In his room, he prepared for bed and tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, images peppered his head—the Edull tearing into him, being banned from his House of Rone duties, losing control of his emotions. He couldn’t work alongside the other elite cyborgs because he was a liability.
He growled, anger welling. He tossed his sheets back and rose. He wanted to punch the wall or break something.
He paced his room and time blurred. As he stalked past the windows again, he had no idea how much time had passed. The emotions swelling inside him made him feel like a caged animal.
Then he remembered what Simone had said, to ride the wave of emotion. To use his anger.
He spun and headed out. Maybe some target practice would help him. He didn’t have his shoulder weapon, but he could still be the best shot using other weapons.
The corridors were empty as he strode through them. When he reached the arena, it was empty. The first blush of dawn light was crossing over the walls.
He picked up a MaxTek rifle from the weapons rack. Projectile weapons and cyborgs were banned from fighting in the gladiatorial arena, but they still had their place on Carthago, especially in the dangerous deserts. The House of Rone made some of the best weapons on the planet.
He lifted the gun, adjusting to the weight and feel of it. He lined up with several targets on the far wall. As he fired, a laser lit up the shadows. He kept firing, aiming a barrage of lasers into the target.
“Not bad,” a deep voice said from above.
He looked up and saw a shadow hovering above him. A sleek, metallic flyer glided in silently and landed beside him on the sand.
Maxon switched off the flyer’s engine, the breeze catching his shaggy hair. The man’s brown hair was shot through with strands of gold. The House of Rone’s weapons master was big, with broad shoulders and long legs, and perpetually in a bad mood.
“Maxon,” Toren greeted him.
“Still recovering?” the weapons master asked.
“Yes. I’m still volatile.”
“Welcome to the club.” Maxon threw his leg over, climbing off the flyer.
Toren snorted. “You feel a lot, Maxon. How do you function with all that emotion?”
Maxon’s enhancements weren’t visible, but he was a cyborg.
“I’ve always felt, Toren. The emotions I feel fuel my creativity and my work.” He touched the side of the flyer and a compartment opened.
“Is this flyer your design?” Toren asked. Maxon was always tinkering with new designs.
“Yep. Still experimental. I’ve designed it for operating in the desert.” He scowled. “Just haven’t perfected it yet.” From the compartment he pulled out a sleek weapon. “Here.”
Toren turned it over, the silver metal almost warm under his skin.
“It’s a prototype,” Maxon said. “Only someone with cyborg reflexes can use it. I’m calling it the MaxStorm.”
Lifting it, Toren aimed and fired. It fired smoothly, without a jerk. The laser was a continuous stream of silver, like lightning. It hit the center of the targets.
He glanced up and saw the faint smile on Maxon’s lips.
“It’ll take ricochet bolts as well.” Maxon jerked his head. “I have to go.” He turned on his boots and strode away.
Ricochet bolts had been Toren’s favorite with his shoulder weapon. He kept firing, learning the weapon. It sang under his fingers.
“That looks cool.”
He turned his head and saw Grace standing nearby, leaning against a pillar.
“It’s early,” he said. “You should be sleeping.”
She shrugged and nodded at the gun. “Can I try it?”
“No.”
She shot him a stubborn look. “But I want to learn to protect myself.” She looked at the ground.
“Grace?”
“I don’t ever want to be someone’s prisoner again.”
He’d learned enough since he’d been deluged with emotions to hear the pain and fear in her voice. He’d been blind to how people had felt before.
“You’re safe now, Grace.”
She lifted her head. “Can I have a hug instead?”
A hug? He looked at her and realized he couldn’t say no. He nodded.
She rushed at him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and burying her face in his gut.
Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the girl and held her tight.
She tilted her head back, speculation in her dark eyes. Drak. He knew when Grace started plotting, trouble seemed to always follow.
When her gaze drifted down to the weapon in his hand, he realized that if he didn’t let her try firing it, she’d just try later by herself.
“Come here.” He spun her around to face the target.
She beamed up at him.
“You are not to try this by yourself.”
She nodded.
“Your stance is very important.” He nudged her feet apart. She was vibrating with excitement.
She gripped the weapon and aimed.
“Keep it steady and take your time to aim. Now touch the trigger.”
She fired. The laser fire went wild, scoring the wall.
He took it from her and strode over to the weapons rack. He picked a smaller weapon that was better suited for her. “This one will be better.”
She pouted. “It’s small.”
“Because you’re small.” He turned her shoulders. “Stand up straight, plant your feet. No, not like that.”
She adjusted her stance again.
“Straighten a little,” he said. “Lift the weapon.”
She dragged in a breath, her face focused.
“Okay, line up with the target and then depress the trigger slowly.”
Grace fired and the shot went low, hitting the sand.
She made a small growling sound.
He shook his head. “You moved your feet when you fired. Hold still.”
She pulled in a breath. “I can get it.”
Such determination. Something told him that Grace would never give up.
She fired again, the shot hitting the bottom of the target. He adjusted her stance, and this time she held it.
When she fired, she hit the outer ring of the target and let out a cry of excitement. She shot him a big smile.
“What’s going on here?” A sharp feminine voice.
Toren looked behind him and saw Simone bearing down on them. He didn’t need to feel emotion to know that she was mad.
“Uh-oh,” Grace murmured.
“Toren, she is a child.” Simone snatched the weapon out of Grace’s hands and shoved it at him. “She should not be using weapons.”
“But she’s highly intelligent,” he said. “She makes explosives—”
“No, she doesn’t. Not anymore.”
“Mom—”
“No. It was poor judgment on Toren’s behalf to let you try this. No shooting. No fighting. No weapons of any description.”
Grace’s face turned belligerent. “This is a different world, Mom. I want to know how to protect myself.”
Stark pain hit Simone’s face. “No, you’re a child.” She took her daughter’s arm and pulled her away. “No more weapons.” Her dark gaze clashed with Toren’s. “If you can’t realize why this is a bad idea, stay away from her.”