by K. F. Breene
“However, I was under the impression you were given strict orders to take the foreign woman to the hold?” the Captain went on.
Oh. That’s why. Somehow this, too, was Sanders’ fault. Great.
“I was, sir.” Lucius didn’t lower his eyes. “She did not want to go.”
“Often women do not want to do what is in their best interest. It is why we have to subtly help them see reason.”
“My approach was subtle, at first, sir. Then, when she punched me, it was less so. Finally I had no choice but to follow her lead.”
The Captain paused before saying, “I am to understand you followed her lead willingly, Lieutenant. Directly to the front line. In front of a well-put-together group of trained, battle-hardened men.”
“Yes, sir. They were also inclined to follow her lead. She has a way about her, sir.”
The Captain stared at Lucius for a tense moment. The other man tried to hold the gaze, but inevitably, as they all did, dropped his gaze to the floor.
“She would have been captured.” The Captain had a hard edge to his voice. Sanders took a step toward the door.
“Yes, sir,” Lucius said weakly.
“She’s a woman. I’m sure you can imagine what would’ve happened had she been captured?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that a fate you would want for your mother, Lieutenant? Or your sister?”
“No, sir. But in my defense, I wouldn’t have been able to stop her, sir. I tried to fight beside her and keep her safe. It was all I could do.”
After another minute of hard staring, the Captain lowered his head. Then stood. “She is a hard case. Sanders has yet to maintain control over her. Being that he is of higher rank, I can hardly expect you to fare any better. I had hoped, but I see that was in vain.”
“I would like to stay on her detail, sir,” Lucius stated with a high chin.
“You are compromised, Lieutenant.” The Captain spoke simply.
“She’ll trust me now, sir. She doesn’t want followers, she wants men-at-arms beside her.”
The Captain stopped as he headed for the door, his back to his old friend. Lucius took that as a cue to keep going. “She entertains when someone raises an objection to her schemes. She’ll hear my complaints and advice. She’ll defer to me if I can convince her.”
The room got thick and sluggish. Sanders tried to push himself against the wall, not wanting any part of this conversation. Any movement might draw notice. He wanted Lucius to get the post so he wouldn’t have to take it.
Finally the bands that made breathing laborious released and the Captain nodded. “Very well. When you are better, we’ll see how it goes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Out in the hallway the Captain said in conversational tones, “Lucius just did you a favor.”
“I caught that, sir. He’s a better man for it.”
“Yes, he’s always had a heavy dose of courage.”
Sanders cleared his throat. “I saw her fight, sir. He wouldn’t have been able to force her to the hold. Not with his life.”
“I know that. I still wanted him to try. Battle is no place for a woman. Not when she will become a prize.”
“I don’t think she was planning to stay alive long enough to be a prize.”
“For that reason, also.”
They turned a corner and started down the recovery corridor, stopping in front of a wooden door. The Captain knocked twice then immediately stepped back when the door opened. The doctor stepped out, realized who it was, and closed the door behind him.
“You’ve picked a fine time to call on her,” the doctor drawled. “She is out of bed and staggering around the room. Apparently that’s her way of saying she’s miraculously healed after only three days.”
“And how is she faring?” the Captain asked, not put off by the dry delivery.
“Oh, how wonderful. Someone who actually wants her real diagnosis. Two ribs are broken. She is unconcerned about those. Three toes are broken. She concedes that the Mugdock are heavy. There are muscle pulls and strains all over her body. She also helped me do my job by noting her gift is strained, whatever that means.
“Oh, and she has learned a new swear word. It starts with “c”, is predominately used on women in an extremely derogatory way. She thinks it is hilarious. Watch yourself.”
The doctor walked away with a rigid back. Sanders had the feeling the c-word was no longer solely used on women. He couldn’t help but smile. Until he saw the murder in the Captain’s eyes. It sufficiently ruined his mood again.
As the doctor had said, Shanti was standing. Laboriously, but standing. She was leaning against the wall looking out the window, her gaze on the distant trees. Her body looked like an abstract painting, splotched with a myriad of colors, mainly blue, yellow, purple, and red. Between her injuries, her skin was the same translucent white he’d noticed when she was near death in the dead forest. Unlike then, he noticed she had a much better form than when she’d been carried in a few short weeks ago. Her muscle was sinewy and graceful. She was taking on the shape of a woman again, hips and breasts and—
Sanders turned away, which he probably should have done immediately after realizing the piece of fabric on the floor next to the door, as if thrown at a retreating figure, was her nightgown. He had seen many a naked man, being that there was not much privacy in the field, but he’d only seen naked women when he was about to—
Shanti turned at the uncomfortable groan.
“Clothes, please,” the Captain said easily, leaning against the far wall. If he was troubled by the perfect form of the naked woman—
Sanders groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. He was not strong enough for this.
Shanti gave the Captain an irritated stare. “The fabric gets in the way of sleeping.”
“You aren’t sleeping. Put it on.”
“No.”
“You’re causing an awkward situation between Sanders and Junice at present. It’s not very nice.”
Shanti glanced at Sanders and sighed. “Why is this nation so worried about nudity?”
