The Taming: Book 3 in the Tribe Warrior Series by Imogen Keeper (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

been dead for two weeks? And Dillan a month. And he hadn’t known. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, unsure what to say.

“You should call home more often.”

“I’m sorry.” His father had been an asshole. Corrupt, selfish, immoral, cruel. But for whatever reason, Mother had been loyal to him. The perfect selissa.

Her mouth tightened.

“Was he murdered?”

“We don’t know.”

“Sanger?”

“We don’t know.”

“Autopsy?”

She sniffed. “I would burn the cassia to the ground before I let them perform an autopsy on Regio TaKarian.”

Of course, she would. He lowered his head into his hands, scrubbing his fingers through his hair. Dillan was dead. His father was dead. And now... that meant... he was...

“You need to come home and claim your place as regio.”

A weight settled, thick on his chest. He looked up at her. “Bu—”

“No arguments, Torum. You are the only Prime born of your father’s seed.”

She’d always hated that he had an illegitimate sister and a Prime half-brother. “You’re still pretending Sanger doesn’t exist.”

“The only legitimate Prime born of your father’s seed. You need to come home. Gaspart and Jeor have been ruling in your absence, but they c—”

He blew out a long breath. “Then let them keep ruling. I don’t want to be the regio.”

“They can’t. They aren’t Primes. The Alliance has sent an Emissary here. His name is Pijuan. He’s making moves to have himself appointed as acting-regio.”

“Can he do that?”

“With the Alliance behind him? They’d love to see us deposed and replaced with a puppet. They’ve already been doing everything they can to weaken our position. There have been riots.”

“Why?”

“Food shortage, rebellions.”

He frowned. In Tamminia? That didn’t make sense. Tamminia was the breadbasket of all of Vesta.

“You need to come home.” Like walls closing in, he saw the rest of his life disappear. No more bounties, no more adventures, no more foreign planets. He’d have to go home, and everything he did once he got there would have to be for his people. He closed his eyes.

He had to take Jasto home first. He owed it to Jasto’s family. Jasto would have gotten him home, no matter the cost. “Hold him off. I’ll come back as fast as I can.”

She was going to argue. It was painted all over her face.

“Sorry, Mother. Dillan was a good man. The best of all of us. Can’t say the same for Father, but I know you loved him.” He stabbed the button on the comm and disconnected. The holo shrank down, but the image of her sad, dark eyes burned into his brain.

TOR STARED INTO SPACE through the viewscreen.

Dillan was dead. And he was regio.

A noise down the hall jolted him back to life.

The woman.

He pushed out of his seat and walked up the passageway just as she exited the bathing chamber, a towel around her torso and a second over her shoulders, clutched tight in her fist.

Damp, pale hair hung down her back. Her skin was still pink from her bath. She didn’t look at him. Merely drifted around his ship.

“Are you lost?”

She didn’t answer.

“What the hell do you want?”

She opened the door to the armory closet.

She glared down her nose at him, or rather up. She was tall for a woman, but she was still a damned sight shorter than him. She tightened her grip on the towel, knuckles whitening.

He could well imagine what was under the thing. She pointed with a dainty finger at her lips and offered a placid smile before continuing down the passageway.

Silent treatment again.

When she poked her head into the engine room, he’d had enough.

She flicked on the light, ducking her head inside.

He pushed off the wall and stomped down the passageway after her. “I asked you a question.”

She blinked, pulling her head back from the doorway, her brows raised.

He moved in closer, invading her space. That haughty glare didn’t change. He took another step closer. “Answer me. What are you looking for?”

She pinched her lips shut, but for a split second, her eyes blazed wide with what looked a hell of a lot like fear.

The passageway ended.

There was nowhere else for her to go.

She bumped into the bulkhead.

He laughed.

She shifted to the side.

And so did he.

She shifted to the other side.

And so did he, in a strange battle dance. He stepped closer.

Her haughty mask slipped.

Her neck craned back, her gaze locked on his. The scent of soap—his soap—drifted up to his nose from her damp hair. She smelled like him, but underneath that was the fruit, and it made him crazy. He knew that smell from somewhere, but trying to remember was like trying to grab at air. And it wasn’t just the fruit, there was an undercurrent there too, not quite as potent as a felana in heat, but close. It was a powerful aroma, and it messed with his brain.

When he stepped even closer, she whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut.

It made him smile. “That’s a really shitty self-defense.”

Gray eyes popped open.

“Your response to a threat is to close your eyes? Because what? If you can’t see me, I’m not really here?”

Her lips tightened. “Are you a threat?”

“To you? Absolutely.”

“I don’t think so. If you wanted to hurt me, you’d have already done it.” It was tiny, the tremor that ran through her body, but he saw it.

“I asked you a question. What were you looking for?”

She didn’t move a muscle.

“Still not talking. That’s a bad choice.” He took the final step, the hard leather soles of his boots touching down just inches from her soft, tender toes.

With a finger and thumb, he tugged the towel from around her shoulders.

“No, don’t!” She batted at it, but it was too late. It slid away, exposing a lot of delicious skin.

He tossed the towel behind him.

A long neck. Elegant shoulder blades. Full, round breasts. Just the tops were visible above the remaining towel.

He caught her chin in his hand.

“Don’t,” she said, but it came out like a squeaky whisper.

He slid his hand down her neck, around to the nape, to clasp a