As they walked through the tunnels heading back to the House of Galen, Sam could see that Galen was lost in thought and brooding. His hard jaw was tight, and that groove in his brow was back.

Part of her wanted to help him. Made her want to give something to him, and see him relax and smile. She knew he was angry about the Thraxians and their plan. She felt the same.

And that feeling wouldn’t go away until they stopped the bastards.

When they reached the House of Galen, he stormed off without a word. She stared at his back as he strode away.

“He gets like this sometimes.” Raiden stood beside her. “Holes up, broods for a while. Best to give him some time.”

As Raiden walked away, Sam stared at the empty corridor Galen had used. He had no one to talk to, lean on, who worried about him. His people saw him as strong and unbending.

Sam saw beneath to the man.

Galen was just so used to being alone that he never asked for help. She turned and walked down the corridor. At the end was the door to his private suite. Two guards flanked it—one older with an experienced look in his eye and the second a young recruit.

As she drew near, the guards shifted, crossing their staffs to block her way.

She looked at them. “That’s not going to stop me.”

“The imperator doesn’t want to be disturbed,” the younger man said.

“Well, the imperator is used to getting what he wants and not enough of what he needs,” Sam responded.

The older guard eyed her with a considering look. She took another step and the recruit tensed.

The older man shook his head. “You can’t take her, boy. She’d leave you bleeding and use your hide for fighting leathers. Let her pass.” He pulled his staff away from the door.

The young guard stared a moment longer, then reluctantly stepped back.

As Sam walked past them, the older man gave her a faint smile. She nodded at him and walked through the door.

“Mistress Sam?”

She looked back. The young recruit met her gaze, but looked ready to fidget. “I heard you might start training sessions with the new recruits.” He lifted his chin. “I’d like to be a part of your training.”

Feeling lodged in her throat, but she kept her face steady. “I’ll expect to see you there, recruit.”

He lowered his head and Sam let the door close.

She moved through the large, spacious living area. It was clearly a man’s domain, decorated in shades of black and gray with the odd touch of blue and red. A set of carved stairs led to an upper level that she guessed was his bedroom. The arched doors to the terrace were open.

She stepped out into a small, private training arena. It was bathed in golden light from the afternoon sun. Dios, she loved it. Dark green vines grew up the surrounding stone walls.

But as her gaze shifted, all she saw was the man.

Galen swung his sword with powerful flexes of muscle. He wore no shirt or cloak. He was only clad in well-worn leather trousers, a simple leather harness, and gauntlets on his forearms. His muscles gleamed.

He moved with formidable confidence, his powerful blows tearing open the training dummy. The script on his sword flared, and for a second, she thought she saw his tattoos glow too. When she blinked, she only saw black ink and figured she’d imagined it.

She strode across the sand and saw Galen pause, lowering his sword. His back was to her.

“I want to be alone.” His voice was deep and gritty.

Sí, definitely brooding. He was so tense, his back muscles taut. He carried so much weight on his broad shoulders.

“I think you’re too used to being left alone,” she said. “Drowning in your guilt.”

He spun, a muscle ticking on his unsmiling face. “Leave.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”

His eye widened. She suspected that was a word Galen wasn’t used to hearing.

“You helped me the other night,” she said. “You held me together when everything was too much. I want to help you. I want you to relax.”

He didn’t move. “I should have stopped the Thraxians a long time ago.”

“None of this is your fault, Galen. The blame lies solely with the Thraxians, for all the atrocities they’ve committed. Including the destruction of your planet.”

He spun and threw his sword. The blade speared the training dummy through its faceless head, setting it rocking.

“I don’t need any help.”

Stubborn man. She strode to the small weapons rack at the side of the arena. She barely swallowed her moan of appreciation. It was filled with the highest quality swords of all shapes and sizes.

She lifted a sword similar to the one she’d used before. She liked the size and weight of it, and when her fingers curled around the hilt, she saw inscriptions gleam on the metal.

“An Aurelian short sword,” Galen said.

He’d retrieved his own sword and she saw the matching inscriptions on it. “From your homeworld?”

“Yes. The script is a verse to honor the warrior, to give them strength and skill in battle.”

She raised the sword. If he wouldn’t talk, she had another idea for how to get him to burn off his tension. “So, are you up for a challenge, Imperator Galen?”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“Not afraid of the Champion of Zaabha, are you?” She jabbed, her sword missing his face by an inch.

He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. “Sam.” A warning tone.

She used the tip of her sword to lift his up. “Come on, Galen. Show me what you’ve got.”

He exploded into action.

Sam danced backward, meeting his blows. She ducked and dodged, spinning around his body. She struck back, and he met her, hit for hit. He deflected her strikes or met them with hard swings of his own.

