Royal Recruit - Susan Grant Page 0,39

looked as if he was coming in to a runway. It was dark against the ice, lined with magenta lights. At the far end was a tunnel. Were they crazy? He might be able to crash-land this thing on the runway, but no way was he going to shoot it through that tunnel.

He gritted his teeth, gripping the control stick. The runway came up fast. He broke the descent at the last minute. The ship hit, scraping with a hideous noise. Blinding sparks roared on both sides of the fuselage. He thought he’d stop before reaching the tunnel, but he’d come in way too fast. The ship screamed and shrieked over the runway. The tunnel entrance flew up so fast that he didn’t have time to brace himself.

The ship roared through the entrance, decelerating rapidly, until it finally came to a stop. At the end there, he must have squeezed his eyes shut, because he was opening them, his breath ragged, shocked to see he was still alive.

It was silent except for his wheezing. His lungs burned; his throat was on fire. Toxic fumes, he thought. He’d figured adrenaline had made him light-headed, but now he knew that wasn’t it.

People in dark uniforms were running toward the ship from all directions. He had the impression of having stepped on an anthill. Off to one side was a small group dressed differently from the rest—long, light gray, thigh-length suits belted at the waist and riding boots. Inside the half circle of openly shocked men was a small, slender woman wearing a sparkly gown and an expression of disbelief. Keira.

The strangest sensation hit him—possession, the need to protect her, pride and pleasure in seeing her. She was his—his wife. His woman.

Jared jumped down from the hatch and into the grand hall as the nearly destroyed ship sizzled and hissed behind him. His head was spinning. His lungs hurt. He took a few staggering steps forward. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he said. Then the ground spun up to meet him.

Chapter Twelve

It must have been one killer martini, Jared thought as he came to. Or ten killer martinis. He was lying on his back in bed—not his—and a demolition crew had taken up residence in his head with a wrecking ball that slammed in time with his pulse.

“Jared…”

And if a wicked hangover wasn’t bad enough, whoever he’d ended up in bed with sounded more like a dude than a woman.

“Your Highness, how do you feel?”

Your Highness? Jared groaned. He’d forgotten—he was royalty now. “I’m fine.” Sort of. “It’s cool.”

“Sir?”

He’d spoken English. He switched to the queen’s tongue and peeled open an eye. A tall, silver-haired man sat ramrod straight in a chair next to the bed.

“Prime Minister Rissallen,” Jared said. “I remember you from the ceremony.”

“It is good to be able to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Jared winced. “Me too.”

“It was a terrible accident.”

“It was no accident, Prime Minister. We were attacked.”

“You breathed in a large amount of toxins,” he said as if he hadn’t heard Jared’s remark. “How do you feel?”

“The light in here’s too bright, but otherwise—” he took an internal audit “—it feels like I drank too much alcohol—” how did you say hangover? “—but I’m fine.”

Medical staff fussed around him. One lifted his arm and stuck a disc on the inside of his elbow. It made a faint hiss and almost instantly Jared’s headache was gone. “Incredible,” he said, bringing a hand to the side of his head.

“We would have done it sooner but didn’t know your level of discomfort until you awoke.”

Jared sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. No one tried to stop him. He liked that they didn’t try to baby him. “Did everyone die? Am I the only survivor?”

“Yes. It was a great tragedy. A terrible accident.”

“I’m telling you—it wasn’t an accident. I watched every one of those pods blow up. Someone shot at them—deliberately.” He thought of Han and Karl and the crew. Sadness formed an ache in his chest that no medicine would take away. “Eight people. Lost.” To settle himself, he pressed a fist to his forehead. In Iraq, they’d lost a pilot in the squadron. It had sucked. The incident had worn on everyone. But one thing he’d learned from his time in the service was that you had to go on; you couldn’t let the crap distract you. He drew on that now and shoved his grief to the back of his