room. Kiara slid slowly to the floor, her mind too
overwrought to think about much of anything except the fate that awaited her when the
battle ended.
She was aboard some sort of aircraft with two assassins, in who knew what sector or
galaxy, and all of them were now under attack by something probably more cruel than
her current hosts.
For the briefest moment, she thought it might be her father with a rescue party. But she
knew better. He was still at the consulate meeting and thought her safely guarded in the
dance company's hotel rooms.
Tears flooded down her cheeks as she realized the hopelessness of her situation. She
would die out here in space, raped and tortured. The only hope she had was that whoever
was attacking them, would destroy them.
"Please," she begged in a ragged voice. "Let me die during the fight!"
Her throat tightened as she listened to the sounds of battle. The old walls of the shuttle
creaked ominously. Blasts struck the craft and kept it rocking beneath her.
Kiara stared at the lock, tempted to try and pick it again.
But what good would it do? She could hear the popping of damaged electrical circuits in
the hallway. By now, all the power to the doors had been drained and transferred to the
ship's weapons and shields.
The lights went out.
Kiara sat in total darkness, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Be brave," she whispered, her voice lost among the hissing sounds outside. She was a commander's child, and she
would meet death calmly, with dignity.
After an eternity of wrecked and tormented nerves, the craft was still. The odor of
burning wires and smoke filtered into her room. Kiara coughed from the smoke until her
throat burned. She was still alive, though to what purpose or fate, she could only guess.
Hearing the sound of approaching feet, she tensed, but they quickly ran past her room.
The tightness of her throat loosened a tiny degree.
She seemed to have aged forty years before she heard someone else outside her door. Her heart pounded in short staccato beats at the sizzling sound of a torch cutting through the
steel.
Kiara gripped the bed frame with her left hand and clutched the remnants of her
nightgown with her right. Her head was so light from her panic, she feared she might
faint.
A loud pop sounded just before a large piece of the door fell in. Her stomach knotted into
a cold lump. Light from a torch traveled about the room, stopping as it illuminated her.
Despite the pain of her adjusting eyes, she tried to see beyond the light, to whoever held
it, but all she saw was a large, black blob.
The blob stepped through the hole and entered her room.
Kiara tucked her legs under her so she could quickly rise to her feet if she needed to. A
trickle of sweat ran down her temple. She tensed, ready to strike out with whatever
resistance her battered, tired body could muster.
The overhead lights returned, burning her eyes. Kiara blinked several times and the blob
turned into a soldier dressed in a black battlesuit. A dense black helmet covered his face,
preventing her from seeing what race he belonged to. No insignia or flag marked his
uniform in any way.
Who was he?
She stared at him, still uncertain whether he would help her, or harm her more. Until she
knew the answer, she would play docile, lulling him into thinking her harmless. And if he
did intend to hurt her, she would knee him where it would do her the most good. But he
didn't move closer.
To her surprise, he shut off the torch and placed it on the floor. She prepared to run.
Unaware of her intent, he unstrapped his helmet from the lines securing it to his battlesuit
and removed it.
Kiara was amazed by the handsomeness of his face. His long, brown hair was pulled back
into a ponytail and two small, silver hoops dangled from his left ear-lobe. His dark eyes
moved over her body, measuring her state of disarray.
When he looked back at her face, she saw pity and concern.