Prologue

Zurellius, winged ruler of Valtar, sat balanced on his boot heels among the jagged shards of the Ancients’ deserted ruins. Magnificent crystal ruins of decadent splendor rose around him like silent glass guards. Visceral pain sliced through him. He lifted his great wings. Silver feathers rustled then stilled. Alone, he accepted the memories of days long gone, embraced them then let them go. He had no time for sorrow. He rested his forearms on his bent knees and tilted his head back to catch the warmth of Valtar’s purple sun. Early lavender haze surrounded him, but it lent futile comfort. The restless winds stilled, the air hung dead, dry.

He smiled cynically. No one disturbed him here. No one dared. He ruled Valtar with an iron fist, a hollow king devoid of all weakness of spirit. Compassion and love were emotions owned by Traveen, his half-brother. Traveen possessed everything that Zurellius was denied—freedom, love and a devoted mate—a human mate that threatened Zurellius’s precarious peace.

He sat among the Ancients’ decimated crystal towers thinking it was a fitting place to recall the day he had watched the black ship, carrying the last remnants of his family, rise into Valtar’s sky until it no longer reflected the in the morning light’s dull glow.

He had exiled all of them. She, his brother’s mate, was gone, too, safe from Zurellius’s deadly threats. Threats that hid his raging desire for her. But by exiling his family, he had guaranteed her safety, and that filled him with a dark joy.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Here, in the crumbling ruins, he could admit to the other reasons why he had sent them away on that black star ship. If word of his brother’s lifesaving discovery leaked out, Valtar would become like the forsaken and forbidden devastation of these ruins. His brother had learned that Valtarie needed wild blood enzymes to survive. And those wild enzymes carried a heavy price—bloodlust and violence, if not curbed by a strong ruler. Visions of riots and blood baths haunted Zurellius, visions as vivid as those of the depictions in the castle’s secret room. He snarled, lifting his lips and baring his fangs—a breach of etiquette, but there was no one to see. Just as no one knew his greatest fear—that Valtar, his home, could be destroyed with the Ancients’ secret.

Damn the Ancients!

Even as he cursed them, he also blessed them for their knowledge. If he hadn’t found the grave, he wouldn’t have discovered the Ancient’s death diary, a story that told of great power to be gained. But it didn’t reveal the consequences. By dangerous experimentation on himself, he had further ensured Valtar’s safety—at the cost of his own soul. He alone drank predator blood not the herd beasts’ wild blood that he had gradually introduced back into the Valtaries’ diets. The undiluted predator blood from a Pythian wild cat, secreted in Valtar’s back country, served his needs. Its acidic blood had altered Zurellius quickly. All his senses had sharpened, and his strength and powers had become enhanced. By drinking the cat’s blood, he would be the powerful force in guiding his people. He would have a strong rule.

But no one could know that he’d become an Ancient with his new diet. If anyone learned what he’d done, they’d destroy him.

He smiled bitterly and then inhaled a deep breath of the ruins’ dusty air. He had wasted enough time here. With a rueful shrug that shook dust free from his feathers, he rose from the Ancients’ crumbling wreckage. With one last look at the haunting ruins, he took to the air in a powerful lunge.

As he flew away, he let out a mocking laugh. He’d given Traveen and his mate their freedom and by doing so, lost the only women he’d ever wanted. Now Valtar’s rule was his only passion.

One

"Stand down! Prepare to be boarded!" The harmonious command rang with Valtarie compelling demand above the blaring klaxon horn that warned Intruder Alert.

On the battered deck of the Solitaire, her listing war ship, Desdamona de’Lacy, better known to her few remaining friends as Mona, braced her boot-clad feet and turned to the ragtag band of fighters who awaited her command.

Fighters, indeed! The frightened and wary eyes of the varied races watching her every move belonged to what remained of the settlers and miners from Da’tarn. They were not warriors, but they had fought at her side for months. Now, they again loyally waited for her orders.

Hah! Like she knew what she was doing. The converted warship listed and jerked along, not at all like the heavy mining barges she had ferried back and forth between trader ships and Da’tarn. Captain? Her? Not bloody likely. But she was the closest experienced flight officer Da’tarn had left after the massacre…and the only surviving member of Da’tarn’s peacekeeping forces. Besides, no one hated the pirates more than she. Her hatred for them burned in a constant flame, and the need for revenge was a faithful companion that kept her alive. Her crew was a weapon that she wielded, cared for, and protected. Or had, because at this moment, she was putting them in grave danger.

Mona knew the risk she took coming to Valtar, but she had no choice. Solitaire, damaged in the last raid, badly needed repairs and supplies. If they didn’t get both, they’d all die.

