Instinctively she reached for her sidearm, which of course she had left on the lifepod. There was only one thing to do: Trust Ronan… and show absolutely no fear.
“Will they shoot us?” she asked.
“No. They will fight as I do.” He shifted his weight and flexed his muscles. “Bodies only.”
“Ronan—”
“Do not interfere unless there is treachery.” To her surprise, he reached out with his mind and bestowed the gift of his pride in her, his warmth, his affection… what she almost dared call love. It fortified her like full body armor and a whole array of crack marines. She set her legs apart and watched the Darjai come with a wicked smile.
One ran ahead of the others and stopped, ears cocked forward and shoulder fur standing on end. “Ne’lin!” it called, and spat a phrase that couldn’t possibly be anything but insult and challenge.
Ronan answered, hardly lifting his voice above a whisper. The challenger clicked its teeth and charged.
Ronan had five seconds to brace himself before the ve’laik’in was on him. He took the full weight of the alien, turned his hip, and sent the shaaurin flying over his shoulder. It happened so quickly that Cynara missed the individual elements of his counterstrike.
A second Darja moved forward and issued another, longer challenge, rasping like chisel on stone. This time Ronan met the attack by dodging to the side at the last possible moment, making his body small as if he’d folded in on himself. The shaauri’s filed nails struck him a glancing blow. It recovered its balance and sprang up only to be felled by a brutal chop from Ronan’s right foot.
Cynara had already turned to watch for the first shaauri’s recovery. It struggled to its feet, and she prepared to fight it off by any means she had. But it did not attack. It backed away, ears flattened, glaring hatred.
The second shaauri did the same, clutching its belly as it joined its companion.
“These will not attack again,” Ronan said between breaths. His shipsuit was torn where the second attacker had scored him, and three parallel red lines marked his skin. He seemed not to notice. “They will come one at a time, by custom, and retire only when shoulders touch the earth.”
“That’s comforting. Only three to go.”
“They send their lesser ve’laik’i first.” He flexed his arms and performed a gliding, graceful exercise that turned his muscles liquid. “Stand apart.”
Their conversation had muted the third warrior’s challenge. Its charge shifted abruptly to the right, directly toward Cynara. Ronan sidestepped to meet the warrior. The shaaurin slammed into him full on, and both fell. Blue shipsuit and barred red fur mingled in striking limbs and heaving bodies.
Do not interfere, Ronan shouted into her mind. She clenched her fists to the point of pain and forced herself to wait. Briefly the shaaurin gained the upper hand, straddling Ronan with nails like razors poised to strike. Cynara snatched up a fallen tree branch. In the same instant Ronan flipped his enemy over, knelt on the shaaurin’s back, and forced its head to the ground.
But the ve’laik’in didn’t quit as Ronan had promised. It heaved its bulk with ferocious strength, kicking Ronan up and away. Ronan rolled as he fell, recovering quickly, but the Darja warrior crouched and launched itself at Cynara.
In a second, it was on her. In another, Ronan had the warrior by the neck. He snapped his opponent’s head to the side and threw the shaaurin to the ground.
The ve’laik’in lay absolutely still. Ronan staggered back, holding his hands out to his sides. His shipsuit was torn in a dozen new places, his lower lip was split, and two of the fingers on his left hand were bent at awkward angles.
Cynara grabbed him before he fell. “Dead?”
“Yes. I did not intend—” He broke off and pushed Cynara away as the other warriors dropped to their knees beside their fallen companion. One of them lifted its face to the sky and roared. The others swung their heads to stare at Ronan and Cynara.
“They didn’t follow your rules,” Cynara said. “They’ll try to kill us now, won’t they?”