It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She didn’t expect a reply and he had no intention of giving her one.
The Oracle gestured this away, as if it were unimportant now. “You can still save her. Give Jia a daughter and she will be safe.”
“Safe from what?”
The old woman turned, clacking her cane against the floor as she moved along the edge of the pool. “We have waited a thousand years for this Dini. She will renew our strength and teach us to read the newer energies of the world. The future, for us, has already become clouded and difficult to see, its direction formed by a younger breed of outsiders, a generation unlike those that came before. We must bring this Dini here among us, so that we may read the future once again and see the changes which are, even now, fading from our sight.”
“You’re looking for a savior?”
“This Dini will bring change. We will be reborn through this child, this much we can still see. We merely need the union of your strength to Jia’s body. Her womb is ripe and ready for your seed.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Your refusal would end her life.”
He clenched his fists. “You’d murder her?”
“There is no choice. You have corrupted her, turned her face from her own people. Her loyalty is now in doubt.”
“Then let her go.”
“Our world depends on secrecy. Only the most faithful and loyal may leave this place.”
“And I’m neither.”
The Oracle conceded this with a dip of her cane. “You will meet your death here, regardless of which path you choose. You can save Jia as you leave this world, or you can take her with you.”
She swept the cane over the water, its surface now reflecting the gray prow of a battleship in dark shadows and outlines. “This world is not for you. This world is for the living and you are a ghost, alive and among us merely by accident. That is why you see your daughter in the water, your wife in a woman like Jia. Joining them is your heart’s greatest desire.”
Tristan knelt by the pool, reaching to stroke the surface, feeling its icy bite along his fingertips. The ship’s outline imploded with a clap of fire and billowing smoke, the sound of screeching metal and collision alarms echoing from the past. He remembered the daze of concussion damage, the fisheye warble of the corridors before him, blood streaming from his clothes.
“The core of who you are, and what you believe, died long ago,” the Oracle said. “Now you are a lost soul in this world, but your suffering will be over soon. You will join your lost family in eternity, where all human spirits find peace. You just have one last act of self-sacrifice to perform.”
One last act.
Tristan scooped the water in his hand and watched it pour through his fingers, sparkling as it rejoined the slick darkness of the pool. The image on the surface trembled, spreading ripples over the bow of his ship, its proudly painted numbers and railings sinking beneath the waves. He watched it disappear with an odd sense of detachment, knowing that it was destined to do so, no matter what he did. None of his desperate imaginings, fantasies or nightmares, had ever changed the past.
You’re always gone, Tristan. So many wars to fight, and so many oceans to fight them on.
“Forgive me,” he whispered.
He had been gone, scouring endless gray horizons, searching for steel shadows in the waves, while his wife and daughter lived and breathed, their days spent following the mundane routines of a mother and child, tender rituals he’d give anything to be a part of now.
Your heart speaks loudly, too many stories. It is all you hear.
You’re always gone, Tristan.
Water dripped from his fingers.
You’re always gone…
Across the surface of the pool, the view remained the same, an image of gently rising swells, moonlight painted over their foaming crests, flotsam spinning in their troughs.
Gone.
He clenched his teeth, fighting a sudden chill.
What if something happens to you, when you’re out there? What if something happens to her?
Tristan narrowed his gaze, flexing his fingers above the water. He had been gone all those years, and he was still gone, still ignoring the life before his eyes in favor of an unreachable horizon. The realization was painful. A fresh wound, but a cleansing one, its sting providing focus.
I didn’t want to be her. I wanted to be me.
“Jia,” he murmured, the name acquiring a new sound on his lips.
Along the surface of the pool, the vision of the ocean calmed, the waves rolling patiently in their eternal rhythm, bright stars winking on the horizon. I keep no stories in my heart, because nothing can be kept or lost. I am quiet and I hear everything. I am connected to everything.
He nodded, the words resonating, filling spaces that had been empty for too long. Where are you, darling?
The Oracle leaned toward him, stroking her gnarled hands over the polished grip of her cane. “She is ready for you.”
Tristan blinked, shifting his gaze to the old woman, her outline hunched and misshapen in the dance of light in the room. She waited for a decision. He narrowed his eyes, realizing that he’d already made it.
“And you are ready for her,” the Oracle concluded, a hint of triumph in her voice. “It is the hour of destiny for us all.”
Jia followed the line of priestesses into the great hall, passing rows of women bent on their knees, their soft chanting echoing from the walls. No one looked at her, and no one would have recognized her if they had, her eyes deeply painted and lined in black kohl, her skin rubbed with spiced oils. She was, for the moment, above them all, a divine sacrifice wearing a jeweled collar around her neck and a golden belt over her naked hips, its skirt of crimson rubies draped in looping strands from thick metal links.
The procession parted at the steps to the high altar and she walked between the guards, keeping her gaze fixed past the line of their ornate spears and sheathed daggers. They were the appointed executioners, ready to take her life if she failed, and Tristan’s if she succeeded.
Great Goddess, let me be quick when they come for him. Lend me your miracles, just for one moment, so that I can set things right.