Of course, if the stories of Valtar’s inhospitality were true, they’d soon be dead anyway. Her war-converted transport vessel had been forced to land by a ring of Valtarie sweepers without a single shot being fired. The damaged crystal drive was weakening enough, but, moreover, the legends of the Valtarie instilled panic in all who heard them. Mona snorted. She knew better. Vampires indeed. She had learned firsthand about the Valtarie, living near two of them on Da’tarn... Her breath hitched. Her Valtarie friends were gone, too, lost to the pirates.

No, don’t go there. She swallowed hard. It was better not to think of her former life on Da’tarn and what had happened there.

"Do as they say." Mona waved a weary hand toward her crew before carefully dropping her laser pistol on the ship’s deck. She moved stiffly, not daring to flex her shoulder. None of her crew knew she was wounded, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Captain?" Her heavyset first lieutenant’s black brows rose in hairy vees above a hawk-beak nose. Ta’baar was a Tusken miner before he became her lieutenant. As his prominent nose fairly twitched from side to side, he looked as if he tested the wind for an elusive odious scent or maybe for an answer that Mona couldn’t give. The deep scowl wrinkling his forehead darkened his ebony skin even further. His sharp bottom teeth thrust out over his flattened upper lip. Broad muscles jumped and flexed in his powerful forearms. His dark eyes narrowed as he regarded her with a disturbing intensity.

"We didn’t come here to fight, Ta’baar." Mona stared him down and waited for the low growl that meant the burly miner agreed before she turned her back. The sound of solid clinks told her the others had dropped their weapons.

If her First, the mighty Ta’baar, agreed with her, the rest of the motley crew followed, just as they had done for the past five months—five months of following raiders in a battered transport hastily converted for war, a ship that threatened to fall apart at any moment. Five months of fighting and failure. Their last encounter had left Solitaire’s crystal drive severely damaged and Mona so badly wounded that her right arm still hadn’t healed.

Like tonguing a sore tooth, Mona rolled her shoulder, flinching before letting her arm fall loose at her side. Pain was good. Pain gave focus. As much focus as she could get in the fog of reality that she still refused to believe could be true. Every day she hoped she would awaken from the nightmare her life had become. But everyday, she awoke to move in haunted fragments of what once was…and was no more.

At that moment, fatigue caught up with her. Mona swayed in its grip. Then she stiffened her knees with effort, fighting against her exhaustion with a clenched jaw and tightened fists. By God, she would stand on her own two feet to greet the ruler of Valtar. Abbie had told her all about the ruthless Zurellius and his home world. Even though Zurellius was Traveen’s half-brother, he had promised to kill Abbie and Traveen if they ever returned to Valtar. Perhaps when Zurellius heard Mona’s news, he would grant her that same kindness. She could only hope.

The noise of the intruders drew nearer, their lack of stealth more evidence of the Valtarie arrogance. Mona kicked aside the loose battle debris that still littered the shattered deck and spread her stance wider. The ragged tops of her thigh-high boots chaffed through her thin pants, but she ignored the irritation and lifted her chin. The half-healed battle scar that ran from her temple to beneath her jaw, finally ending at her chin, flared with burning pain in the flushed heat that rose to her at the thought of greeting the ruler.

In foolish vanity, Mona knew that with the jagged scar and the odd white streak that laced her hair from where the sword stroke had cut into the hairline, she was no longer considered even remotely pretty. From her peripheral vision she could see the glowing band of white hair that nearly covered the right side of her forehead. It had widened with every month of her failure.

She knew her battle leathers hung tattered and dusty from her body, a thin body with broad, bony shoulders that she hardly paid attention to anymore. She’d never been known as a frivolous fashion plate, but now she no longer bothered to comb the tangled mass of hair that hung down her back. The leather thong that had held snarled locks in a thick tail had long since been lost. She had even forgotten when she had last bathed. Why bother? She lived for one thing—to find the ones who had destroyed her life. And when she found them, she would kill them. There would be no quarter, no mercy, for they had showed none to Da’tarn.

For a moment, Mona was lost amid her memories of the ones who had fallen beneath her vengeance, men and women of the universe’s varied races, young and old, handsome and ugly, who followed an outlaw leader who cared nothing for their lives. She had been the one to end their existence, miserable as it was. She had bludgeoned or stabbed or lasered them into oblivion.

A sickness invaded her system. She longed to vomit up her hatred, but beloved visions of her son and her husband flooded her memories and strengthened her resolve. They were lost, along with so many of her friends, young and old, who would never again breathe or laugh.

Sudden, solid boot thuds on the metal deck announced the arrival of the intruders, then they entered the bridge. In the hush, a deep voice chimed in the lilting Valtarie melody of quarter notes and half notes. "You shouldn’t have come here, little hawk. Valtar is forbidden to outsiders."

