sergi followed, staying a half-step behind.
They moved through a long corridor, the dull overhead lights casting stark shadows along the metallic bulkheads. The air was cold, recycled, carrying the faint scent of engine oil and the sterile tang of disinfectant.
As they reached a four-way intersection , the sound of an argument filtered through the hall. Sergi’s eyes narrowed on the group. The voice was deep, edged with fury — a voice that commanded power and left no room for defiance.
General Coleridge Landais.
Sergi turned his head, trying to assess who was on the receiving end of the Legion’s wrath. There was a large group of Legion soldiers standing in a tight semicircle , surrounding two figures. The man at the center stood tall, dark-haired, and visibly battered, yet his stance was protective.
Sergi’s breath hissed out when he saw who the man was trying to protect.
Julia.
“You disappoint me, Roan.” Coleridge’s voice was filled with quiet menace. “Andri feared you might betray us. I told him if you did, I would take care of you myself.”
The dark-haired man—Roan—remained tight-lipped. Sergi noticed the man flexing his hands. Sergi was silently impressed. The man didn’t show an ounce of fear.
The general’s lips curled in disgust and he struck a vicious blow to the Legion officer’s jaw that would have collapsed a lesser man. The impact snapped Roan’s head to the side.
Sergi had to force himself to remain where he was when Julia gasped and stepped between them . He couldn’t quite hide the rueful shake of his head. Leave it to Julia to think she could boss the boss.
“Stop! There is no need for violence,” Julia snapped, her voice sharp and commanding.
Sergi didn’t missed Roan’s muttered word of caution, nor his attempt to nudge Julia behind him. He could have told the other man it was a useless gesture. Julia could be very tenacious when she was defending someone she cared about—and it was obvious from both of their reactions that there was a chemistry between the two of them.
He wasn’t the only one who noticed it. His stern expression hardened as he studied the way Coleridge’s expression shifted. He had seen that look before.
Julia had just become a weapon.
“Take them away,” Coleridge ordered in a cold voice.
Sergi knew he had seconds to act. Fortunately for him, the guard escorting La’Rue had been just as interested in watching the scene unfold as he had. Reaching out, he retrieved the tracking device he had hidden on La’Rue earlier in case something happened.
As the next group of soldiers escorting the Legion officer and Julia passed them, Sergi moved toward Julia.
La’Rue, who had felt his touch, caught his eye. Pride soared through him when she picked up on his unspoken message. Her glare flew to the soldiers advancing and her eyes widened with understanding when she saw Julia. She timed her distraction perfectly, shoving the soldier in front of her into the officer and Julia as they passed.
“I told you to quit pushing me!” La’Rue snarled.
Sergi stepped forward, reaching out as if to grab La’Rue. The forward movement and mass of bodies positioned him between La’Rue and Julia. He reached down and clipped the tracking device to the hem of her blouse. Julia, feeling the slight tug on her clothing, looked up at him with a startled expression. Her eyes widened when they locked with his, recognition flashing, before the soldiers pushed them apart.
“Move out,” a soldier growled at him and his companion.
Sergi’s jaw tightened as he watched them disappear down the opposite corridor.
His mind was already racing. He would rescue La’Rue first and with her help, locate and rescue Julia. He would work out along the way how they were all going to get off a Legion Star Cruiser without getting blown up.
He silently contemplated the tall, muscular Legion officer, his uniform crisp and starched, restrained next to Julia; the man’s rigid posture spoke of simmering anger. He didn’t recognize the dark-haired man, but he did recognize the tension between them—and the importance of the man’s position.
The air crackled with an unusual intensity around this man; he wasn’t just another captive. He was someone important to her — and to General Landais. A military officer didn’t react that strongly to one of his peers, no matter what they had done. No, whatever was between the two men was personal… very personal.
And that makes him valuable, Sergi decided with grim satisfaction.
* * *
The cell was cold, the walls bare metal. The only furniture in the cell was a metal cot bolted to the bulkhead. The thud of the blow to his jaw split his lip. It wasn’t the first cut to it. His tongue slid over the wound and he tasted the metallic tinge of blood.
The second blow, this one to his side, near his left lung took his breath away. He coughed, spitting the blood that had pooled in his mouth onto the floor. He watched through blurred eyes as the crimson stain spread against the dull steel.
The clip of his father’s boot heels against the metal floor as his father circled him caused him to curl his fingers behind his back. His father didn’t fight fair. He would never give anyone, much less his only son, an opportunity to defend himself.
He bit back a groan when his father wrapped his hand around his arm and dragged him back to his feet. Roan teetered, unable to move away when his father slammed his fist into his stomach.