It wasn’t long before her arms were burning. They moved back across the small arena, turned, and kept fighting.

It felt almost like a dance—a fast, deadly one.

When Galen finally stepped back, the sunlight was long gone. The shadows were broken only by the glow of orange lights that had come on. Chest burning, Sam leaned over, pressing her hands to her thighs.

“Not bad,” she said.

Galen raised a brow. She could tell not all the tension was gone, but it was a start. “Why do I get the feeling you wanted to add ‘for an old man’ to that?”

She smiled. “You said it, not me.”

He grunted, placing his sword on the rack. He moved over to a large chair set up beside a small table. A long cool drink rested there…as well as a plate of her sweet rolls.

A pleasant clench in her belly. He dropped into the chair and lifted the glass. As he drank the liquid, she watched his strong throat work. Desire curled inside her. Dios, the man was attractive.

“You like my sweet rolls?” she said.

“Yes.” He set the glass down. “Thanks for checking on me. You can go now.”

Ow, she’d been dismissed. But as she stared at that blue eye that looked like cut glass, she still saw the boiling emotions—anger, guilt, fury, pain—before he hid them.

Luckily, Sam didn’t scare easily. She sauntered toward him.

* * *

Galen sat in his chair, willing Sam to leave.

Instead, the infuriating woman moved closer. He smelled her scent, something spicy covered in healthy sweat.

He wanted to be alone. He was feeling on edge, the jagged void inside him extra hungry tonight. On nights like this, he locked himself away until the worst of his bad mood was gone.

“I’m starting to think you have no idea what the word ‘relax’ means.” She lifted his glass and took a sip.

There was something incredibly intimate about the move and his gaze locked on her. The muscles in his body were stretched tight.

She moved behind him and a second later, he felt her working the buckle of his harness loose.

“Sam—”

“Just be quiet, Galen. Relax.”

He let out a breath. The quickest way to get her to leave was to let her finish. She nudged him forward and pulled his harness off. Next, she lifted his right arm, freeing his gauntlet, then his left arm.

When she slipped behind him again, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Her hands on his shoulders burned through his skin.

Then she started to knead the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

Drak. He swallowed a groan, his head falling forward. She had strong fingers and seemed to know exactly where to press.

She massaged his shoulders, her touch so good. Then she moved up his neck, working deep, and finding several knots that she gave her attention.

Galen felt the tension slowly seep out of him, his muscles relaxing one by one. Her hands moved up into his scalp and he bit back a groan. Her fingers brushed his eyepatch.

“There, that feels better, doesn’t it?” Her voice was low.

He cleared his throat. He felt better physically, but inside, he still felt the throb of anger, still felt that horrible darkness that always haunted him and scraped him raw. It had reminded him that he could never truly relax, never let up. Your enemies were always waiting to strike.

“Yes, thank you.” He paused. “Sam…I will do everything I can to help you make a life here. You deserve it.”

She stepped in front of him. “But?”

“I’m not a part of that life, except as your imperator.”

She tensed. “You’re going to deny that we’re attracted to each other?”

“No. But I have nothing to offer you. You need a man who…can love you the right way. That isn’t and will never be me.”

Her lip trembled before she firmed it. “The great Galen won’t risk falling in love.” There was a hard bite in her voice.

“I was bred never to love.” The words shot out of him. “I don’t have it in me.”

She leaned forward. “You won’t let yourself. It’s all part of your self-imposed punishment for things that were never your fault.”

He stiffened. “You talk of things that you don’t understand.”

She threw her hands up. “You know what, you’re right. I do deserve a man who’ll love me. Who’ll take me as I am. Who’ll let me help him shoulder his burden. A man who isn’t a coward.” Her chest hitched. “A man who wants me enough that he…” Her voice cracked. “I’m done with men who want parts of me, but not all of me.” She spun to leave.

Galen’s arm shot out and he gripped her wrist. His gut was churning. The thought of any man not wanting her was inconceivable. And the thought of some other, faceless man touching her, loving her… A bitter taste climbed his throat.

Their gazes locked, but he couldn’t make himself say anything.

Sam shook her head. “I always seem to be attracted to men who don’t want me enough.” She yanked out of his hold and walked away, head held high.

Not want her enough? Galen gripped the armrests of his chair hard enough that they creaked. He realized that strong, proud Sam had been hurt by men in her past.

And in trying to protect her, he’d added to that pain.

He blew out a breath, sitting there in the darkness. The realization hit him that he was protecting himself as much as her.

She was right. He was a coward. Caring hurt. Loving hurt. Especially when you failed and the things you loved were taken away.