Little? Her? Mona knew that echo of command could belong to none other than Lord Zurellius, ruler of Valtar. His melodious statement washed over Mona in a drenching shiver. Her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She thought she was prepared for this meeting, but she was mistaken. Despite his use of a sobriquet, an ominous threat had threaded its way through his voice. Her heart leaped fearfully in her chest, and Mona swallowed a cough, surprised at her response but glad for the change. At long last, something pierced the cold, unfeeling fog that surrounded her. Even fear was a welcome change.

The Valtarie drew nearer, loomed over her, and Mona was tall for a woman, nearly six feet in height. Heat flared between them in his closeness, but she knew she dared not meet his mesmerizing gaze. She had been warned often enough about the Valtaries’ hypnotic eyes and compelling voices.

But even though she kept her gaze lowered, he exuded the familiar Valtarie scent of sun-ripened, green apples. And he crowded Mona’s personal space. His great silver wings rustled, but he stood silent, waiting. She felt threatened by his intimidation. He was so majestic, more so than Traveen, without his wings, could ever hope to be. His skin glowed in a golden haze of a healthy restored Valtarie who drank wild blood to survive, not the anemic silver of their previous condition. Apparently, Zurellius had used the cure Abbie and Traveen had risked their lives to bring to Valtar several years before. From Abbie’s stories, Mona knew many things about Valtar’s home world, things that were, perhaps, unhealthy to know. The invisible fist that choked Mona’s throat grew tighter. Perhaps, it had not been a good idea to come here for help. But the ship badly needed repairs.

Mona still refused to look up, but, through her lowered lashes, she viewed the muscular thighs of the other Valtarie grouped around her. Silver-winged, golden warriors armed to the teeth crowded her ship’s bridge. Zurellius had shared the cure.

Tentatively lifting her gaze, Mona received another shock. They all stared at her—directly at her—with their swirling blue gazes, not with the proper lowered glances Abbie had told her were demanded by Valtarie Law.

She shivered under their bland stares that revealed no emotion. What did they think of her? She couldn’t glimpse a hint of their thoughts behind their combined neutrality. She knew male Valtarie possessed the ability to bind females to their will with just the use of their eyes. Abbie had told her only the royal members of the Cai were allowed to wear protective lenses and look at females directly. Apparently that was no longer the law.

"I see that Valtar has changed." Somehow the flat words escaped Mona’s dry mouth. "Shielded?" She nodded toward the winged warriors who gazed so openly at her.

"Of course. All our males wear protective lenses now." The proud words rumbled over her head where his chin towered over her. The lyrical vibrato brought an added tightness to her throat. Mona had never believed she would respond to the blatant sexuality of the blended harmonics that composed Valtarie speech. After all, she knew Traveen and his sister Fayella well, and they’d never had this type of affect on her.

Da’tarn. Mona breathed the name of her destroyed home and inadvertently drew in Zurellius’s scent again. Despite her grief, her heart leaped in response to the Valtarie’s virility. Mona didn’t welcome the reminder of what she had lost.

Haunted by memories best forgotten, she abruptly demanded, "What are you going to do with us?" Her jaw tightened in the long silence that followed, but she dutifully awaited Zurellius’s answer. When none came, she finally raised her gaze to meet his. The sight of him took her breath.

Zurellius’s commanding beauty filled her vision. Bold, slanted eyes, swirling blue behind the protective lenses, pierced her from above high sculpted cheeks. Sharp bones and smooth planes were graced by a wide sensuous mouth that neither smiled nor smirked but enticed just the same. God, he was big…and beautiful, but it was a cold, cutting beauty. His shiny silver hair lay tightly braided at the base of his neck in a warrior knot similar to the style worn by the leonine Kasar. Without his majestic wings, Zurellius could almost be human in appearance. A very special human, for no human man could ever hope to achieve the golden muscles that rippled across his body as if he pumped iron and had swallowed every known steroid for years. And those eyes...

A shudder went through Mona, and a weakness gathered in her stomach. Zurellius was the epitome of the male animal at his best. Overwhelmed, she clamped her teeth together in denial of her feminine response that rushed to the surface. Although she’d been alone for months, she no longer had the emotional capacity to feel what she was experiencing at the moment. Abbie should have been more explicit about the Valtarie males and their allure. Apparently, just being near them caused a woman to respond to their sexuality.

As Mona struggled for composure, Zurellius folded his arms across his wide, bare chest, flexing his biceps while he stared at her with a mocking sneer. Obviously, he was trying to intimidate her. She realized, quite suddenly, that he didn’t wear the royal purple robes of his high office. Only a thin strip of gold bordered the white sash that draped his lower body. Except for that mark, Zurellius was dressed as simply as the others, with their laser swords strapped across their backs between their wings. Only their thin, silk oachas covered the essentials of their masculinity.

But Zurellius loomed larger than the other statuesque Valtarie, more threatening with his half-lidded, lens-protected, heavy stare.

Still holding her gaze captive, Zurellius spoke to his guards without turning his head. "Take them to the palace. The Council will decide their fate."