Roan grunted , his knees buckled, and he sank down onto his knees, fighting to catch his breath. Blood seeped from his mouth, nose, and from a cut on his cheekbone. He tried breathing in through his nose, but he was pretty sure it was broken.
He lifted his head and glared at his father as he shook out his hand and flexed his fingers. With an expression of distaste, his father reached into the front pocket of his uniform and removed a crisp, white piece of cloth and wiped the blood from his knuckles.
“I should slit your throat for your betrayal.”
Roan didn’t answer. This wasn’t about questions. This was about control.
His father wanted to see him break. He would be damned if he gave the son-of-a-bitch the satisfaction. Coleridge chuckled, the sound low, almost amused.
“No words?”
His father squatted in front of him, mere inches from his face. Roan could feel his father’s hot breath against his torn flesh. He stared his sire in the eye, refusing to back down.
“You had no words when I slit Calstar’s throat either. I wonder if you would have been just as silent when Andri crushed the life out of your mother.”
The harsh reminder of his grandfather’s murder seared through his brain. Roan knew his father was trying to bait him. Even as the sharp rage exploded inside him, he kept it buried beneath the surface.
He wouldn’t react. Wouldn’t give his father that.
Coleridge rose, partially turned, before swinging back around in a brutal kick. The tip of his father’s boot connected with his ribs. Pain exploded along his side as he flew sideways and slid into the metal post of the cot.
Black dots danced before his eyes as his vision blurred. The blow had come close to knocking him out. Shaking his head, he grunted and rolled clumsily back onto his knees. His breath was coming in short pants as the waves of pain radiated outward from his ribs.
“Where did they come from, Roan?” Coleridge demanded. “How many more are there?”
Roan lifted his head slowly, locking eyes with his father—and said nothing. His continued silence was the one thing his father hated. In that split second, he recognized that his defiance had finally caused his father to lose his icy grip on his control.
Death would not come quickly, he ruefully mused.
Coleridge’s rage with his son had finally caused him to snap. Roan watched with dispassionate interest as his father’s fingers wrapped around the staff at his waist. Agony seized his body, yet his mind seemed to hover, a detached observer watching the horrific spectacle unfold. The raw, visceral feeling was present, yet somehow distant, viewed through a veil of otherworldly separation.
The glowing tip of the staff pierced into his side again. Fire. A burning, white-hot agony spread through him. Still, he did not cry out. He would not give him that.
Coleridge leaned close. “ You still have nothing to say? Almost admirable.”
He gritted his teeth when his father twisted the staff. Pain radiated through Roan, sharp and blinding. He tried to grit his teeth, but he was losing control of his body. Through the haze of agony, his father’s voice slithered like poison, seeping through his bloodstream.
“I wonder if your Ancient Knight will be as defiant when I do the same to her.”
Red hazed Roan’s vision and his jaw locked. His vision blurred, his body was trembling, but he refused to concede defeat. He couldn’t. He had to save Julia from the monster who had sired him.
He took in shallow breaths, pushing back against the pain in his body. His mind fought to follow his father’s movements as he rose and turned away. It wasn’t until the door hissed shut that he leaned forward with a groan.
He couldn’t give in to the pain. He… had to escape. His mind was clouded with pain from the numerous blows he had received. He fought to clear it.
Julia.
Bracing a shoulder against the cot, he pushed himself straighter. He couldn’t give in.
Not yet.
Another low moan slipped from him as he straightened and reached into his sleeve. His fingers brushed against the hidden master release card.
A searing pain shot through him as he twisted, his muscles screaming in protest as he carefully nudged the narrow card toward the sensor. Several frustrating attempts later, a tiny click resonated, and the wrist restraints clattered to the floor with a dull thud. With a groan, he pulled his arms around, rolled onto his back, and took several deep, ragged breaths, each one a searing reminder of his exertion.
As his mind cleared, a sense of calm washed over him, the calm of a morning before a storm. His entire being was consumed by the urgent need to rescue Julia; the thought pulsed like a frantic heartbeat in his chest. The confrontation between himself and his father was far from over. Roan was all too aware that he needed to make sure Julia was somewhere where his father and uncle could not reach her.
Roan clenched his jaw, forcing his battered body upright, until the dizziness hit like a fist to the skull. His ribs screamed, his muscles shook from exertion. The pain was a living thing, coiled in his gut, threatening to pull him back down. The room tilted.
Move. Move, damn it.
He stumbled forward, bracing himself against the cold bulkhead. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling as his vision blurred. Every step felt as if he was wading through fire, but the thought of Julia kept him moving.
He had to reach her.
He had to make sure she was safe.
His father and uncle had sealed their own fates—and his.
He would kill them both… and help the Ancients and the Knights of the Gallant rise again—but first, he had to save Julia.