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her darting from the opening toward Comron.
    “Just a frightened little girl in a storm, aren’t you?” Comron said with a throaty laugh as he walked over to a chair and lowered himself into it. “Not surprising considering your cowardly heritage.” Despite their truce, he would provoke a truthful response from her. “Poor Larrs. What a grave disappointment you must be to him.”
    Vaush planted her hands on her hips. “I thought we’d agreed to stop with the insults.”
    “Of course I agreed in my vulnerable state. But as you can see,” he cocked a dark brow, “I’m fully recovered.”
    “I should have expected no less from you,” she said, turning away in a huff.
    The sight of it pleased him.
    “So where exactly did the old man go wrong with you?” He intended to pick at the mental scab until he discovered why Bastionli would save the life of a Van Laven if it weren’t for treachery. “Or did he simply choose not to waste his time educating an addle-minded female?”
    Vaush wheeled around, her hazel eyes flashed angrily. “I knew you were a knuckle-dragging cretin when I found you lying there, but I thought saving your life might make you a more tolerable person. Obviously, I was wrong, you mouth-breathing ingrate.”
    His grin spread devilishly. “Why that’s quite a mouth you have there.” He placed his hands on his firm thighs and slid his hands upward, guiding her gaze. “I can think of far better uses for such a pretty mouth.”
    Outraged, Vaush gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. But then her gaze fell to his groin, she squinted conspicuously and then tossed her head back with laughter. “That might pass as adequate on Nethic,” she said, gesturing at it, “but we, Ti-Larosian women, prefer our men with a little more… well, just more.”
    Forgetting his purpose, Comron’s smug grin fell away and the color rose in his face. He had half a mind to show her exactly what he had and what he could do to her.
    With enormous effort, he remained in his chair, glaring at her. “I’d prove you wrong, wench.” He eyed her figure with a false look of disdain. “But you’re not worth my time.”
    “Me…or women in general?” she smirked. “Guess the rumors were true, eh?”
    Comron’s eyes flew wide with indignation and rage. He shot from his chair and briskly grabbed her by the arm. “How dare you suggest such vile perversity when—”
    She belted him in the gut, doubling him over.
    “Mother of bitches!” he growled, fearing his wound had been ruptured.
    “Don’t ever put your hands on me!” Vaush shouted and hurried to gather her things.
    Before he could recover from the pain, she dashed out into the downpour, vanishing from sight.
    Astonished, Comron stood there holding his gut. Without Vaush he would have no leverage in the event that Larrs should make an appearance. And if Larrs never showed, it meant Vaush had acted on her own and now he would never discover the reason why.
    Ignoring the gnawing pain, he started after her until he noticed the bright red stain on the white bandage. If he didn’t treat it now, the wound would become infected and fester under the hostile conditions. He gazed out into the downpour and wondered how far Vaush would go before reason prevailed and she returned to their shelter. Reluctantly, he withdrew into the transport to treat the wound and consider his next move.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 8
     
    Vaush awakened with a start and lifted her head from the damp earth. She couldn’t remember how long she’d run in the pouring rain, or when she had collapsed from exhaustion; all she remembered was the fear that raced through her when the Van Laven grabbed her. She’d suspected what the violent and vulgar brute had in mind, and based upon what she had observed of him down below, contrary to her disparaging remark, she had every reason to be fearful.
    Of all the passengers who could have survived, why did it have to be an