"We came in peace, Lord Zurellius," Mona used his name and title, revealing that she knew he was Valtar’s ruler. For years, Abbie and Traveen had fed her stories of the stoic leader. In the background, she heard the grunting and shuffling of her own troops who waited for some sign from her. She flicked her fingers in a silent command. Quiet.

Ta’baar growled low in his throat, a dangerous, guttural sound that most took seriously and backed away from, but even he waited, obeying her signal.

"You knew the danger. You ignored the posted sentinels." Zurellius lifted one arrogant brow, and his nostrils flared when he spoke. For some reason, Mona felt that he held his anger at bay with only the slightest control. She jumped when he spoke again, his voice booming. "Valtar is a forbidden port. Forbidden to all outsiders."

"But I need to speak to you...privately." Despite her control, a pleading tone crept into her voice. Hating the sound, she straightened, took a deep breath, and chose her words before she continued, putting as much sincerity as she could into each word. "Lord Zurellius, I must speak to you…alone."

"What you have to say to me, you say to the High Council. I no longer rule Valtar." He waited for her reaction, that arched silver brow rose again, but no other expression broke the hard perfection of his face.

"You are on the Council," Mona pointed to the gold trim on his oacha, a bold assumption on her part. She realized just a little too late that her finger also pointed to a region of his body she’d rather not think about. She refused to blush, denying the heat and raising her hand to touch the tingling scar.

The sharp tips of Zurellius’s incisors glimmered between his lips while his lazy, insolent gaze followed the direction of her hand. The faint expression died when she touched her half-healed wound.

His brilliant eyes narrowed on her face, and a long muscle jumped in his jaw. "Go with Kryos and Vladeem. Your men and ship will be unharmed as long as there are no surprises." Valtarie compelling tone rang in Zurellius’s melody, but his voice softened on the truth he spoke.

"There will be no surprises," Mona murmured.

"No?" He scanned the ship’s sparsely instrumented bridge with a quick glance.

His question made Mona’s recent past flash past her in gruesome detail. She had lost everything on Da’tarn—her husband, her son, her friends and her home—everyone who had depended on her as a Peacemaker. She had failed in her police duty. But she had lived. If God was just, she would have died too. Better death than living in this cold vacuum.

"No. No one is hiding in ambush." Mona shook her head, relegating the violent nightmares back to the darkness.

"Then go with my men."

"Later." Mona dared his gaze and gestured to her troops, who reluctantly followed the Valtarie from the bridge. Ta’baar turned, looking back one last time for Mona’s slight nod before he disappeared with the rest.

Her duty as captain finished, Mona sagged. She would have fallen if not for the quick grip of Zurellius’s two remaining guards who rushed forward to catch her. One’s grasp on her wounded right arm brought a sharp cry despite her rigid control.

Then, to her horror, a burst of fury flashed past her, crying, "Don’t you hurt Mona!"

* * *

Zurellius grabbed the undeveloped wings of the biting, kicking, and scratching whirlwind, lifting her from his cringing lieutenants. A Valtarie fledgling? Kryos and Vladeem were always useless when it came to fledglings. Such softhearted fools.

But this offspring was not Valtarie, despite her fragile, silver wings. Long, dark hair, unlike the silver tresses of Valtarie offspring, flowed down her slender back. And, although her skin warmed to a soft golden sheen, it did not reflect the shifting emotional power of the Valtarie.

He turned the fledgling around. Shock bit him with mighty claws. Her gasp echoed his in identical notes of surprise. Zurellius’s grip loosened. The fledgling slid down his body to the floor. Once there, she threw her arms around his thigh and held on so tightly that she nearly cut off the blood flow to his leg.

Zurellius scowled at her forbidden beauty. Even though he knew the answer, he asked the tall, human warrior who commanded the intruder vessel, "Who and what is this leech that has attached herself to me?"

The female, clearly wounded and white-faced with pain, remained standing only with the help of his guards. Such courage impressed him. She held her right arm against her body with her free hand while struggling to speak. Her words echoed in the near empty bridge.

"Don’t hurt her, Lord Zurellius. Please. Auriella is Abbie and Traveen’s. She’s your niece."

Even though he expected the answer, the news shook Zurellius. He stepped back but was held in place. The fledgling’s grip on his leg never loosened. When he looked down, he was surprised to see Auriella’s eyes screwed tightly shut. Long lashes lay as dark smudges on her cheeks, and her rosebud mouth puckered into a stubborn pout. Zurellius’s frown deepened further before he asked, "Why is she clinging to me? Where are her parents?" He dared not speak Abbie or Traveen’s name, the pain of remembering brought too great an ache.

The captain’s head fell back against Vladeem’s broad chest. Her eyes closed. The words she spoke echoed so faintly that Zurellius strained to hear them. "I don’t know. They’re…lost."