She climbed to the vault alone, leaving the light from lanterns and torches behind her. Streams of opaque fabric veiled her from the direct view of the worshippers below, though she could still hear their low and rhythmic voices, the quickening heartbeat of their drums.
Her body was warm, tingling. The Divine Spirit and its influence was thicker here than anywhere else in the city, hazy threads of it curling up from vents cut in the stone, their openings carved to resemble dragons with open mouths and lolling tongues.
The high altar appeared at the top of the stairs, its long surface cut from the rock. Tristan stood behind it, tall and bared to the waist, his chest broad and well-defined, his arms thickly muscled, his large hands resting on the flat surface of the altar. Pale scars formed a jagged path across his skin, cutting from shoulder to hip on the right side.
She hesitated, struck by memories of the great shark along the reef, its shadow appearing against rays of sunlight overhead, the clawing lines of old battles faded white along its skin. An old soul.
Tristan watched her approach, his gaze moving from the swell of her exposed breasts to the delicate spill of rubies between her thighs. His lips parted, a deeper intent forming in his eyes.
She crossed behind the altar, her heart beating a wild rhythm in her chest. He looked down at her, his body strong and waiting, his warmth palpable against her nakedness.
“I will distract the guards,” she whispered.
“What?”
“They are well trained, but they will be surprised if we move quickly. You must descend the steps and stay close to the wall. It will lead you out of the Temple. I will meet you at the water, the dock.”
He slid his gaze to the worshippers below, hundreds of them chanting in unison. The guards stood like stat
ues among them, their spears shining in the blue dance of the torches. “Too many, for a small distraction to work.”
“You’ve made your bargain with the Oracle, then?”
He looked back at her, unapologetic. “Do you want me, Jia?”
“You’ve given in to her.”
“I can feel that you do.”
She shook her head, unwilling to accept his surrender. “Why? You have fought great battles, long wars. Why aren’t you fighting now?”
“I am,” he said, sliding one hand into her hair and lowering his mouth to take hers. The kiss was rough, a hot caress between quickening breath and parted teeth. She couldn’t break its hold, her heart seeking its force, reeling in the desire flooding through the bond.
Yes, I want you, alive, too much, and only for myself.
Jia pushed at him and turned away, her breathing harsh. “You think I will make this easy for you? I will not pretend to be her. You cannot bow to the Oracle and sacrifice yourself, dreaming that you are already in her arms.”
“No.” He reached for her, sliding his large hand over her hair, grazing her cheek with his thumb. “I only see the woman in front me now. I see you, Jia, and you are breathtaking.”
She looked up at him, feeling the truth flowing through the bond. “You’re free.”
He hesitated. “I am quiet.”
“Your heart—”
“The things that were precious are still precious. That includes you.”
“And the future.”
“And this moment.”
She clenched her teeth. “Then I will distract the guards and you will go. You must go. Now.”
“They’ll be afraid to hurt you if they think you’re pregnant.”
“It might be too late then.”
He traced the line of cut jewels at her neck. “Trust me.”
Trust.
“I want you,” he said.
She closed her eyes.
“Jia.”
“I-I don’t know how to begin.”
Tristan’s hands slid around her waist, lifting her against the lean muscle of his chest and seating her on the altar. He moved between her legs, letting her feel the jutting weight of his cock straining against his clothing under the leather strap of his belt.
His voice was a low purr in her ear. “Do what you want. Take what you want from me, I’ve come here to worship you, as the only goddess I see, with the only prayers I know.”
She clasped onto his arms, her fingers covering scars and hard strength, her eyes drawn to the crisp hair sprinkled over his chest, the sheen of sweat forming a shining path to his throat. She wanted to kiss the skin there, and she did, burying her face against it and wetting it with her tongue, tasting the salt of his flesh, encouraged by his deep groan of pleasure and the languid flex of muscles under her hands.
He captured her hips, her legs forced to spread wider as he ground himself against her, rocking them both against the altar. She felt her body grow wet under the press of his shaft, aching for contact. He slid his hand between the swollen folds of her sex, thick fingers rough against the sensitive skin, stroking the need. She arched into the touch and gasped, feeling him tease the bud of tight sensation there.
He rubbed her with the big pad of his thumb, waiting until she was writhing against his hand before slipping two fingers into her tight passage. She sucked a harsh breath through her teeth, feeling a hot prick of pain as he stroked upward, stretching her as he caressed.
“Apologies, darling,” he whispered against her thigh. “Gentleness will not help much.”
Help what? She couldn’t ask. The burning stretch was too exquisite. He replaced his thumb with his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over the bead of pressure until it burst inside her, the skin of her sheath clenching tight around his fingers. She let out a harsh cry, the power of the release sending tremors through her body, euphoria flooding thick in her blood.
Tristan withdrew, his wet fingers sliding over the heavy links of her belt, following them around her hips. He smoothed his hands along her sides, savoring the view of her small breasts flickering with faint torchlight, their nipples puckered and dark, the beads in her hair clicking softly as she arched her back.
She was dazed with the feel him, the strength of his hands, his mouth, the hunger in the bond. He had captured her with these tender weapons, a hunter of a different kind now, triumphant and feasting on his conquest.
