Warlord Reunited: 3 (Barbarian Claims) by Cynthia Sax Page A

male she shouldn’t care about.
    Or he knows I’m coming for him. Elle relaxed. That scenario was more likely. Berke closely monitored landings on his planet. Even during that last visit to Dorian 2, the planet he’d left her on many solar cycles ago, he’d tracked activity on Chamele 1, putting his people’s safety first, before her, before their doomed relationship.
    I no longer have the element of surprise. The challenge excited her. Elle pressed the button in her right cuff and her suit darkened to a concealing black. She slid into the crevice, entering the Warlord’s underground domain. The temperature increased immediately and the ice dangling from her eyelashes melted, the liquid splitting the light from the wall torches into a dizzying range of bright colors.
    She moved along the narrow corridor, sprinting soundlessly from shadow to shadow. Her feet tingled, the feeling returning to her toes. The air grew warmer as she descended into the mining planet. Water dripped along the stone walls and perspiration slid between her breasts, invisible fingers of moisture stroking her skin.
    Elle turned a corner and reeled backward as though she’d been struck. A piercing pain assaulted her brain and the air burned her nostrils. Threat. She searched the space, seeking the source of her agony.
    A tall bare-chested male leaned against the far wall, taking inventory of his weapons. He moved his hands methodically over his daggers and guns, his body covered with an impressive array of weapons.
    The strange male didn’t need a weapon to hurt her. Elle’s stomach heaved and bile rose in her throat, every moment spent away from Berke having reduced her tolerance for another male’s presence.
    Ignore…pain. Elle breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out, pressing her body into a naturally formed alcove, the rock hard against her back. She examined the guard as she fought for composure, contemplating her next move.
    The male had Berke’s long black hair, tanned skin and dark eyes. Despite the Chamele warrior’s broader, more heavily scarred face, Elle saw his resemblance to the Warlord. He must be one of Berke’s beloved brothers. The pain leveled, allowing her to think, to take action.
    I’ll capture him also. She plucked at her gloves, drawing the fabric higher over her wrists, concealing all of her exposed skin. If I can capture him. The brother’s defined chest, bulging biceps and thick, leg-covering-clad thighs made him a daunting opponent. Elle extracted the gun from her right hip holster, slid the lever to Stun and aimed.
    The brother raised his head, his dark eyes widened in alarm and she pressed the trigger. His face contorted and he fell silently to his knees.
    “Gotcha,” Elle whispered. She holstered her gun and quickly, carefully strapped a leather gag over the brother’s closed mouth, preventing him from yelling for help.
    Her captive jerked backward, his bare shoulder brushed Elle’s cheek and searing pain shot across her face, down her neck, welts bubbling on her skin. Moisture dripped from her nostrils, her head pounding and her knees shaking.
    Elle bit back a curse. Once one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxies, she had almost been incapacitated by a mere touch.
    “I should kill your brother for that offense alone,” she murmured. Bonding with Berke had ruined any chance she had of enjoying a normal life, her affliction forcing her to resign from active bounty hunting and to sequester herself at the all-female bounty-hunter school.
    The captured warrior’s gaze met hers, his jaw dropped and the gag automatically tightened, strangling any protest he might make.
    “And I should kill you for bonding with my friend, whichever one of my dear friends you have in your grasp.” She pulled his arms back and bound his wrists, the reinforced restraints unbreakable even by a Chamele warrior.
    “But killing you now would hurt either Zeta or Gale, something I’d never do.” She restrained his