RED HORIZON (Heliocite Saga #1)

𝔽𝕀𝔽𝕋𝔼𝔼ℕ

If it was possible to be beautiful splattered in blood, Seri was doing a remarkable job.

Azariah watched her from the shadows that edged the courtyard, leaning against a column with his arms crossed over his chest. She was bent over one of the Tapresian refugees, holding his hand and stroking his hair. Her braid was a mess and bits of hair stuck to her sweaty neck. Blood stained the front of her tunic along with a few other unidentifiable substances. She looked like she hadn't slept in two days. And he had never been more attracted to her.

The refugee said something and Seri leaned closer so she could hear. Then her face lit up with laughter and she placed a hand on the man's cheek, gracing his forehead with a kiss. Azariah's shoulders tensed. Was it possible to be jealous of a man half-dead?

When she straightened to brush her hair over her shoulder, her back arched just enough that he could see the outline of her breasts through her tunic. He swallowed thickly, diverting his attention back to her face. This was no help, as she was laughing again, which made her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle in the most adorable of ways. He couldn't stop the rush of heat in his veins; it urged him to sweep her into his arms and make certain he was the only one allowed to bring the stars to her eyes.

"She's very pretty, isn't she?"

A familiar voice made Azariah jump, and he whipped around. Elijah was grinning at him.

"I think you're a bit old for her," Azariah deadpanned, letting his gaze stray back to the courtyard.

"Ah, maybe," Elijah agreed with solemnity. "But love can come from the least expected places."

Love? Azariah scowled. Who said anything about love? He could appreciate a woman without loving her. Seri had grown into a beautiful young woman; it was only natural for him to feel these urges toward her. He had accepted that and was content to admire her from afar. But any other feelings he held were strictly platonic. She was a childhood friend. Nothing more.

And the knowing look on Elijah's face was pissing him off.

He pushed himself away from the column, turning his back to Seri and the courtyard. "What do you want, old man?"

Elijah chuckled but didn't push the subject any further. "The cook is looking for you. He said you were supposed to pick up prison rations an hour ago."

Azariah groaned, his hands falling to his sides. He had been avoiding it all morning. Today was his first day as a guard. The first day of his punishment. The entire thing was bullshit. But he supposed the sooner he started the bullshit, the sooner it would be over.

"Thanks for the heads up," he grumbled, breezing past his mentor and into the hall. Elijah followed after.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No."

Elijah allowed him a few more steps, then added, "I want to. Humor me."

This was Azariah's least favorite thing about his mentor. Both he and Seri always insisted on talking. At least Seri knew when to back off. Azariah knew Elijah wouldn't give up until he said something. He'd follow him right to the underground and stand with him all day, just waiting. And at this point, Azariah was starting to look forward to some solitude, even if it was in a dank cave.

"Fine," he relented. "I don't understand why I'm being punished. I know I used a blaster, but I was defending the sanctuaries. And it worked."

Elijah said nothing in return, just nodded as they walked. When the silence stretched longer, Azariah began to tense. His mentor was the one who had wanted to talk. And now he wasn't saying anything. Why? Taking the bait, Azariah probed. "Do you think I deserved to be punished?"