by K. A. M'Lady
This, Draven could not allow.
He closed his eyes and her image danced through his mind; petal-soft skin, round, full lips and raven dark hair. When he inhaled, her scent filled him; need and desire rushed to his loins.
“I see she has left her mark on you,” Kuthar laughed.
Draven slowly turned, scowled at his brother. “Fuck you,” he growled.
Kuthar only laughed harder. “See that Kantella is taken care of,” he advised. “Before the Elders turn against us.”
Draven’s grunt of acceptance was his only response before he turned and left the room.
The next hour was spent in a rush of activity; orders to his men, preparing his ship, tracking the last known whereabouts of his brother. By the time he finally left the launch pad, his thrusters at full speed, his ship gliding through the darkness, Draven felt a deep sense of foreboding. Something was wrong. Danger pulsed through his veins. For the first time, fear lanced a piercing ache in his gut. Hitting the ship’s hyper-drive, he had one thought…Leah.
* * * * * *
Crouched beneath the bar where they usually kept the bins for ice, Leah held her breath while glass shattered around her. Bottles of liquor that usually lined the back wall exploded and rained down all around her as the eerie glow of lasers ricocheted off one bottle, then the next. Distraught and shaken, Leah screamed when a body landed with a thump beside her on the floor. The dirty, beleaguered ruffian rolled over with a growl, bared his…fangs…and with a speed she could barely recognize as human, lunged for her.
Grabbing the nearest bottle, Leah smashed it over his head.
“What the hell?” she asked no in particular, taken aback by the man’s distorted gruesome features. Before she could think too deeply on it, arms grabbed her from above and wrenched her from her hiding place. Screaming and kicking, she fought to break free. Determined to free herself, she clawed and scratched at the arms that held her in a death grip. “Hold tight to her, Rhone. She’s a hellcat,” the gruff, yet familiar voice advised.
Leah froze at the sound, her eyes alighting on its bearer. His long dark hair was once again tightly coifed, this time braided behind his back. His eyes sparkled with that familiar blue fire. A scream lodged in her throat when all of her repressed memories opened like a flood gate and washed through her, her greatest fears returned to life.
Kantella stood before her, his scowl condescending. His eyes dark with victory. Her stomach churned at the thought of his hands on her body. Oh, God, she prayed. Please don’t let him take me. With a strength she didn’t recognize, she began to writhe and kick at her assailant. She swung her arms, her elbows, hoping something would land a blow.
There was hiss of heat a second before the wet sticky gush of blood and gore exploded around her. Her attacker’s arm suddenly went slack.
Leah fell to the ground, gasping. A body landed beside her a second later. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!” she screamed, swiping shaking hands across her eyes, trying to wipe her captor’s flesh from her vision.
Voices yelled, cursed. Chairs broke in a rush of fractured wood. A body slammed into the table next to her, the legs splintering beneath its weight. To her left lay a crumpled, bleeding form, its frame wrapped in the dark turquoise tunic Latronda favored. With a cry, Leah crawled across the dirty floor toward it, desperation and heartache lodged in her throat; a cry frozen on her lips. Tears rolled down her face unimpeded as she gazed on the broken, bloody body of her companion. Her friend.
“Come here, you little bitch!” Hands tore at her hair, yanking her from the floor. She clawed at the arms that clutched her. With a growl from her captor, Leah stared into the cold, hate-filled eyes of Kantella.
“Let her go, Kantella.” The brusque order came from the other side of the bar, and the words sent small spasms of fire coursing through Leah’s blood.
Kantella snickered. “Ah, brother. You see, I just can’t do that. This little whore has caused me much strife, and I must make her account for it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let that happen,” the voice beyond the darkness stated, a figure slowly stepping into the light. “She belongs to me now, Kantella. Let her go and I will let you live.”
