by Vi Voxley
Her lips were parted, taking breathless gasps as Brocke did as Cora had asked. The world was gone from around them as she could no longer even remember where they were. The only thing that mattered was that Brocke never stop fucking her.
"You feel incredible," the warlord growled. "Open that pretty mouth of yours. I want to hear how much you love this."
Cora obeyed again, unable to hold anything back from him.
"I do," she panted. "I fucking love it – yes, fuck yes –"
As soon as the words left her mouth, Cora knew she couldn't last much longer. Brocke's cock was filling her pussy to the brink, hitting the spot in her with every thrust, right where she needed it. Her body was already oversensitive, the stimulation threatening to undo her any second.
Looking at Brocke's blue eyes staring right at her, Cora knew both of them were close to the edge.
"I'm gonna..." she tried to say, gasping for air wildly, but it seemed Brocke already knew.
He grunted and picked up the pace one last time, fucking her without mercy and rhythm. Cora screamed, feeling how much he needed her, so badly Brocke couldn't control his own actions. His cock throbbed inside her pussy and it triggered Cora's orgasm, so blinding she nearly fell again.
Pressing herself against Brocke's solid, firm chest, Cora let him ride out their mutual orgasm as her body trembled in the aftershock. She cried out as Brocke's last thrusts rocked her pussy until the warlord cummed too, spilling his seed into her wetness.
Cora could feel the warmth of it as Brocke held them in place for a long moment before slowly walking to the bed they had never reached and lowered Cora gently on the sheets. His cum trickled out of her pussy, running down her thighs and Cora could see Brocke's cock harden again, looking at his seed on her skin.
He turned away and went for the mead she’d left on the counter. He took a long sip and handed it to Cora.
“Drink,” he commanded. “You’ll need it.”
Cora gulped, expectation and a tiny hint of expectation mingling within her. Clearly, the warlord was not ready to end the night quite yet.
Good.
Neither was she.
Cora drank.
* * *
She woke up with a terrible, truly mind-shattering headache.
Damn Corgan mead. I will have to give Ashby a piece of my mind. My head!
The next second brought clarity when Cora realized there was a pair of strong arms around her.
Naked.
The word rushed through her brain without stopping. Cora’s eyes flew wide open as she started to realize pretty much everything was naked. She, for example. Also Brocke, holding her in his embrace surprisingly gently.
Oh. Right. That happened. Holy fuck.
She climbed out of the bed, turning to see Brocke regard her with a surprised look. The warrior looked even more gorgeous than on the night before, bared to her gaze. Cora had to take a deep breath before she could focus again.
He was positively stunning, that’s what he was. But in the light of day, Cora wondered where their spontaneous passion was going to leave them.
“Cora,” Brocke said, clearly seeing her distress.
She knew it hadn't been all mead. After all, she'd only taken one sip before the first time. Even if it had helped to pave the way, she hadn’t been too drunk to not be responsible for her actions. There hadn’t been nearly enough mead to actually get wasted, it just made her head feel like it was being banged against a tower bell.
A few memories stood out as well. Words that were too embarrassing even to hear in her own mind echoed in her ears, making Cora quickly cover herself up.
Well, fuck. How can I say it’s his fault when I pleaded with him so nicely?
She looked at the warrior, trying to figure out a way to explain that Terran girls sometimes had terrible judgment around men who were handsome enough to die for.
I don’t think this guy has ever been called a mistake. I can't even convince myself.
Especially when Cora realized she couldn’t conjure enough regret to make that a plausible argument. The images of their fucking were in her head, and she didn’t want to ruin them. That amazing body thrusting into her, the way the orgasm had almost made her black out with its intensity. Those blue eyes shining down at her, filled with passion.
No, she didn’t regret it, not even a little. It just complicated things, and it wasn’t something she needed.
“Cora,” Brocke repeated, and for the first time, she saw a hint of doubt in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she hastened to say. “You just startled me.”
The warrior wasn’t convinced, propping himself up on one elbow, looking so breath-taking Cora had to resist climbing back in bed with him very hard.
“If I did something against your will –” he began, his voice very dark.
“No, no,” Cora said hurriedly. “It’s just that –”
But she never got to finish that sentence or have the awkward conversation usually following nights like that.
The map started beeping, signaling that it had found something for her. Cora rushed over, thankful for the interruption. She took one look at it.
“Brocke,” she said. “I know where we have to go.”
Chapter Seven
Brocke
It was very obvious that they got to their destination faster than Cora would have liked.
She was practically shaking when the speeder came to a halt and dismounted as fast as she could as though the bike was going to find some sneaky way to hurt her after all.
The fact that Cora was uncomfortable was clear as the day that had dawned while they slept. After Brocke made sure he hadn’t crossed a line with her unwittingly, she had cheered up a bit and started talking excitedly about the map's findings. And he…
Corgan women were different. Brocke had never lacked for company if he wished it, but he had never met anyone like Cora before. He had no idea how she’d managed to draw him in so fast, so deeply, but he wanted more. The night before had passed too quickly for him, too rashly for what he had in mind for the little Terran.
