Pillaged (Raider Warlords of the Vandar #3) - Tana Stone Page 0,1

was in chaos, which was precisely why I had to make my escape now. It was the only time a ship would be able to slip away without being noticed.

I didn’t have long before the tailor who’d been altering my dress would realize that I wasn’t coming back from the bathroom. I doubted anyone would pay much attention during the battle, but as soon as the dust settled, the admiral would know I was missing. It wouldn’t take too much longer for them to determine I was no longer on the ship.

If I could get myself off, I reminded myself. One minor flaw with my escape plan was that I didn’t know how to fly a spaceship. My first space flight had been the one which had brought me to the battleship. The only reason I didn’t consider this a major problem was that I’d watched the shuttle pilot as he’d flown me, tracking his movements and noting which buttons he touched. I had a virtually flawless memory, which my mother had conditioned me not to talk about—“men want a beautiful girl, not a clever one, Rachael”—but which I was now counting on to get me out of this mess.

The soldiers I’d been following filed through a wide doorway, and I wanted to punch my fist into the air in satisfaction. I’d been right. We were in the hangar bay.

As the Zagrath fighters continued forward across the expansive space, I ducked behind a row of steel crates. Releasing the fabric balled in my fists, I caught my breath for a moment. Along with the sirens blaring overhead, the hangar bay vibrated with the hum of ships racing across the floor and out into space and soldiers bellowing orders to each other.

My heart raced as I peered out from my hiding spot. A female in layers of ivory fabric did not blend in with the steel-blue, imperial uniforms, and the gunmetal-gray ships surrounding me. There was nothing soft or frilly in this part of the Zagrath ship, and the moment I was spotted, heads would turn, and alarms would be raised. I needed to get to a ship as quickly and unobtrusively as possible.

I spotted a transport like the one I’d arrived on. It wasn’t far from me, and no one was boarding it. Transports probably weren’t in heavy demand during a battle, but it was perfect for my needs. Glancing desperately around, I didn’t spot a thing I could drape over my puffy dress so I could get to the transport without being seen.

“Fuck me,” I whispered, wishing I’d thought through my plan a little more before I’d made a run for it. If I got caught, I’d be locked up for sure, with no chance of escape before I was frog-marched down the aisle. A cold chill went through me, and I pressed my lips together. I’d just have to make sure I didn’t get caught, because no way was I marrying that old fuck.

I scanned the space again, and this time I noticed that the crates I huddled behind were on a wheeled cart. If I moved slowly enough—which I would since the cart was so large—maybe no one would notice that the crates were moving themselves.

I bent low and grabbed the bottom of the cart, pushing forward as hard as I could. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wheels mercifully started to turn. I pushed even harder, sweat trickling down my brow. Looking up, I assessed my progress. Only a few more metrons. I pushed as hard as I could, grateful that I’d opted out of sewing with my mother and had spent so much time riding. I couldn’t make a cushion for crap, but I had the muscles to do this.

When the cart was almost flush with the transport, I gathered my dress up into as tight a ball around my waist as I could, and made a mad dash up the ramp. I threw myself into the pilot’s chair and jammed my finger on the button that closed the ramp. My pulse fluttered wildly as I braced for soldiers to rush toward the vessel and drag me off, but none did.

I didn’t allow myself time to celebrate, though, my fingers working rapidly to fire up the engines. It wasn’t hard to recall the pilot’s movements, and soon the transport was moving across the hangar bay floor. I sunk low into the seat as I passed other ships and soldiers running to their vessels, hoping