Birthright

CHAPTER ONE

With an angry growl, Kray grabbed Oliver's throat and squeezed until the boy gagged and tried to pry his fingers off. As soon as he felt the weight ease off him, he rolled over and straddled Oliver's waist, then smashed him in the nose. Blood spurted out, soaking his hand when he punched him again.

He didn't get a chance to hit him a third time.

He was struck on the side of his face, and the world spun dizzyingly. Before he could get his bearings, he hit the ground again and the attacks came from everywhere. It was the others, Brent and Christo, and pretty soon Oliver joined in.

"That's right, traitor boy, this is the way we treat Sansers and their human slaves," Oliver said. "We're just doing the work of the ANEF. Cleaning up the streets of the Mainland."

The other two laughed and jeered.

"C-coward," Kray gasped, clutching his head to protect it. He wanted to taunt Oliver for letting his friends save his sorry hide, but he couldn't speak through the pain that tore through his chest and rippled down his spine.

"Stop this," a voice said. "Enough, all of you!"

The attacks immediately stopped. Breathing shallowly, Kray lifted his head and saw Alex standing behind the boys, her arms crossed over her chest. Disapproval shone in her golden eyes. "What do you boys think you're doing, fighting on a day like this? Do you have no respect for Liberation?"

Oliver grunted and straightened out his clothes. "It's best you stay out of this. It doesn't concern you."

"I'm not another Malkan for you to push around, Ollie," she said.

"So the savage ran crying to you, huh?" 

Malkan's not the savage, Kray thought as he stumbled up on his feet, almost groaning when agony seized his side. His nose felt wet and he wiped the blood off with the back of his hand. Alex glanced at him as he did so and frowned. "That so-called savage doesn't deserve what you do to him, so I suggest you grow up and stop these schoolyard games," she said to Oliver. "Are you okay, Kray?"

He nodded curtly, his gaze on Oliver. No way he'd let this punk know how much he was hurting. "You might want to put some ice on that eye, Ollie, or you're gonna have a nasty shiner tomorrow morning."

Oliver flashed him a rude gesture. "Come on, guys," he said to his buddies. "Wouldn't want to do anything to piss off the General's daughter, would we?"

He tried to sound tough, but Kray knew he was scared. It might have been hilarious to watch a fifteen-year-old girl send him running, had this same girl not been Kray's savior.

When they left, he dusted off his clothes, inspecting them. At least he hadn't gotten any blood on his clothes as far as he could tell. But that probably wouldn't have made a difference. He looked bad enough, his shirt wrinkled and missing several buttons, his pants stained around the knees. Grams had talked him into coming to the Liberation ceremony at Berkley Park, and she'd insisted he wear nice clothes for the occasion: a light blue button-down shirt, khakis, a blazer, and brand-new sneakers—even a tie, currently in his pocket.

He did everything he could to make Grams happy. But he doubted she'd be happy to see him right now.

"Let's hear it," Alex said, her eyebrows lifted expectantly.

"Hear what?"

"The usual, 'Stop saving my life, Alex.' 'You're making me look bad in front of the guys, Alex.'"

"Saving my life? That's a bit dramatic."

Any humor vanished from her expression. "I don't need to tell you how dangerous Oliver Nourse is. He might not set out with the intention of putting you in the hospital or beating you to death, but don't assume he knows when to stop. And the way you keep provoking him isn't helping things."