Insurrection (Nevermore #1)(16)

He intended to answer with goodbye. Really, he did. Yet somehow, he pulled her against him and kissed her instead.

Daria gasped the moment Josiah’s lips touched hers. At nineteen, she’d only kissed Frayne, and he’d never tasted like this. Raw and powerful. All masculine.

Like divine paradise.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the warmth of Josiah, and gave in to the fantasy she’d had earlier of rubbing her hands down his back over those bulging muscles. His body was every bit as ripped as it’d seemed.

She sucked her breath in sharply, wishing for a lot more than just this hot, insane kiss, and knowing better than to even think about it.

He tensed and pulled away. “Sorry,” he breathed with a sincerity that should insult her.

Yet she suspected it came from more than just the obvious.

In fact, she had a good idea of what might truly be bothering him. “Just how old are you? Really?”

Josiah ran his thumb along her bottom lip as if debating on whether or not he should kiss her again. That action made her chest tighten. “Physically, only five years older than you. Realistically, I’m horrifying and should be ashamed of myself.”

“But you’re not.”

A wicked gleam darkened his eyes. “Hard to be truly ashamed when every woman my age is long dead and decayed into dust. Can’t exactly date in my age group, you know?”

He had a point.

“And the one time I tried to date an older woman, it gave her such a complex over my age and appearance that I haven’t tried it again. Every time we went somewhere, everyone thought I was her son and she couldn’t deal with it.”

“Well, your age isn’t what bothers me,” she reminded him.

“My species does.”

She squirmed uncomfortably at his accurate guess. “Are you saying that mine doesn’t bother you?”

He dropped his hand from her lips. “It’s not as much a factor at the moment as it was before.”

“Truly?”

A deep, dark pain settled behind his eyes. It was so profound that it brought a lump to her throat. “I’ll make a deal with you, Daria Stazen. I won’t hold your black blood against you if you don’t hold my red blood against me.”

He held his hand out to her in a peculiar manner that suggested she was supposed to do something.

Arching her brow, she tapped her hand against it.

Josiah laughed, then took her hand and showed her what he wanted her to do. “It’s called shaking hands. This is how we humans make bargains.”

“You don’t post your bargains?”

With a snort, he shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

“Humans are a strange lot.”

“That we are, Miss Stazen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few of us to save.”

“Good luck, Commander.” And this time, she actually meant it. Most of all, she looked forward to his return. For once, she wanted to get to know him better and see what lay beneath his dark and sinister fa?ade.

Hours later, Josiah flew through the darkness of what had once been the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station, silent and watching. No longer part of the military he’d once known, the station now belonged to their enemies who used it as a detention facility for the humans they captured. Worse? They used it to conduct auctions for, and operations on, the Scraps of humanity.

Scraps. That was what the Drabs called them. It was how they viewed them. Nothing but cast-off remains to be used and discarded at will.

Worthless. Except to the ones who needed human body parts or those depraved beings who should be jailed for their crimes. It was nauseating that humanity had been reduced to this by a bunch of hypocritical creatures who thought of themselves as enlightened and morally superior.

Rise up and slam them to the ground. That had been his father’s teachings. Strike fast. Strike hard. Let no one see you bleed. The world belongs to those who have the cojones to face adversity and make it their bitch.

If you go down, you go down swinging.

Yeah, no one would ever confuse Takoda James Crow with Gandhi. His father had been a staunch naval commander who brooked no lip, or attitude, from any of his seven sons.

Or anyone else.

And little did the Drabs know that their base was one Josiah knew like the back of his hand. It’d been one of his mother’s favorite haunts while his father was out at sea for months on end.

He’d come of age here and the surrounding areas.

Now he came here for blood vengeance.

Josiah swooped down to get a better view of his enemies and the ones they were holding prisoner.

The Drabs lay far below, going about their business as if they had every right to exist on this planet. It galled him to the deepest part of his soul. Nothing had been right in the world for so long that he had to struggle most days to remember why he kept fighting when every omen seemed to foretell his doom and the end of humanity as a whole.

But in spite of the ache, he knew why.

Mohani. She would be the first to tell him to stand strong in this resistance. If you don’t fight for what you want, then don’t cry for what you’ve lost.

God, how he missed her and her sayings that had once driven him crazy. Never cry for a person who cares nothing for the value of your tears. She’d had something to say about everything. The perfect kick in his butt whenever he needed it.