by Regine Abel
Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, but I’d gone numb inside. I didn’t react when Lorik came back to me, hands covered with surgical gloves. He loosened the knots of my remaining braid, then massaged some cream from a small container into my hair. A cold tingle spread through my scalp. His task done, he pinned my hair in a bun on top of my head. Taking a couple of steps back he admired his work with obvious satisfaction.
“You have very nice hair. It’s responding well to the treatment,” Lorik said, looking pleased. “We’ll have it styled properly on our way back to Guldar. For now, I suggest you rest. I’m afraid tonight and tomorrow morning are not going to be much fun. Here, let me fix this for you,” he said.
Lorik picked up a cushioned object from the counter and brought it over. Careful, almost gentle, he lifted my head and placed the headrest attachment to the spanking bench.
“There you go,” he said, resting my head on the attachment, relieving the strain from my neck.
With one finger, he wiped the tears that continued to flow silently from my eyes, then caressed my hair almost reverently.
“Rest, my love. Soon it will be over.”
His hand fell away from my face as he turned to leave, dragging with it a lock of my hair. It dangled in front of my eyes, its raven color having already paled to a light-grey which I knew would soon become the same silver-white my brother’s had been.
CHAPTER 16
Ravik
Walking back to my hoverbike, arms laden with gifts for Mercy, I glared at Tagar and Nowik. They made no effort to hide their amusement as I puzzled on how this would all fit in the storage compartment. The bastards had known the Clan Podek wives would have presents when they’d insisted earlier we travel by shuttle but omitted to specify the reason. I didn’t care much for being cooped up in the small vessel, especially over such a short distance. Like my woman, I loved speed and never missed an opportunity to ride my bike.
Once again, I regretted not insisting that Ravena… Mercy, come with me on this clan visit. She’d become something of a role model for Braxian females, grateful for her helping them finally get their place in the sun and the recognition they deserved. But more than that, they were thankful for her bringing hope back to so many of the more desperate clans. They already considered her their Dagna, and an increasing number of clansmen had begun thinking of her on those terms as well. Two days ago, I would have been elated; now, not so much.
I had planned on asking her to become my wife at the next quarterly fair. After that difficult conversation, I feared she would think it a ploy to shackle her further to me, to Braxia. How could I get her to see that she was meant for this world? She’d been a free spirit her whole life, used to taking off on a whim to whatever destination called to her soul. As much as it hurt me to admit it, she’d fared just fine without my protection all these years. And, as much as I loved Braxia, no one would think of kidnapping its Dagna for ransom. Greater empires held far more appeal for pirates.
I couldn’t leave Braxia right now, and my heir wasn’t ready to take over my responsibilities. I loved Mercy and would do anything within my power to keep her happy. I’d been so busy trying to get everyone to move away from the old ways to realize that I, too, still clung to some of them. After our argument, I’d actually looked into foreign emperors and rulers. Many had spouses with political or other professional careers of their own which frequently took them off-world without their partner. That it had never been done on Braxia didn’t mean it couldn’t start now. I hated the thought of parting with my woman for any length of time. But if that was what it took not to lose her, I’d make the compromise.
Nowik finally took pity on me and relieved me of some of the gifts, which he tucked into his own storage compartment. We mounted our respective hoverbikes and, with me in the lead, we headed back to my fortress. Security protocols demanded that one of my bodyguards take the lead and the other the rear, with me in the middle, but we’d significantly relaxed some of these rules, especially now that things had been calming down, and the looming threat of civil unrest had abated.
The prospect of new trade opportunities, the surge of employment with so many of the men going back to work with a focus on new resources, had the clansmen in high spirits. A lot of the men struggled with the idea that their females had to work to help bring income to the household. It was their responsibility as men to be the providers. But, in their enthusiasm, the females had been cleverly reminding their consorts that to them, it was nothing more than pursuing the hobbies they already occupied their time with. And that, now, they’d be able to do bigger and better things thanks to the men providing them with more quality resources instead of them scraping for leftovers.
