by Loki Renard
“Bring the traitoress!”
Nobody moved.
Lydia looked around, waiting to see which of the men truly had the courage of their murderous convictions. Before any of them did so, a rumbling began under their feet. The vibrations made the lights shake and caused the cameras to start to tip. Lydia was not at all certain what the cause could be. It felt like an earthquake that was growing more intense by the moment.
“What the blazes is that!” Flawksley boomed in irritation. “We can’t conduct an execution in this fashion! Go and see what that is!”
It did not seem to occur to him for the slightest second that something very bad was happening where he was concerned. Reality did not seem to impinge on his brutal delusion until the wall next to him was shattered under the force of something more vicious even than he, old concrete flying into dust and rubble as a glowing beast slammed through it and fastened its teeth on Flawksley’s arm. It was followed by what seemed like an endless flow of creatures just like it. To Lydia’s eyes, it seemed as though a portal to some dark world had opened and furious demons were flying through it; creatures of flowing black fur, flashing white jaws, and bright golden orbs where their eyes would have been if they were creatures of the world.
There was a great deal of screaming, a fair amount of blood and all Lydia could do was close her eyes and hope that she was not mistaken for an enemy by the beasts that were rampaging all around her. The horror lasted only a matter of seconds before a whistle cut through the chaos and there was complete silence. In the darkness of her closed eyes she could not hear so much as a whimper from an injured man, which meant that none were injured. All were… gone. She risked opening her eyes the merest fraction and saw that the beasts that had dispatched her enemies now sat where they had been stopped, their tails swishing across the floor, gleaming teeth stained red as they panted with exertion.
A tall figure stepped through the broken wall and made for her. She was so transfixed by the great hounds that she did not look at the man until she heard his voice.
“Lydia!”
Tristan swept her up into his arms, her bonds falling away under the blade of his knife. She felt him holding her so close, they breathed together with utter relief. Lydia pushed her face into his neck and breathed deeply, inhaling his scent. And then the tears came. The tears that had been restrained throughout her ordeal broke through in great sobbing floods that racked her to the point of finding it difficult to breathe.
Tristan held her close as he carried her from the scene of the horror and into the car. There were no words yet, just his close embrace and the sheltering bulk of his body that she burrowed against, curling up in his lap with his strong arms around her.
Finally, he spoke, his lips pressed to the top of her head.
“It’s over,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re safe.”
Chapter Thirteen
A great many things happened after Lydia was freed, but she was not aware of any of them. Tristan drove her back to the palace, carried her to his private chambers, and there Lydia’s lips met his with fiery desire. In moments their clothes were strewn across the marble floor, their naked figures writhing atop the fine satin of a chaise as they made love, frantic passion brimming with life, pushing at the shrouds of near death with the defiant act of copulation. Lydia was equally as aggressive in her lust as Tristan, her lips and teeth kissing and nipping as he thrust inside her and her body clutched him close, every part of her wanting his essence, his seed.
“I love you, Lydia,” he breathed against her lips. “I love you with everything I am, and with everything I ever will be. No harm will come to you again. I will tear the universe itself asunder if anyone so much as touches a hair on your head.”
She arched her hips and he sank deeper still, hot flesh piercing her willing depths that clenched close around him, making him a part of her, joining her with him as completely as she could. There was no real boundary between them any longer; his flesh had become one with hers. They were locked in closest embrace, attaining the greatest state of togetherness humanly capable and still their hunger was not entirely assuaged. Writhing and thrusting, they flowed together with an urgency that was far more than animal lust, or simple desire. Lydia swam in Tristan’s love, her body cradled in his sheltering arms as he made love to her over and over, his mouth tasting her, his hands caressing her, his manhood pleasuring the very depths of her being.
There was no palace, no New Paris, no soldiers, no traitors, no life, no death; there was only the two of them, bound together in an eternal bond that was remade with every breath they took, every nerve that fired signals of pure pleasure. At the peak of the experience came an orgasmic flash of pure love and light, a feeling that erased fear and, so it seemed, even the possibility of death.
Finally they were sated and lay gleaming with sweat in an exhausted embrace.
“I’m sorry,” Tristan said, tenderly brushing dark curls from her face. “I failed to keep you safe.”
“I’m safer than I’ve ever been,” Lydia replied. “There is nothing left of the men who wanted to harm me.”