His hands left her skin. She looked up to watch him slip the leather strap of his belt through the buckle. His fingers worked the buttons underneath, loosening the tailored fabric, freeing the thick head of his swollen cock and the long shaft underneath, the shadow of heavy testicles tucked below.
Taking her by the belt, he dragged her to him, her hips sliding partially off the altar, suspended between the stone and the man. Then his hands were on her again, slick in her wet folds, rubbing and circling. The skirt of rubies spilled over her thighs and between her legs, swaying and clicking as he pressed them against her, rubbing their smooth texture into skin he had already pleasured.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, consumed by the lust burning through the bond, his desire provoking need, aggression. The ache between her thighs grew agonizing, the slow teasing of his fingers at her opening maddening. “Tristan.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “I know.”
Still, he seemed to hesitate. Then she felt his cock press firm against her, push inside her. Pain seared along her opening, sharper this time, but welcome, assuaging the desperate need to be filled. Her passage stretched, taking his length, welcoming him with thin shudders.
He groaned, lifting her hips against him, tearing deep. She grabbed onto his wrists and dug her fingers into the skin, watching his expression register the pain with satisfaction. He moved inside her, pulling out and thrusting, stroking her in long, powerful surges.
The belt clinked under his fingers, his grip keeping her pinned as he rocked them both against the surface of the altar, mercilessly repeating the pain until it began to ease. Her passage grew slick around him, the heavy push of his shaft massaging deep. She relaxed, fascinated by the pleasure, watching the hard planes of his stomach tighten as he drove inside her, his teeth bared under the sensual turn of his lips.
She ran one hand over his scars, their texture soft under her fingers, moist with sweat. His breathing grew harsher, his dark eyes glowing with firelight under half-closed lids, his black hair damp and shining. Reaching between them, he spread his fingers over her opening as he thrust inside her, rubbing a strand of rubies against the swollen skin.
Jia made a wanton sound, her body responding by arching against the altar. Her legs clamped higher around his waist, her hips pushing to meet him as his pace quickened. His thrusts created a sweet pressure inside her, rubbing and stroking until she couldn’t bear it any more.
She sobbed as it overtook her, a rush of joyous heat, a long and beautiful fall. Tristan issued a groan, a sound that turned into a deep purr as he pushed to the hilt, his last thrusts hard and jolting.
Jia held him in the wake of it, his body spent, his heart open and reaching for her through the bond.
The hunter and the hunted are one.
She saw it then, the vision of a small girl with his eyes, and his straight black hair, her expression bright with laughter as she stood in the sunlight. The girl’s voice rang clear, a taunting, playful tone, the words too faraway to understand.
“Tristan—” Her voice died as he looked down at her and smiled, the same tragic joy caught in his expression as she had seen in the caves.
He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, his breath warm on her skin. “Beautiful. You are beautiful.”
“Tristan, I—”
“Promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll make it back to submersible. You’ll get there as fast as you can.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Demand to see Arthur. He’ll take care of you.”
The sound
of footsteps echoed up the steps, the guards climbing to perform the last rite, the sacrifice of the outsider.
Jia stared at him, anger and pain coming at once. “You said I could trust you. You were going to fight.”
He pulled out of her, stroking along her sides with his hands. Leaning down, he kissed the soft plane between her hips, gently, tenderly, as if welcoming the life he suspected would form there.
“Tristan.” She pushed herself up, bringing her feet underneath her on the altar. “We can still fight them.”
He shook his head, backing away from her.
The guards appeared at the top of the stairs, spears drawn.
Tristan straightened, tucking his clothes back into place and buckling his belt. “Promise me, Jia.”
She glared at him. “I promise nothing.”
Pivoting on the altar, she kicked the closest guard away, snatching the spear from the air as the woman fell. It was lightweight and easy to control. She spun it in her hands, then over her head, the sharpened head flashing, snapping against the other spears as she lunged at them.
The guards retreated a few steps, refusing to engage, too afraid of harming the Oracle’s precious Dini. She cracked their spears, disarming two and spinning around to face a third, but the rest had fanned out, some approaching from behind.
She circled, forcing them back, only to have a pair rush her, grabbing onto her with their bare hands. Jia kicked one of them off, but there were more, so many. She screamed as they tore the spear away from her, subduing her with two on each arm, hands on her shoulders, her back, dragging her down the steps away from Tristan.
“Let her stay within sight.” The Oracle’s voice stilled the guards. “She must face his death, so that she can become one of us again.”
No. No, I can’t.
The guards held her down where she was, keeping her in view of the altar. Jia clenched her teeth, focused on Tristan, tears burning in her eyes.
He didn’t react, as if he needed to block her from his mind now. His soul was quiet in the bond, not anxious or afraid, merely resigned.
Fool!
He shook his head, moving to the front of the altar and lowering himself to sit between the sculpted vents. He wet his lips and dug into his pocket, retrieving a small, gold case. Unlatching its cover, he removed a half-burned cigarette and a tiny mechanical device. He placed the cigarette between his teeth and flipped the top of the device open, creating a thin spark from its center.
The Admiral Page 7