Kingdom Come

by Devi Mara

  The man was naked and pale, his belly bloated with the beginnings of decomposition. As she inched forward, the smell hit her. Thick and almost sweet, the scent caught in her throat. She gagged, stumbling backwards to lean her face against the wall beside the door. She sucked in air through her mouth, until the urge to vomit faded.

  Slowly turning, she pulled her pajama top over her face. A tray of bloody tools lay next to the table and the light glinted off a jagged knife. She needed that knife. Steeling herself, she moved forward. The man’s blood was dry and crusted, and it came off the knife’s handle the moment her fingers touched it. She avoided meeting his wide, empty gaze, as she tucked the knife into the pocket of her pants.

  She scanned the room for anything else of use. The table in the center of the room was empty, save for a bottle of water. She snatched it and checked for a safety seal. It was unopened. She quickly removed the cap and gulped the water, finishing half of the bottle before she had to stop to take a breath.

  Her ribs ached, her wrist ached, and her head ached, but the dry mouth was gone. She huffed out a laugh and winced when it jostled her ribs. She set the bottle on the table and moved around the room. She found a stick of gum and an unopened bag of dried meat.

  She tucked the gum into her pocket for later and ripped open the jerky. The writing was in Ukrainian, but it smelled like beef. She pulled a piece from the bag and nibbled at it. Definitely beef and relatively fresh. She took a larger bite and her stomach growled loudly in approval.

  She popped a few more pieces in her mouth, before stuffing the package in her pocket and moving toward the door. As she reached for the knob, the door flew open. It slammed into the wall behind it with the sound of a gunshot. Half a dozen men poured into the room, backing her toward the table and the dead man.

  None of them touched her, but they circled her like sharks. She gripped the handle of the knife and watched them closely, poised to slash at any stupid enough to approach her. They seemed content to keep their distance. The reason for their behavior entered the room a moment later.

  The man who had broken her wrist stalked through the doorway. He advanced on her, not slowing his stride. She had a split second to see his arm moving before pain exploded across her left cheek. Her head snapped to the side and she staggered from the force of the slap.

  “Bitch!” he growled.

  She slowly turned her head to look at him. “You are going to be so sorry, buddy.” Her fingers slowly wrapped around the knife hidden in her pocket.

  He pulled his hand back to hit her again and she gave him a cold smile. He paused for a second and looked her over. She struck in his moment of distraction. His only reaction to the knife she thrust into his chest was a sharply indrawn breath. She was tackled to the ground before he even fell to his knees.

  The bodies on her compressed her ribs. She struggled violently, lashing out with her knees and elbows, but the men finally pinned her to the ground. Three of them moved over to check on the man she had stabbed. She thrashed until they tried to move her. A man grabbed each arm and a third held her legs. She went limp, making it as difficult as possible to lift her.

  For a moment, she thought they would put her on the dead man’s table, but they carried her from the room. The man at her feet opened a door on the left side of the hallway and revealed a steep staircase. Her head immediately began to pound as they carried her feet first up the stairs, jostling her several times. She focused on her breathing to hold back the urge to vomit.

  The stairwell emptied out into a tiny backroom. A single, roughly hewn table fit in the space with two matching chairs and a bench. The men dumped her in one of the chairs. Dizzy and nauseous, she blinked hard to clear the black spots from her vision. She was barely aware of the thick rope being looped around her chest and pinning her arms to her sides.

  She had no choice but to look at the man seated across from her. He stared at her silently and she glared as his eyes moved over her, lingering on her injuries.

  “What do you people what?” she snapped.

  He met her gaze and lifted one dark eyebrow. Slowly, his lips curved up into an amused smile. He turned his head toward the men standing at attention off to his left, eyes still fastened on her. She was not sure what he said, but the men turned and returned to the stairwell, closing the door behind them.

  She gave the man all of her attention. “I don’t have any money and my family’s broke. Whatever you want, you’re not going to get it.” She jerked back when he suddenly let out a bark of laughter.

  He stood and moved to stand between her chair and the table. “You are Abigail Ashley?” he asked in lightly accented English. She stared at him silently, but he just smiled. “I already have what I want, Miss Ashley.”

  “Listen, guy. I don’t know who you think I am, but there’s no money for a ransom. You might as well let me go.”