Leah watched the scene unfold before her, her heart hammering in her chest. Her blood burned with each word the voice spoke from the shadows. When the man emerged, her heart stuttered, then stopped. Kantella’s identical twin stood before them. A myriad of emotions rushed in her veins at the site of him. Fear, uncertainty, and…desire?
His hair was the same dark shade of jet as Kantella’s, only his hung loose about his shoulders, two twin braids on each side of a stern, scar-free face. He had the same strong jaw, the same likeness of nose, only his had never been broken. No, Leah mused, he’d not likely let anyone get close enough to touch him. And his eyes…they were the darkest shade of green she’d ever seen. They were a stark contrast to his pale skin...and they set her flesh on fire. Those startling dark eyes, as their gaze briefly met, were filled with hunger and possession.
Leah blinked away the chill that crept up her flesh. Stunned, she watched as dozens of men--soldiers, obviously--began to appear from the darkness behind him. A multitude of them flanked their leader. Kantella was sorely outnumbered. With a curse on his lips, he growled, “This is far from over, brother.” Then he casually tossed her to the floor like a piece of trash and faded into the nothingness that surrounded them.
“I’d expect nothing less,” was Kantella’s brother’s remark before he began issuing orders to his men.
Leah was swept up with the cleanup that quickly followed. Latronda’s body and that of the bar’s inhabitants were removed, the mess wiped clean as if no fight to the death had even occurred. Ook, being gravely injured, had been taken to one of the warrior’s ships, and she couldn’t help but worry. Despite the daze and numbness that settled in stages, Leah at least had learned in the passing conversations around her that the warrior was a Prince, and his name was Draven Balacjek.
Escorted by his guards, she was ushered aboard his personal vessel. Taken to his private rooms, she was left to await his arrival. As if my life can’t get any more strange or complicated.
The door to her prison closed with a soft hiss behind her.
Chapter Four
Draven stood outside of the door to his private quarters and, for the second time in his existence, felt the subtle nuance of fear.
He had ordered Leah be taken straight from Latronda’s to his personal quarters; still covered in blood, her own fears a tight tremble within her, for he felt them like a shadow walking beside him. He now stood outside the door, worried about their first face to face encounter. How would she view him? Would he repulse her as his brother did? Would she fear him as well?
There was really nothing he could do to change the past events of her life, and how she’d come to be here. He could only deal with the now. A sigh of resignation escaped him. Not once in all of his existence had he had to worry over the thoughts or feelings of another. He spoke and his men listened. His enemies ran or died. Either was of little consequence. Only his family had ever concerned him...his brother, Kuthar, the passing of his parents, and then of course, there was his brother, Kantella.
Quickly moving away from the anger that coursed through his mind where Kantella was concerned, Draven squared his shoulders for the battle ahead. Brushing his palm across the door’s security, he entered his private rooms.
The lights were still set at twilight, the room the same pristine setting he’d left it in: his large bed tightly made, his desk clutter-free. As instructed, someone had left a change of clothing for Leah neatly folded on the edge of his bed, but she was nowhere to be seen. With a growl, Draven stepped further into the room.
Anger welled within him. Where is she? Has she escaped? Did she leave of her own accord? Did Kantella…No! Draven paused, took a deep breath and focused his thoughts on Leah. The binding had begun, he could find her anywhere with the subtlest of thoughts. Clo
sing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and her essence filled him. Burned through him. She was here...close. Relief loosened his rigid muscles.
Beneath the amber glow of a single, overhead light, he found her in his private bath. The sight of her stilled his frantic heart. No words had yet been spoken between them and still he knew her. Felt her like a part of him. Wanted her. Needed her to make him whole.
Shaking off this wave of dangerous thoughts, Draven stepped into the bathroom. “Leah,” he whispered.
She was perched on the edge of his tub, silent tears flowing down her face; a face now streaked in blood. He’d barely noticed that the sink was running, its basin tinged dark crimson, until he looked at the wash cloth clutched firmly in her trembling hand. It too was stained dark red. “I can’t get it off,” she croaked, looking up at him with angst and fear in her eyes.
