It was the woman's turn to shrug. "I let Sark go, on his promise that he'd blast off within the hour he reached his ships."
"You let him go—?" Haral stared. His tension and temper soared. "Are you mad, woman? Sark's word's worth nothing. He'll blast off, yes—but only to roar down on you here and smash you!"
Xaymar stopped short. Before Haral realized what she was doing, she lashed a slap out at him. Fire flashed through his face beneath her fingers. "Have a care who you call mad, blue warrior!" she cried in fury. "Men have died for less—as you can die—"
The sight of her anger lit a spark within Haral. Of a sudden he did not care whether this was death or destiny. Before she could escape, he caught the hand with which she'd slapped him and jerked her to him.
"The blood runs hot in others' veins as well as yours," he rasped out tightly. "You've gone too long with your arrogance unchallenged. But I'm the man to break that habit."
Her nails raked bloody paths along his sides. Her feet beat at his shinbones.
Haral cursed her—and then, bringing her face to his by sheer brute strength, he kissed her.
Her body went limp against him. Her bruised lips welcomed his.
He breathed deep; straightened. "And now—we'll see what's hidden beneath that veil!"