“Humor us.”
As she crossed the room, moving like a panther, she picked up the fabric and slid it over her head. Sanders tried desperately not to memorize the look of billowing gray material flowing over perky, well-formed breasts. He also tried not to watch the cloth as it made its way—
The room filled with the sound of a head repeatedly banging against the door.
“I have no funnies, so I don’t need an audience,” she said, returning to the window.
“Jokes,” the Captain supplied. He seemed to find her black mood entertaining.
“I want out of this room.” Shanti’s eyes focused on the trees.
“You’re not healed.”
“I’m healed enough to leave this room.”
“Where would you go?”
“The park.”
“Then?”
Shanti was quiet. She was no longer welcome at Sanders’ house. A foreign naked woman fighting with the also naked man of the house in the middle of the night was not something wives got over. Or forgot about. Shanti understood that.
“It’s time for you to tell me who you are,” the Captain asserted, taking a chair.
Sanders preferred to stand. He was still uncomfortably tight in his groin.
“Is your wife okay?” Shanti asked suddenly, turning to face the Captain. Her eyes flicked to Sanders. “And Junice? Is she okay? And your bairn?”
“Our barn?” Sanders asked in confusion.
“Child. Baby. Little ‘un. Bairn.”
“How did you…”
The Captain’s eyes swiveled to Sanders with a question. Sanders answered them both. “She’s fine. They are both okay, as far as the doctor can tell.”
The Captain nodded in a congratulatory sort of way. Shanti turned her gaze back to the Captain. “And your family? Did they get to safety in time?”
Sanders was still confused. Sur
ely she knew the Captain had lost his parents—or else why would he be Captain?
“Unfortunately, I have no family to speak of.” The Captain’s tone was matter-of-fact, but Sanders could see a little of the leftover vulnerability from the conversation with Lucius. Sanders shifted uncomfortably as the Captain went on—being in this room was worse than the last. “If you are asking about Tanicia, she’s okay, as is her family, as far as I’ve heard. There were no civilian casualties.”
Tanicia? If Sanders remembered correctly, that was a short brunette with great curves and a giant rack. Why—Oh. He must’ve had company the night Shanti barged into his house. A passing fad, just like all his girlfriends. The man changed women like underwear.
The Captain stared at Shanti, his face blank. She stared back. Communication of the silent variety trickled between them until Shanti’s face dropped.
“That rat bastard!” she exclaimed suddenly. Sanders flinched and reached for his sword before he could stop himself. “I’m not beautiful in your culture. Fine. But he didn’t have the fornicas to tell me to my face he didn’t desire me? Instead he hides behind the myth that sex before mating is forbidden.” She turned back to the window, her back rigid.
Sanders blinked a few times. “Fornkas?”
Shanti turned back to him with sadness weighing down her features. She pointed to his bulge in his pants, which had been easing down, and now gave an excited lurch. He needed to get the hell out of this room and back into the world were women were properly clothed. Or home where he was allowed to have sex.
“Balls, I think,” the Captain said quietly, his eyes focused on violet grief, which had nothing to do with whoever she was talking about. It seemed like old pain—scars from her past that were now resurfacing. “Of whom are you speaking?”
Shanti turned again, her back to the room. Her grief was so fresh, so sharp, she looked like she would break in half at any moment. Whatever had happened in her past, it must’ve been traumatic for her to haul it here and not be able to contain it.
“Are you speaking of Lucius?” the Captain asked, quieter now.
“No, but how is he healing? I am trying to help but I don’t have much strength. I can’t keep contact for long.”
“Come again?”
“I would love to come the first time, but the man of my choosing is not interested. I could really use that distraction right now.” Her voice trailed away as she stared out the window.
The muscles in the Captain’s arms flexed. He was starting to lose his patience. He took a second to calm himself, something he had to do often in this woman’s presence, which Sanders had some experience with, and changed gears. “Where are you from?”
“That is not working, and I am not planning to tell you.”
Sanders look around in confusion. What wasn’t working?
The Captain said, “I had a meeting yesterday with an interested trading party. Sanders can confirm—he was there. He often organizes protection for trade routes. He has a head for numbers. I value his opinion in those matters. As I do in this matter.”
“I’m fascinated, both by the news and also by the randomness of this continued conversation.” Shanti continued to stare out the window.
“In addition to setting up a possible trade route, they inquired if we had seen a young woman pass this way. They described her as not exactly beautiful, but visually arresting. Tall, light features and hair, regal…”
Shanti had turned to the Captain, her eyes on fire, her face devoid of all color. Fear lurked just behind the death in her eyes.
“They said she was the wife of their Lord,” the Captain went on in a smooth voice. “She was apparently taken by a hostile party when traveling and was now feared lost. They are searching for her. They brought her up before I could ask about you, as a matter of fact…”
Shanti stared, a rigid figure in a loose robe standing in front of a bright window. Her eyes started to glow faintly. The room condensed and blazed. Spikes of pain assaulted him. His bones started to vibrate until they felt like they were cracking. His skull was too tight. His eyes sandy and raw.