Clever females.
Lost in thoughts of Mercy, I gave myself over to the pleasure of the speed and the wind lashing at my face. As we approached Wincal Ridge, a spark flashed on the side of my bike with a clanking sound, startling me. I couldn’t see anything that could have possibly caused a rock or some other hard debris to fly into the path of my hoverbike; especially not at that angle. When the second clank and spark struck my bike, close to the handles, I finally realized someone was shooting at me.
Heart pounding, I signaled for my men to speed up. We needed to get to safety but were already too far to turn back. I couldn’t see any enemy, and my armband didn’t detect anyone despite scanning on multiple frequencies. Yet, our foes were lurking in the shadows, launching their cowardly attack against us. Ravena had warned me that if the Guldans came back, they would have modified their cloaking shields from the previous setting to avoid detection.
Leaning forward on my hoverbike in a vain attempt to make myself smaller, I tapped my com.
“Magnar?” Krygor answered.
Before I could speak a word, something sharp embedded itself in my leg, the stinging sensation quickly replaced by a rapidly spreading numbness.
“We’re under attack,” I said, my words already slurring. “Protect Mercy and Keran.”
“Protect who? Where are you?” Krygor shouted, his footsteps resonating through the com as he started running.
“Raven—”
Two more darts embedded themselves in my flesh: one in my neck, the other in my arm. My jaw immediately felt slack, and my vision blurred. The vague thought that I should slow down to lessen the impact when I fell crossed my mind. From the crashing sounds behind me, I knew my bodyguards had preceded me into unconsciousness. Seconds later, I joined them.
* * *
“Why isn’t he awake yet?” a vaguely familiar voice said with irritation.
“Relax, Braxian,” a voice with a subtle Guldan accent said. “The shot takes a couple of minutes to neutralize the drug in his system, and then he’ll need a couple more minutes to be functional.”
The Braxian harrumphed, clearly displeased.
Throat dry, head pounding, I felt like I had the mother of all hangovers. Except, no revelry had put me in this state. Trying to remain inconspicuous, I quickly assessed my situation. My body felt somewhat battered, not from any beating but likely from the fall off my hoverbike.
At least, for now.
I was naked, kneeling on some kind of contraption, my face resting in the opening of a hollow headrest. My abductors had not strapped me to it. However, shackles and chains restrained my arms and legs, and a thick metal collar hung a little loose around my neck. The numbness in my limbs quickly faded and my mind cleared.
Mercy…
I prayed she was safe, that Gorav had protected her, and that Krygor had gotten to them in time. Yet a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, that had nothing to do with the aftermath of the drug, told me she wasn’t.
My eyes opened to the sight of gridded, metal flooring, like those found at the back of a butcher’s shop. Ideal to drain the blood of the slaughtered beasts: in this case, me. A hand suddenly fisted my hair and yanked back hard, forcing me to look up at a most hated face.
“Well, well, look who’s a
wake at last,” Hagan said, his dark-brown, almost black, eyes burning with malice. “I’ve waited a long time for this, you son of a krillik. I’ve waited a long fucking time.”
I saw his fist come at my face as if in slow motion. With a loud clank, the chains on my shackles stopped my attempt to block the blow. It connected solidly with my face. Despite the sting, it barely fazed me. Hagan had never amounted to much as a warrior. But he had me at his mercy. If a single blow from the weak bastard didn’t bother me, the multiple ones he would definitely rain down on me would eventually take their toll. I bit back the snarky remark that burned my tongue. There was no point in further provoking his ire until I had figured out a plan to get myself out of this mess. I could only hope that Tagar and Nowik were okay.
“Your reign is over, Magnar Ravik,” Hagan said, stating my title with contempt. “You never learned. And now you will die with the same shame and disgrace that you brought to your bloodline so many years ago.”
My stomach dropped, and my back stiffened. The unspoken fear coursing through me must have shown on my face as Hagan’s twisted smile broadened.