She seemed to be under the impression that whatever happened between them was over, that they were nothing more now than two people trying to catch a killer, but Brocke knew better. The memories of her hot body against his, the way Cora's eyes shone when he took her, the invitingly wet pussy clenching down on him with passion… He didn’t think she realized what she’d done to him. All Brocke wanted was more, and he did mean more of her.
He smiled, seeing the way Cora kept a wary distance from him. The female was without a doubt the most beautiful woman Brocke had ever seen, but what really made him hunger for her was her spirit, the undeniable attraction Cora inspired in him so easily.
Like all warriors, Brocke loved a challenge.
* * *
The Ruval factory lay ahead of them. The complex was so large it was partly out of the city, forming a small settlement of its own. Brocke knew it well. It was where they made most of the priests’ equipment and produced their concoctions, including the one that made the warriors’ eyes gleam with a blueish shade.
It seemed like a perfect hiding place for Condor, as he would be familiar with the factory better than Brocke ever could be. Every priest spent time there, learning how to mix and make the tools of their trade, both the surgical tools and the chemicals. In addition to them, the factory grew some of the artificial organs in a separate wing, meant for the warriors.
All in all, it was the center of the world of the priests.
As soon as Cora explained her idea to him, it was obvious.
“I don’t know if we’ll find Condor here,” she said, struggling to keep up with his long strides until he slowed down for her sake. “But at least two of the killers came from this place, I’m sure.”
“How can you know that for a fact?” Brocke asked.
Cora shrugged happily, beaming at him, gorgeous in her simple joy.
“This has been
going on for a while,” she said. “Not only have half-breeds turned up dead, but many have gone missing. A considerable numbers, nearing a few hundred all over Gaiya. It’s not like anyone hasn’t noticed. With every following murder, it has become more difficult for the killers to go unnoticed. Since they need a good opportunity, like a night with very bad weather, I figured out that sometimes several killings happened on the same day.”
“From there, it was simple enough. I accounted for all the ways of transportation and narrowed it down from there. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the basic gist of it. The killers are just flesh and bone, after all. They can’t teleport.”
That was true. Brocke was impressed with her. Cora took her job seriously, and she was clearly good at it, if a little uneasy with using the more unorthodox methods.
The world was a simpler place for him. As a warrior, a high-ranked one at that – he was a warlord who had to answer to no one but the chieftain – Brocke went where he pleased and did what he wanted.
Being near Cora made him see truths he hadn’t been able to discover in Gomor. The prison had affected him too. Brocke had begun to see every person as either an ally or an enemy, which made dealing with them very uncomplicated. They either belonged to a very small group of people he trusted, or he considered himself their enemy. It made for a very black and white way of living, but Cora had to deal with the reality.
He would have sworn vengeance for the victims, while Cora sought justice, taking all the pieces of the puzzle and putting them together.
She had found them a lead, but now it was his turn. Brocke had never met a man who could hold secrets from him.
Fanatics were difficult, though. Like Condor, they valued their ultimate goal more than their lives.
“We can’t just walk in, can we?” Cora was asking. “This is private property; we should ask around if we can –”
Brocke kept walking, making Cora run after him, but instead of the reprimand he’d expected, her eyes were sparkling with glee.
“Yeah, I expected nothing less from the man who jumps on top of fighters,” she said. “I can’t officially approve, but I must say this makes it considerably easier. What are we going to do? Please don’t kill someone. We are trying to catch killers; going on a rampage of our own would sort of damage our integrity.”
“Dead men can’t talk,” Brocke replied.
Cora nodded, looking at him like he’d made a joke.
“That’s one way of putting it,” she said. “Are you…”
Cora trailed off, seeing a group of men coming their way. Brocke noticed her hand went to check her gun instinctively.
“Trouble,” she said quietly.
He agreed, pushing her back a little.
“It means we’re at the right place,” Brocke said, watching a smile cross over Cora's face for a moment before she turned serious for the company they were about to get.
The leader of thir greeting party was a tall man dressed in a dark gray robe. He did not look like a fighter, but some of the others certainly did. They gave Brocke grudgingly appreciative looks. Their leader’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, showing his apparent irritation. And fear.
“I am Tomeh,” he said, every word sounding like he had to force himself to utter a single syllable. “I am the supervisor of this factory. You have no business here. Leave.”
Brocke didn’t move. He didn’t even blink, nor had any intention to do so until the supervisor said something worth responding to. He kept the warriors accompanying Tomeh well in his sights, thinking what sort of a factory needed so many guards.
The silence stretched until Tomeh’s patience gave out.
“Let’s not pretend I don’t know who you are,” he said through gritted teeth. “They say wherever you go, death follows. We have done nothing wrong, Guardian.”
“I will be the judge of that,” Brocke replied calmly. “Move out of my way and don’t make me repeat this request while it’s still one.”