“When they moved on you, they overplayed their hand,” Tristan agreed. “They have destroyed themselves with their own hate and greed. Even now, the last remnants of that cancer are being tracked down and eliminated. But you should never have been in such a dangerous position. For that, I am sorry, Lydia. Truly.”
“I went to Esme Flawksley’s house,” she said. “And I told her everything. That is why they found me. This is far more my fault than yours, Tristan. Besides. You cannot protect me from everything,” she said, sliding atop him to rest her head on his broad chest.
He cupped her bottom and patted the soft rounds with a gentle, affectionate touch. “I am going to try. I’m going to spend my life trying.”
“What about New Paris?”
“What makes you safe, makes New Paris safe,” he said. “The same values and the same care taken for all people who live under our flag. And you, by my side.”
“You mean me back at the house, cooking and cleaning.”
“I mean both at home and by my side,” he said, kissing her face from forehead to chin. “The women of the colony need someone to look up to. Someone brave and poised in the face of danger, someone…”
“Who is a bad influence… you called me a bad influence, remember?” Lydia let out a light giggle as Tristan’s palm slapped her bottom lightly.
“I do believe I have curbed the worst of that,” he smiled. “You’ve become quite the model wife.”
“Have I?”
“Mhm, most certainly you have. I’m considering having you make some educational broadcasts to instruct others in domestic arts.”
“Ah, yes,” Lydia nodded. “How to clean an oven. How to sweep a floor. How to steal a car.”
He guffawed. “Perhaps not the latter.”
“Every woman needs to know how to take possession of the family vehicle. Also, how to secrete cleaning bots under one’s skirts so that the house can be cleaned without unnecessary labor and a woman can spend more time doing important things, like finding new sources of illegal cigarettes.” Lydia grinned broadly as she teased him, earning several harder slaps to her now pink bottom.
“I see I face a new rebellion,” Tristan growled with a playful light in his eye. “A perpetual brat of a wife.”
“If you could harness perpetual brattiness, you could power the machines for all eternity,” Lydia suggested with a laugh.
Their banter took them both away from the very real fact that they had nearly lost everything just hours before. It was relief that made them smile and laugh with a lightness that was just as powerful as the darkness had been.
Lydia truly felt as though a menacing cloud that had been looming over her and Tristan since the beginning of their time together had finally dissipated. He was transformed by the completion of his victory, stronger and more determined, if such a thing were possible. Yes, there were force
s of evil in the world, but Tristan was more than equal to them.
Epilogue
Screens across New Paris showed the newly married President Tristan Kane and his beautiful wife Lydia waving from the palace balcony before beginning their procession throughout the newly rebuilt city. Lydia glowed with happiness, her eyes sparkling with love and adoration as she gazed at her handsome husband, whose answering look was no less full of passion and desire.
The tradesmen of New Paris had painted the presidential couple’s image on all manner of souvenirs: plates and glasses and even tea towels. With the decommissioning of much of the machinery had come a new era of human ingenuity and creativity. Old skills had been rediscovered. Tutors from older colonies had been brought in to instruct the citizenry on everything from metalworking to candlestick making.
With the demise of Lord Flawksley and his generals, the last vestiges of the aristocratic rebellion had crumbled. Not a single remaining aristocrat was interested in braving Tristan Kane’s wrath, which had been shown to be swift and complete. The day of the hound, as it was now known, had ushered in an era of previously unprecedented political unity as the final vestiges of resistance faded and redirected their energies toward the rehabilitation of New Paris.
Gardens filled the spaces where old buildings had been torn down, worked over by both men and machines to provide food for the city. Villages dotted the countryside, thriving in bucolic independence with cottage industry the economic mainstay. People had largely abandoned the old system of wealth and returned to barter. A dozen eggs for a half-hour’s welding, two loaves of bread for the mending of a wicker chair, so on and so forth.
There was new work to be done, and with it a new mood and a new life for the many who had faded into starvation of body and soul under the old order. New Paris was reformed in a human image, and as a result the very air was different. Even the sun seemed to shine more brightly, and nowhere was that more true than on the faces of Tristan and Lydia Kane as they walked freely, hand in hand through a new world built on freedom, equality, and the bones of yet another failed aristocracy inevitably consigned to history.
The End
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