Joanna Wylde: The Price of Freedom

He opened his mouth, then closed. What was he supposed to say?

"I was pretty angry when I first got your message," she said softly. The bartender brought a glass of water over and she took it, murmuring, "Thanks."

He waited as she drank deeply. She put the glass down, the lightly traced the rim with one finger.

"But I realized something," she continued. "Being angry with you wasn't the solution. I love you for who you are, Jess."

His heart froze.

"And I guess that means loving you even when you do things I can't understand."

"What are you saying?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Oh, Jess," she said, turning to him. "I really don't get why you're doing this to yourself. How many times have I told you I love you? How many times have I made it clear I want you for my partner?"

"You've also made it very clear you don't need me," he said, shaking his head.

"Of course I don't need you," she replied. "I'm a grown woman. I'm capable of living without you.

I'm not a child. But that doesn't mean I don't want you, Jess. You're my man, we're a family now. How could I ever be happy without you? I love you."

She leaned forward, kissing him on the mouth. He didn't respond, still trying to process what she was telling him. She really did want to be with him.

She pulled back, sliding off the barstool and standing beside him.

"Let's get back to our ship and get out of this place," she said, holding out one hand to him. He nodded slowly, and took it.

"That sounds like a good idea to me," he replied. "Where are we going? To Logan?"

"We'll see," she said, a strange little grin playing across her face. "I think it's my turn to pick where we go. Some place warm, maybe. And definitely no Pilgrims or slaves."

"Yes m'am," he replied, smiling back at her. "I'm up for anything you want."

"Good," she replied, laughing and shaking her head. "Brace yourself, Jess. I'm in a strange mood, so things could get interesting. Let's see what kind of future we can find for ourselves, hmm?"

Logan stood alone on his balcony.

He could see his entire city from here, the shining capital that his family had ruled for centuries. Once his father had stood here too, telling his young son stories of the star system that would one day be his to rule. He had always imagined doing the same with his own son, Soren.

Instead he had spent five years as a slave, less than a man.

For all that, his return to power had been almost laughably easy. His people had rallied to him upon his return, turning on the revolutionaries and slaughtering them as Logan strode through the city toward his palace. Millions had followed him, singing songs and throwing flowers in his path. Several times he had been forced to stop. They all wanted to touch him, to hear his voice and remember the good times.

Nobody could have guess how bad life would get once revolutionaries had crept into his palace wearing gas masks five years ago. Every electronic security system had been subverted, and loyal guardsmen were slaughtered as they lay unconscious. A reign of terror had followed and millions suffered.

Many of the conspirators were already dead. Thousands more waiting in the prisons below the castle, damp, dark pits his earliest forefathers had carved out of the living rock to encase their enemies.

Now his men were questioning those prisoners, demanding answers and ripping the truth from the very fabric of their brains.

So far no one had been able to give him the information he sought. Somewhere, out in the city or in the hills beyond, his son still lived.

Every other member of his family was dead. His brothers, sisters…his lifemate, Linnea. They were all gone, but Soren still lived.

Those of his loyal friends and counselors who had survived the assault thought he was crazy. There was no reason to believe the child had survived. He had been less than a year old when the revolutionaries had struck the palace. His caretakers were all slaughtered, and while the child's body was never found, there was no reason to hope. The destruction in the nursery had been terrible; many bodies completely destroyed before they could be identified. How could a child survive something like that?

Entire sections of the palace were ultimately vaporized during those tense, horrible hours…

Despite that, Logan knew in his heart Soren lived. He could hear the child's heart beating deep within his soul, just as he had been able to hear Linnea's heart stop beating. He had felt it the instant his lifemate had perished. Her dying screams echoed in his dreams, though they had been miles apart when the attack came. A part of him died with her and only the hope of finding his son had kept him alive.

Logan leaned forward, willing himself to feel the life of the city, calling out silently to his son to answer him.

Of course, there was nothing. He was no sorcerer to reach outside his body for the truth. Even the priests and priestesses of the Goddess, many with powers beyond his ability to comprehend, believed his son was dead.

Logan sighed, closing his eyes. His son was alive. He was out there, waiting for his father to rescue him. Logan's grip on the railing grew tight, anger welling up within him as he made a silent promise.

When he did find whoever held his son captive, not even the Goddess would be able to stay his hand. He or she would die slowly and terribly for their part in this revolt. He vowed it on his Linnea's cold and lonely grave.