“Oh yeah,” Hagan said with evil glee. “We’ve prepared a very special farewell celebration for you. And you will enjoy the front row seat.”
Up until now, standing in front of me, Hagan had blocked my view of the room. Still holding my head up by the hair, the bastard took a step to the side, freeing my line of sight.
An animalistic roar rose from my throat as blind rage erupted through me at the horrible vision before me. I fought and strained against my restraints in a futile attempt to go to my woman. Shackled to a spanking bench sitting sideways in front of me so that I could see her profile, they had turned her face towards me and strapped her head to the headrest. She couldn’t hide her pain from me, be it now or later when they would abuse her to hurt me. Her beautiful, long black hair had been desecrated. But what had me going feral were the large, black, purple, and yellow bruises covering her behind and the back of her thighs.
Hagan burst out laughing at my vain efforts. And yet, despite my seething rage, Mercy’s eyes locking with mine brought me back to reason. With a subtle shake of her head, probably due in part to the strap holding her in place, she reminded me not to feed our enemy with my helpless anger.
My blood still boiling with fury, I forced a calm expression on my face but didn’t hide the hatred in my eyes, as I turned to look at Hagan.
“When I get free, I will destroy you. Even Death will beg me to put an end to your agony.”
His smile faltered, a glimmer of fear flashing through his eyes.
Coward.
Lifting his chin with bravado, but less confidence than moments before, Hagan shoved my head down as he released my hair. I stiffened my neck, keeping my head high and my defiant stare trained on him.
“You will not get free, Xeldar,” Hagan said, thinking to insult me by using only my last name as one would for someone of inferior status. “After your death, your sons will step down or face challenges. The old order will be restored.”
Movement at the edge of my vision drew my gaze to another presence.
I snorted. “Restored with Ambassador Zorak as your new master? He would make you his bitch.”
Hagan backhanded me. The taste of iron filled my mouth. I laughed and licked the blood beading at the corner of my lips. It angered Hagan further as he struggled to find an appropriate comeback.
“Lorik has no interest in Braxia. He just wants that cunt,” Hagan said, pointing a finger at Mercy. “But right now, it’s time for me to make her my bitch. She will learn to respect her betters.”
Looking over my shoulder, my stomach dropped, and cold sweat trickled down my back as Hagan reached for something on the large counter behind me. I could already guess what it would be, his comment on respect having given it away. The urge to fight against my restraints and plead for him not to harm her died in my throat as my eyes connected with Mercy’s. The resolve within put me to shame.
“Be strong,” she mouthed silently. “For me. For us.”
But how? How could I be when the female who held my heart would be beaten bloody as I watched helplessly? And yet, for her, I would manage, somehow.
Teeth clenched, hands fisted, I held her gaze and silently mouthed back to her, “I love you.”
Her eyes misted, and a watery smile stretched her lips. I tried to focus on the emotion they conveyed and not the swelling of her cheek where she’d been struck, or her split bottom lip where blood had coagulated.
“Let’s see how proud you are now, little whore,” Hagan said.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw him flick his wrist, unfolding the long whip in his hand. Refusing to look away from my woman, I swallowed hard and poured all the depth of my emotions for her into my gaze, lending her what strength I could.
The whip whistled, striking her back with a snapping sound. Mercy’s body tensed, her eyes closing for a second as she winced in pain. Reopening them, she sought mine again, bracing for the second blow.
“That’s for talking back to a man,” Hagan said, striking again. “That’s for calling me stupid.” Another hit. “That’s for humiliating me in public.”
By the fifth lash, silent tears had begun trickling down her cheek. My stomach churned and roiled, each strike like so much acid in my veins. By the seventh lick, I’d tuned out Hagan’s rambling. Despite her best efforts, pained whimpers escaped her each time the ropy leather made contact with her bare back, but especially on her already bruised legs. Bile rose in my throat when the thirteenth blow struck her. As per the old law, half the twenty-five lashings had to draw blood. Hagan would no longer hold back.
