Korbyn was putting on a show for them as well, it seemed. Perhaps he did not command the authority he pretended. It was a notion that frightened her all the more. After all, he was the only thing standing between her and certain violation.
They stopped before a closed hatch. Korbyn leaned over a keypad lock, obscuring her view. She heard the unmistakable sounds of a code.
Four digits. Assuming a standard eight-number template and permitting for repeated digits that meant 4,096 probable combinations. Erelah doubted she would have the time to try all of them.
He kicked the door open. It clanged against the wall and she jumped.
“Ladies first.” He jerked his chin at the pitch-black space beyond.
She dug her heels into the deck, wincing at the pain in her bare feet. “What is this?”
“Accommodations, your highness. Nothing but the best.”
Her heart squeezed. “No. It’s dark.”
He frowned. “Space is dark. Yet that didn’t seem to stave you.”
“You don’t understand.” Erelah swallowed. The void beyond the metal hull of the ship was not the same. This was being shut in with darkness where terrible things dwelled—a childhood fear Tristic used for her torment.
Korbyn growled. Rolling his eyes, he reached inside the doorway and glow-lamps fizzled on. A dull amber light illuminated a modestly sized room. There was an unmade bunk, bedclothes in a jumbled knot. The walls were plastered with bits of paper, images of naked and half-naked females in all manner of explicit poses. Clothing was strewn in untidy bundles on the floor. Empty scorch-rum containers lolled about the deck.
Then she realized, it was his room. The jin-ji’s lair.
“Better?” he asked, muscling her over the threshold.
Not really. Erelah froze in the center of the chamber bound wrists pulled up to her chest protectively, terrified to touch anything.
“My valet has the day off.” He backed into the hall and pulled the door closed.
It shut with the same hollow clang. She heard muted off-key beeps of the lock.
Erelah sank to her knees and felt the sense of helplessness threaten to overwhelm her. The tears that threatened finally came. She wanted to collapse and sob until her throat was raw.
But the Tyron-voice came back. It was stronger than ever.
You are not beaten. Not as long as you draw breath. There is work to do.
With that, Erelah rose from the floor on legs that seemed to belong to someone far stronger.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The shady underworld of the grade school essay black market was Amy Murphy’s introduction to the possibility of writing things for money. Although real life intervened and her career path took a different direction from this gig, she continued to work on personal writing projects in the science fiction and horror genres.
Amy has a B.A. in Communications from the University of New Orleans. Originally from New Orleans, Amy now shares a home with her husband and a very entitled dog in the lovely state of Vermont.
Allies and Enemies is her first self-published endeavor. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
CONNECT WITH AMY J. MURPHY
Twitter: http://twitter.com/selatyron
Blog: http://amyjmurphy.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.amyjmurphy.com/
Table of Contents
PART I
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
PART 2
9
10
11
12
13
PART 3
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
Allies and Enemies: Fallen Page 32