The strain in her voice took Draven’s breath away, but it was her fears he wanted to quell. He reached behind her and turned on the shower, then pried the bloodstained cloth from her hands, tossed it into the sink, and shut the water off. On autopilot, afraid the slightest aggressive move would frighten her more, he knelt before her, took her hands in his and slowly stated, “I’m going to put you in the shower. To wash the blood off of you. Nothing more.”
He held tightly to her hands, his words penetrating the veil of darkness that had settled over her. She visibly flinched, his words striking obvious trepidation in her. “I swear on my life that I will not harm you.”
The small nod of understanding was the first step and Draven clung to it like the life preserver he knew it was. Carefully, he first removed her bloodstained shoes and stockings. Then, with gentle persuasion he had her rise to her full height, which had her nose level with the center of his chest. He turned her to face the shower, lifted her shirt from the back and pulled the wet, sticky garment over her head. He dropped it into a pile with her shoes; her sleek, naked back exposed to his view.
With a steady hand, he looped his fingers into the waist of her pants and slid them down the sleek edges of her lush, round hips. Reaching the end of his restraint, Draven’s breath caught as he revealed the delicious curve of her bottom. With strained control, he took her hand and helped her into the warmth of the cascading water. “There is soap to cleanse with and a cloth to wash your face. I will leave you linen and clothes on the basin,” he stated with a haggard sigh.
Draven thought he was being kind, chivalrous even, leaving her to bathe alone when all he wanted to do was join her beneath the water. His body had already betrayed him, joined with his thoughts. Hard and aching, he yearned to run his hands along the sweet curves of her exquisite body and take her beneath the water’s gentle flow. He wanted to mark her, taste her in every way. To claim her as his own.
With an inward growl, he stepped away. You cannot do this to her. Not now. She is too fragile. Has suffered too much.
“Don’t…don’t leave me alone,” she whispered, tears and despair filling her voice. “I…I don’t want to be alone.”
Draven stood on the opposite side of the shower. “I will stay,” he told her, certain it was the worst idea in the world.
* * * * * *
The austere room had been set aglow like a moonlit night. Nothing in the room however gave her any indication of the man who owned it; no mementos, no family pictures, not even a knickknack. No trophies. Nothing. Just a tightly made bed and an empty desk.
Maybe the Vranthians don’t collect memories like humans? Leah thought. They were obviously just as cruel and heartless, if they were to be measured by Kantella’s standards. But, some of them were nice, she amended. At least the few she’d met in Latronda’s bar.
A sense of loss filled her. She’d only been here a short time, most of it a haze in her mind, and here she was again in a strange situation. Fear washed through her even as tears slipped past her eyes. She quickly tried to wipe them away only to catch the sight of blood on her hands. Like some sort of marionette, her limbs moved of their own accord. Detached, she stared at her hands, her arms. Then she caught sight of her clothes. She was covered in blood.
No, no, no, no, no, she thought desperately. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Petrified, Leah looked around the room, afraid to sit anywhere, afraid to touch anything until she got the blood and gore washed off of her. Spying what had to be a bathroom, she rushed into it, grabbed a cloth off the sink and began scrubbing at the blood on her face. Looking up into the mirror, her reflection chilled her...there was so much blood.
Visions and memories spun through her. Kantella’s rough voice filled with anger as he stripped her. Strange lights. His teeth piercing her flesh. His rage when he learned she could bear no children. Then his fists and his kicks. His taunts. Her fear. The darkness followed and she was grateful for it. It had stopped the pain. Stilled the emptiness. Subdued the sorrow and memories of loss she was certain she had put behind her. But no, he had reminded her of it again. Reminded her of all of it. How she had failed them. Lost them. All of them.