He saw a vein throb in the forehead of the supervisor, but he didn’t dare to back down. It seemed to Brocke like he was caught between two walls, pushing with equal strength, hating the position he was put in.
Interesting.
“I can’t let you in the factory without a reason,” Tomeh said. “Even you can’t just come and go –”
“This here with me is Lieutenant Cora Frey,” Brocke said. “She is investigating the half-breed murders. No doubt you’ve heard about them. Her case has led her here. Is that reason enough?”
As soon as the word half-breed left his lips, he saw Tomeh twitch and glance behind him quickly.
Also very noteworthy.
“Unless the lieutenant provides us with clear evidence –” the supervisor tried again.
“Miss Frey will not recite her entire research out here for everyone who asks,” Brocke cut in, and now there was a very clear warning in his voice. “My word will be enough.”
Tomeh winced like he’d been struck. His eyes were almost pleading, which gave Brocke the last clue he needed.
“On the ground, Cora!” he shouted.
Both she and Tomeh reacted to that while Brocke drew his blades a moment before the warrior guards did.
There were seven of them; however, from the moment they got close enough to recognize him, Brocke had seen their reluctance plainly. He saw vicious, single-minded hate but no courage.
It figured. True warriors would never have sided with someone like Condor.
But the blades of cowards could cut just as sharply as those of brave men. Brocke kept the fight away from Cora, driving the warriors back. There was more of them, but numbers added nothing to the fight, only confused it. It took the guardian only a few seconds to realize the men he fought weren’t a unit. In fact, the only similarity between them was the anger in their eyes, but their hatred meant nothing to Brocke.
From there on, it was easy. There was nothing simpler than taking down a unit that didn’t work together. They got in each other’s way, and the fourteen swords in their hands were tools for him to use since they obviously didn’t know how. Brocke turned and dodged between the swords, blocking the lucky blows that came too close and simply sidestepping the rest.
The warriors fighting him, however, almost ran into each other. They lacked harmony as well as any signs that they cared whether the others lived or died. Brocke took full advantage of that, shoving them into their companion’s blades, cutting them with their own allies. He barely needed to use his own swords because the enemy was doing all the work for him.
Cora had asked him to spare lives, but Brocke knew he couldn't do that. There was no turning men who had already sided with maniacs like Condor. Every man he left alive would be a threat to someone less skilled with blades than he was.
The best Brocke could do was give them the mercy of a quick death that none of the warriors deserved. His twin blades cut through the air, perfect strikes aimed just deeply enough to spill the enemies' guts out without wasting a breath. Brocke couldn't bring himself to think any more of the men he fought than that – a waste of his time. Crimson blood pooled around Brocke's feet as one by one, the warriors fell, with none of them learning anything from the deaths of their companions.
Not even a minute had passed before Brocke stood over six corpses and one man whose hearts still beat in his chest. The idiot tried to crawl away from him with one broken leg.
The guardian ached to deliver justice to that one as well as the others, but Brocke needed him.
The crawling stopped when the man suddenly found the shining, blood-splattered blade of Brocke's sword inches from his right eye. He froze in place, barely daring to breathe.
"Name," Brocke said, his deep voice betraying exactly how much he wanted to deliver the final blow.
The warrior must have heard it too, judging by the way his face turned several shades paler.
"Hemak, Guardian," the man wheezed.
"Hemak," Brocke repeated. "Yo
ur name shall be erased from all scrolls of honor. I will give one chance to tell me what I need to know. Or else the last record of your miserable existence will be your name written in your blood, right where you lie now until rain washes away every trace of you into the gutters."
It occurred to Brocke he should have been more lenient, because Hemak looked like he had completely forgotten every word he knew.
Cora was coming closer, her beautiful eyes wide, looking at the carnage. As justified as Brocke knew his judgment had been, the guardian would have given everything not to have her see it.
"Drains..." Hemak was whispering. "The drains."
That said nothing to Brocke.
“Stand,” he ordered Tomeh, who was still laying on the ground where he'd thrown himself. “Do you know what he's talking about?"
The supervisor hesitantly rose to his feet, trembling from head to toe.
"I am not sure, Guardian," Tomeh sputtered. "I wanted to tell you before. I never agreed to any of this, I – "
"Keep your apologies for the Militant. I want answers," Brocke growled.
"Yes, Guardian," Tomeh said at once, his hands pleadingly raised in front of him. "There have been strange things going on here. I know what he refers to, but I never dared to go and look – "
Brocke's look silenced Tomeh, but made the man on the ground plead.
"Kill me now," Hemak asked. "I told you what I know."
Cora's hazel eyes were filled with pain as she looked at the man.
"Brocke," she said then. "If he's in that much pain..."
"He is not," Brocke replied, knowing exactly what kind of wounds he'd inflicted. "He's not begging because he wants to die, not because he's sorry. He thinks once I see what's out there, I will make him suffer."
The whine from Hemak proved that guess and Cora's eyes flared in disgust. Brocke kicked Hemak's swords away from him and made him limp before them with Tomeh leading the way.