Warrior by Cara Bristol

was who she feared—when he remembered, he would kill her. If by some infinitesimal chance he did not, she would end up in a cage with the other females.
    “Yes. I had a comrade, but he and I came to…differences.” His words, coupled with a flat tone, confirmed the outcome if he discovered her identity. “What is it you are called?” he demanded.
    “I am Anjot.”
    “Anjot means warrior.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do not look like a warrior.”
    She ignored the insult. “What is it you are called?”
    “Icor.”
     
    * * * *
     
    Anika waited until the moon floated high in the sky and the males snored before she slipped out from under her sleep covering. She tugged on her boots and tiptoed through the camp. Since they’d arrived, she’d been unable to slip away alone even once to relieve herself. Someone had always been with her—most often Icor, who dogged her every move, but, if not him, then one of Qalin’s alphas or betas.
    She could not do as they did—walk a few steps out of camp and turn her back.
    Under lunarlight, she crept into the woods. Every step jarred her full bladder, but she needed to put distance between her and the others, lest they awaken with the same needs and happen upon her.
    Behind a stand of trees, within a small clearing ringed by a thicket of brush, she stopped. Urgency growing by the second, she tore at her uniform. The harsh chill bit at her exposed skin, but cold was the least of her concerns. Dropping to a crouch, she released her bladder and sighed in relief as urine spread in a widening, steaming puddle across the frozen ground.
    After her bladder emptied, she wiped with a handful of dried grass, then stood and fixed her uniform.
    “You are not alpha, you are female!”
    Anika whipped around.
    Icor circled her, flexing his arms. The violet Parseon moon radiated a strong glow over them both, and Anika watched in horror as recognition dawned. “You! You did this to me,” Icor accused.
    For a male who’d moved gingerly, he struck fast. Pain splintered across her cheekbone, knocking her to the ground, and she struck her head against a fallen tree. The moon blinked in and out of focus.
    “Drakor!” he spat.
    Anika stumbled to her feet, but Icor grabbed her before she could take more than a step, and spun her around. His fist shot out, but she ducked, and it glanced off her temple.
    She wrested away, her guerilla training channeling panic into action. With an uppercut, she jabbed under his chin. His feral howl echoed in the night. She aimed again, but he feinted, caught her wrist and, with a wrench, forced her to her knees.
    Murder gleamed in his good eye. A thick white substance oozed from the facial abscess.
    “It will be my pleasure to see you beg before I kill you,” he snarled, and twisted her left arm. Anika screamed as her shoulder dislocated. The world fogged. Icor slapped her to full consciousness, knocking her onto her side.
    She inched her fingers into her boot.
    “Get up!” He kicked her ribs.
    She closed her hand around the dagger’s hilt.
    “Stand up!” Icor hissed.
    Her dangling, useless right arm could assist with no purchase, but she used to her injury as a distraction, staggering to her feet while easing the knife from her boot with her right hand. She shielded the weapon behind her thigh then lunged forward and drove it into Icor’s abdomen.
    His eye bulged with disbelief, and he gasped. He clutched at her hands, but his strength dwindled with his life force, and she held on. Scarlet froth dribbled from his mouth and red seeped through their fingers, warm against her cold skin. His features went slack, and he pitched forward. She jumped away, yanking out the knife, as Icor fell dead.
    Bile clogged her throat. Her breath came in panicked gasps . I have killed someone! She gaped at the bloody knife, at the body. I eliminated a threat, a male who intended to kill me . I had no choice . She dropped the knife and stumbled from the body, a starburst of