Rescue or not, Karryl wanted to punch Ishaan F’Naar in the face. Repeatedly. With the butt of a laser rifle.
Sitting on one side of the shuttle, Jane tucked into his side, he feigned the worn-out rescuee and studied Ishaan and his men from under lowered lashes. No one would be fooled that he was resting. His body was coiled tightly, ready to retaliate should any of them make a move.
He didn’t trust the F’Naar. Never had. They claimed loyalty to Daaynal, but he’d long since had his doubts about them. Neither large nor particularly skillful like the K’Vass, nor with any particular advantageous bloodlines, they were the kind of war clan who kept their cards close to their chest and played the odds.
He hadn’t been inclined to trust them before. The hairs on the back of his neck had risen as
