34. Athena
Athena
The moment Lorken appeared in the doorway of the oblek, my composure snapped.
I’d refused to let myself cry in front of Zarn, even though every ragged breath I'd drawn had been a battle against the tears burning behind my eyes.
But as soon as I saw Lorken with his chest heaving and his eyes blazing, the fear I'd been holding back gave way to relief that crashed over me.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Then Lorken’s expression twisted into a rage so primitive he seemed like a beast unleashed. He crossed the room in a blur and slammed into his brother with a force that sent them both crashing into the wall of weapons behind them.
"I was doing my duty!" Zarn shouted, his voice strangled as Lorken's forearm pressed against his throat. “I was protecting the horde! Protecting you!"
Lorken didn't answer him. He simply cocked his arm and struck, his fist landing on Zarn's jaw with a crack that made my stomach lurch. This was no brotherly scuffle, but it also had everything to do with them being brothers.
The door behind me hissed open again, and Dawz burst through with several raiders from the command deck at his heels, all of them freezing for a heartbeat at the sight of their Raas and battle chief locked in combat.
I scrambled backward, pressing myself into the corner near the weapon-lined wall, and rubbed at the reddened skin of my wrists.
I had never in my life seen men fight the way they fought. This wasn’t a dance of precision or masterful swordsmanship. This was a brutal fist fight between two enormous Vandar who each looked like they could snap the other in two if given the chance.
Zarn twisted free of Lorken's grip and drove a knee into his ribs. Lorken grunted, and I flinched hard enough that my back struck the wall. The knee didn’t stop him for long, and the Raas threw a sharp elbow into his brother’s gut, making Zarn double over.
They grappled for purchase, and Lorken gained the advantage, hurling his brother into the display of blades mounted along the far wall.
Metal clattered as weapons rained down around them, one long blade skittering across the glossy black floor and coming to rest near my feet.
I stared at it, wondering if I needed to pick it up and be ready to defend myself.
Despite his split lip, Zarn was holding his own, as he moved, blocked, and countered, but Lorken didn't fight like that. He fought like he was out to punish. He fought like he was possessed.
"You are acting mad!" Zarn snarled, snatching up a curved blade from the wreckage of fallen weapons and slashing it in a wide arc that forced Lorken back a step. “All this over a human female?”
A sliver of red bloomed on the Raas’s chest, but he barely flinched. He said nothing, and his silence frightened me more than the blade glinting between them or the blood dripping steadily from a gash above Lorken's brow.
"Enough!"
Dawz's voice cracked through the battle, and he stepped directly between the two brothers. He was close enough that either one of them could have struck him instead, but neither did. Something in his tone made even Zarn go still, the blade drooping.
"The woman is not the saboteur,” Dawz said, his gaze locking on the battle chief. "She could not have set the device. Every moment she’s been on the ship has been accounted for by witnesses. There was no time during which she could have done this."
The room went quiet except for the ragged breathing of both brothers.
Zarn's jaw worked, his eyes darting once to me before he let the curved blade slip from his fingers, and it clanged to the floor.
He raised both hands, palms out, though his chest still heaved.
"It was my duty as battle chief to question the most likely suspect.”
Lorken dragged the back of one hand across his brow, smearing the blood there. “Then I will relieve you of that duty, Zarn. You are no longer my battle chief."
Zarn's mouth fell open, but Lorken had already turned from him without waiting for a response. He didn't look at Dawz, whose own expression had gone slack or at the raiders standing near the door. Instead, he crossed the room to me.
I nearly cowered as he approached. His eyes blazed, blood trickled down one side of his face, and his fists were clenched. I should have been petrified, but something told me that he was the least dangerous person in the room.
He didn't reach for my wrists the way his brother had or pull me from the floor. He bent and scooped me into his arms as though I weighed nothing and turned for the door without a single word.
I didn't have the strength to argue, even if I’d wanted to. Fear had drained me, and I let myself sag against his chest. My cheek found the swell of his chest, and my hand clung to his shoulder. For the first time since I'd stepped foot on his warbird, I let myself believe I was safe.