This time, I couldn’t help glancing towards him. The maniacal hatred in his eyes filled me with dread as he brought down the whip with brute force. My heart skipped a beat as Mercy’s body jerked over the spanking bench, a cry of agony tearing from her throat. Shaken with spasms, her eyes rolled in her head as she battled to retain consciousness.
Don’t, my love. Don’t fight it. Let go.
That way, even if for a short while, she wouldn’t feel the pain.
“CAREFUL!” Lorik shouted, aiming a blaster at Hagan’s face. “I have given you leave to punish her, not kill her. You will control yourself or forfeit the remaining lashes.”
Hagan bared his teeth at him. For a desperate moment, I hoped he would push the Guldan into killing him, but my nemesis was too much of a coward to press his luck. With his superior strength, he could have easily overtaken Lorik. Why did he submit to him, anyway? Why not kill the Guldan and just do as he pleased with Mercy and me?
Although reluctant, Hagan obeyed, pulling back his blows. Still, each one broke skin, wresting a tortured cry from my woman, and stabbing at my heart. Rivulets of blood trickled down her sides. At last, thank the Ancestors, Mercy fainted from the pain with six lashes remaining. Hagan wanted to wait until she came back around. But Lorik, clearly eager to be done with this, told him to finish or relinquish.
“You’ve completed your punishment, now leave us,” Lorik said.
Hagan stared at Mercy’s abused body with obvious satisfaction, if not regret that it was already over.
“No. I still owe him his punishment,” he said, pointing at me with his chin.
Lorik rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Make it quick.”
I didn’t care about a whipping. As a warrior, I’d been trained to endure extreme pain. But it was the Guldan preparing to inject Mercy with a strange syringe that had me worried.
“What are you doing to her?” I demanded.
Lorik paused and looked at me. “You mean this?” he asked.
“Oh, I’ll tell him,” Hagan said with a sadistic smile, absentmindedly spinning the handle of the whip. “Remember when I said you never learn? The Guldan says your female is three weeks pregnant. Since we can’t wait for that abomination to be born to bash its head in at the second half of the party tomorrow, the contents of this syringe
will flush it out.”
“Sorry, but I can’t have another man sire my future wife’s heir,” Lorik said before plunging the needle in her neck. “It’s better like this. The pain from the abortion will mix with the one from the punishment. So, technically, she won’t feel it.”
My blood ran hot, and then immediately cold. Something broke inside of me.
I did this. I did this to her. To them.
When the first blow fell on my back, it didn’t register. Or the second, or the third… I was numb, dead to the world. Mercy remained unconscious through my punishment and through the Guldan gently cleaning her wounds. When the pain from my lashings finally started seeping in, I welcomed it, embraced it—I deserved it.
My instincts had warned me to let her go. Keran had told me not to impregnate her. The Council had cautioned me about potential backlash. But I had wanted to bind her to me, to see her stomach swell with my child, to hold our offspring to my chest, and lift my baby high up for the world to see that never again would Ravik Xeldar fail the fruit of his loin. That I, too, had the courage of Krygor Aldriss to stand and defend my hybrid child.
I used her for my guilty conscience’s need to make amends for Lissy and Goliath.
I gave myself over to Hagan’s lashings. Although he didn’t hold back, tearing my skin to shreds, I wished he’d strike even harder to cleanse me of my crimes, of my failure towards both of my hybrid offspring, and their foreign mothers I had loved.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Lorik hissed, staring disbelieving at Mercy’s unconscious form.
Intrigued, Hagan turned towards the Guldan. “What is it?”
Lorik took on a neutral expression. “You’ve done way more damage than you were entitled to. You’ve permanently scarred my woman.”
He’s deflecting.
That wasn’t the reason he’d cussed. My eyes flicked to his hand pressing on Ravena’s forearm before locking with his. He narrowed them at me.
Her Veredian markings! Her prosthetics must have been damaged by the lashing.