The Captain’s eyebrows crawled down the bridge of his nose like two caterpillars. He stood slowly, his whole body flexed, the thick cords of muscles making ropes and ditches down his arms, legs and torso. “They mentioned she had violet eyes.”
A thick pulse of electric energy flashed into Sanders. He could swear his skin was peeling off. Her eyes were glowing more now, power within them dancing, the air in the room forcing his breath out in painful gasps. His brain started to buzz, slowly at first, then like knives were scraping against it. Needles stabbed into his ears. He clutched at his skull, the deep ache exploding out, forcing out a scream.
A second later he was devoid of pain. Panting. Scared—he’d never been so scared in all his life. He huddled in the corner. What the hell had just happened?
A second after that he felt invisible hands crawl up his body. Small, tickling spirals, trailing up the small hairs on his inner thighs. He brushed at his legs. Nothing was there. But it felt like something was there. Like a caress, firm and loving.
He gulped loudly, patting at the feeling. Trying to wipe it off. What the--
No, now he had never been so scared in all his life. Especially since that tickle felt so, so fucking good.
An invisible hand cupped his ball sack. He yelped, dancing around the floor, swatting at his nuts. Something lightly stroked his dick.
He froze.
It was logically uncomfortable, the pressure from invisible hands. Soon logic was gone, though. He couldn’t think past the rubbing. Pain he could ignore, but this…
The pressure. Where was it coming from?
It wasn’t a real person, did he care?
Oh… he probably should…
He fell back against the wall with his eyes closed. This was wrong. Whatever was happening was not good. Except it felt good. He couldn’t stop—he wanted to—
Another blast of pain cut through the pleasure. A flash of light burst behind his eyes. He staggered against the wall, blinded momentarily with the hot spikes of pain.
“ENOUGH!”
It sounded like the Captain, but Sanders couldn’t focus. His cock was hard, his head felt like someone had stabbed a knife through his forehead—what…the fuck…was happening in this room? Every time he had to deal with the woman, something like this happened. Every time.
Why was it always him? Why didn’t the Captain give someone else a turn to deal with her?
Sanders glanced at the door. He might just brave the Captain’s punishment for leaving right now.
Chapter 22
Shanti watched the Captain approach slowly, his eyes trying to hide the fear. She had been too weak to kill him from even a few spans and was afraid to touch him. He learned fast. Touching would make her ten times more powerful, but him as well. If he tried to block, or reciprocate, she would struggle, and he could then snap her neck. She had no weapons and could barely stand. She was practically defenseless.
“If you turn me over to them I will kill myself immediately, leaving you with nothing to trade,” she said in a seething whisper, trying to keep herself upright.
He stopped directly in front of her. “How?”
“By reversing what I just did to you.”
“Were you intending to kill me just then?”
“You’ve caught me at a bad time. You’re lucky.”
“Why shouldn’t I turn you in and take my chances? They’re offering me a sweet deal. The amount of money they’re throwing at me, at this city, is staggering. They even offered to end our troubles with the Mugdock. Our people would be safe. Trading you would be to our advantage.”
Shanti’s stomach twisted. “They are offering you slavery. They don’t trade, they own. You, as a leader, are too powerful. You would be killed immediately. Your army, as you call it, would be destroyed or taken into their ranks. Your people would be spread apart so you couldn’t band together. Th
e prettiest in your city would be taken—you’ll be told they’ll be put up in the best houses, given the best schools, then can come back when they are enlightened. Instead, they will be granted to the seniority battle commanders or government to play with. Some will go to the ranked men to be used. They have all sorts of interests, women are just one. Little boys are a favorite. Watching torture, bestiality, whipping—they love fresh meat, no matter the flavor.
“And that’s if you don’t reveal what you are. As soon as you lose control and fill the room with a display of power, they will know. Then you will be taken. Drugged. You are handsome and well built, so the rich women and men will want to use you. Their leader likes men—he likes to take other leaders by force as he captures their cities, but with your Hasneas—your Gift—he won’t be able to. He can still drug you and chain you to his bed, though. You will like it. You will like what—“
The Captain grabbed her throat and squeezed. Air caught in her lungs, nowhere to go. Lights danced in her eyes from the pressure of his fingers. The bastard was strong.
She used the contact to send a pulse of pure, heavy lust into his brain, throwing him off. He was close enough that his erection was prodding her. His eyes lit on fire. Sanders groaned in the corner, in the radius of power but not getting the full dose. She switched to pricks of pain, searing his skin, aiming for the hand that held her, but too weak to hit it properly. Back to pleasure, confusing him, noticing his hand weakening as he tried to figure out what she was doing. Also trying to resist—men had an easier time resisting pain than pleasure. It had been a wonderful discovery. Back to pleasure, pulsing, prodding at his backside, freaking him out with how good it felt. Testing his sensibilities. Experimenting a little, too. Might as well screw with him as a farewell gift.
She shifted her power, noticing his eyes starting to dull as they looked into hers. Sucking in a breath of air as his hand loosened from her throat. The last of her power swelled, Sanders having fallen over, like a board, straight to his back.
She looked straight into the Captain’s eyes, gripped his mind as hard as she could, and prepared the knife. She stabbed.