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“Get off me!” She demanded once more. “Let me go or you’ll be sorry!”
Tayden couldn’t help but snort a deep chuckle. “And what do you think you could do to make me so sorry?”
The question totally surprised Shala. What would she do? He was twice the size of her and had the distinct advantage of being half atop her body. She slammed her lips tight and refused to answer, waiting to see what would happen next. If she ever got out of this mess, she’d never disobey her father again.
At a stalemate, they continued to stare at one another.
Tayden drank in the lush thickness of her eyelashes and the angry shimmering violet of her eyes. Even with the heated look of disgust, her gaze was still soft and feminine beyond belief. He had no doubt, however, she’d turn the tables in a moment if only she could reach her weapon.
Shala’s stare took in the straight line of his nose, the black glittering eyes that nearly held her spellbound and the deep shadow of hidden whiskers blackening his jaw. This man was not Dragcon. Dragcon men were hairless except for the thick mane on their head and his was cropped short. Her gaze continued to dart about, then suddenly stopped on the emblem emblazoned over his right breast.
The upside down “V” with a cross through it set her heart racing and paled her cheeks to an ashen hue.
Vadian! The very worst possible race to fall prey to. Vadians were Mordovea’s worst enemy, and a race of people who were now considered detrimental to galaxies far and wide, especially since they thrived on subduing any society who could not protect themselves. She’d never seen a Vadian—only heard the tales of their homely, twisted features and pirate-like values. They would steal what they could with no mind to the Civil Rules set by the Universal Council.
Her captor possessed none of those horrendous traits though. His chiseled features were too alluring, almost sensual. Black eyebrows arched over dark eyes, his clean black hair framed a sun-darkened brow and a strong cheek line. Full, moist lips hovered directly above her. He was as handsome as any Dragcon could ever be, muscular to a fault—and had already proven himself to be a formidable enemy through skill and intelligence.
Shala’s mind raced to discover a way out of her perilous situation. At all costs she needed to keep her royal identity a secret. She did a quick mental check of her clothing and personal items. Nothing on her bodysuit or in the test case would give away her identity. Thank the stars it was something her father always insisted upon simply because of the situation she now found herself in. He’d always wanted her to hide the family crest rather than wave it beneath the nose of any unsuspecting aggressor.
She tore her gaze from her captor’s rugged features as she struggled to come up with something, anything to lend herself to a swift getaway. Strength was out. He would easily overcome her. A fleeting thought of her mother flashed through her brain. Always use your quick intelligence, my daughter. It will serve you well.
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