When she had awoken in the safety of Latronda’s bar and Latrondra had cared for her, Leah had thought that maybe there would be some hope for her. That even in this strange place, with no possibility of returning to her home, that maybe her life would be different. But now…her thoughts trailed. What was home, really. She had nothing and no one to return to. So what did any of it matter? She should be used to the loss. Used to the pain. But did anyone ever really get used to it? They just wandered through life, assimilating to things around them. Life passed by like pages on a screen.
Then, as if a page out of some nightmare, Kantella had returned for her. Just the sight of him struck fear through her like a hot blade. Their time together had been brief and horrifying. His words degrading, his touch vulgar and abusive.
There was no way in hell she would ever willingly go with him again. She would rather die. She had thought to run, tried to hide. But there was no time. In the midst of her shock at his presence, a fight ensued. Blazes of light flashed in the darkness. Blood flowed and death followed.
Through the fog of emotion that swarmed her mind, a strange presence seemed to fill the air around her. It crept around her slowly like a shadow stalks a soul. Ghost-like. Apprehensive. Eerie. She wanted to run from it, afraid of the feelings that filled her; longing, anger, hunger, desire. A myriad of emotions that made no sense. Emotions that were hers, but not.
When Kantella grabbed her, clawed at her, threatened her once again, she was certain that her life would be forfeited. That he would take her again, and that this time he would kill her. But from the shadows he emerged; tall, strong, and fierce. Twice as powerful as Kantella. His hair much the same, but longer. His face almost a duplicate, but prouder, more stern. And his eyes…she could feel them, even now, to the depth of her soul.
She’d been so captivated by his eyes, lost in them that when Kantella tossed her to the floor, she had been utterly surprised. Her hands slid in a pool of blood, scraped against the hard floor and she landed, belly flat against the ground. The shock of the fall might not have been so bad, but when she turned her head, it was Latronda’s dead eyes she stared into. Latronda’s blood she lay in.
Her screams remained inside, where only her mind could comprehend them. This is where her weakness walked. Where the shadows remained with her heartaches. Where her pain lived hand and hand with the tragedies she refused to share.
The next hours passed in a flurry of action. Removal of bodies, orders to soldiers. Ook being led away, wounded and bleeding. She vaguely remembered him tossing her behind the bar when the onslaught began. The first blast slicing through his arm. A shot meant for her. “Stay hidden,” he had told her, and she’d tried to listen. Truly she had.
Then the fighting was over before she knew it. More soldiers had come, and he was there. Draven. The scene played out and she watched it all as though from a distance, her brain only partially functioning. She comprehended, but it would take time f
or these memories to leave their mark.
The man who had come to her rescue, Prince Draven, stood close enough to hover, yet far enough away to give her space. She was now under his protection.
It was only now, as she sat in his private quarters, staring at the blood that covered her, that the full effects of the last few weeks, hours and moments--hell, maybe even years--of her life washed through her. Her soul screamed, but her voice was empty. There was just too much pain and loss to process.
With shaking fingers, Leah used the cloth to scrub at her hands, but it wouldn’t come off. Turning on the faucet, she scrubbed harder, and still the blood remained. Tears formed and fell. Visions of her life before this moment swept through her memory like a poltergeist whipping up a frenzy. It toyed with her mind. Poked at her pain.
The presence came again; dark and strong. Unwavering. She could sense him, but didn’t understand why. Knew he was close without looking.
“Leah,” he whispered.
Her name on his lips trailed down her spine and settle in her belly. She could feel it beneath the grime and dirt, attempting to soothe away her troubled fears.
She didn’t understand it, but she knew he wasn’t here to hurt her. Knew that he would keep her safe. It was an odd knowing; like knowing a puppy will be soft, a candy sweet, water wet. But still, she was hesitant. He was so much like Kantella in appearance. So unknown to her. Her mind warred with her gut. Instincts burned like a brazier, flickering.
“I can’t get it off,” she finally croaked, looking up at him with hurt and fear in her eyes. She was so scared. So afraid to trust. What if he kills me like Kantella intended? she thought. But wouldn’t he have already done so? I should run. I should fight. Her mind tumbled with alternatives.