  His smile did not fade. “No. I know someone who would pay anything for you.”

  Her mind went to Edric and she scowled. “You leave him out of this.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed her chair, jerking her toward him. “You do not tell me what to do. Do you understand?”

  “I understand I’m going to take you down when I get free,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Do you understand?” he demanded.

  “Yes. I understand perfectly.”

  …

  He slammed his way through the throne room doors and bared his teeth at King Gol’s guard. They hesitated, staring at him with wide eyes. Part of his mind wondered how he must look to make a dozen guards shift nervously, but most of him was focused on the figure reclining on the throne.

  He was nearly to the king, before the guards moved to stop him. He attacked without mercy. Rage pulsed through his veins, deafening him to the pained screams and snapping bones. It was his father’s shout that halted the massacre. He turned on the man with a growl.

  “Where is she?”

  Gol had the impudence to feign confusion. As if he had not stolen his mate. Edric clenched his fists to keep from attacking his father.

  “Abigail Ashley has been taken from her home,” he said slowly, over enunciating each word. “I want you to give her back to me. Right now.”

  Gol frowned. “I do not have this Abigail Ashley.”

  Lies. Edric grabbed the closest guard from the ground at his feet. He lifted him by the neck and gave his father a significant look. When the king made no move to change his answer, he snapped the man’s neck.

  “Eleven more,” he said coldly. “Where is she?”

  “You are wasting your time here,” Gol said, rising partially from his throne.

  Edric bared his teeth. “Give her to me or I will kill every one of your guards.” He started to reach for another when the door next to the throne opened and Caern emerged.

  He took in the scene and raised an eyebrow. “How nice of you to visit, Your Highness.”

  Edric felt the guard clawing at his arm, trying to ease the pressure on his windpipe. He glanced down to see the man’s green skin was slowly turning turquoise with lack of air. He sent his father a grim smile.

  “Well?”

  Gol pressed his lips into a flat line. “I have told you—”

  “Wrong answer,” Edric growled and snapped the guard’s neck. “Ten more. I do hope you are actively recruiting.”

  “Edric stop this.”

  His eyes widened in outrage at his father’s use of his name. “You do not have leave to use my given name. You have taken from me for the last time. Now, where is Abigail?” he yelled.

  “Unable to keep track of your pet human, Your Majesty?”

  He slowly turned his head to look at Caern and the man took a step back. “If you ever refer to her with anything other than absolute respect, I will kill you. Slowly. Treaty be damned.”

  He longed to tear the Dorn palace apart looking for Abby, but any violence toward a member of the government or palace would be seen as a breach of the trea
ty. He ground his teeth and gave his father one last glare, before he turned on his heel and returned to the portal outside the palace.

  Limek met him on the platform, face more grim than usual. “Your Highness,” he acknowledged with a bow. “I have news.”

  Edric nodded, continuing toward the waiting enlil. “Go ahead.”

  “Abby has been spotted.”

  Edric froze midstep and spun to face him. “Where? When? Is she hurt?” He gripped his captain of the guard by his shoulders. “Where is she?”

  Limek looked him in the eye. “Eastern Europe. Our Russian contact spotted her being carried off a cargo plane in Kharkiv.”

  “Carried?” he interrupted. “Why? Is she injured that badly?” He could feel his hands gripping Limek’s shoulders, but he could not relax his grasp.

  Limek broke eye contact. “According to our source, she had heavy bruising on her face.” He winced when Edric’s grip unconsciously tightened.

  “What else?” When Limek did not immediately answer, he shook him. “Tell me!”

  “It’s the vovky group.”

  “The ones Caern has been trading with,” Edric muttered to himself, as he released Limek and backed away. “I should have done something.”

  “It was not a violation of the treaty,” Limek told him.

  He let out a humorless laugh. It may not have been a violation of the treaty, but it had most certainly become his problem.

  “Is there more?”

  Limek nodded. “A doctor visited her, but he refused to release the location.”

  “How bad is it?” He did not want to hear it, but he had to know.

  “A concussion, a broken wrist, two fractured ribs, and multiple bruises.”

  Static filled his mind and he fell to knees. No. This could not be happening. Not to his Abby. He barely felt Limek’s hand on his shoulder. He had to get her back. At any cost. He jerked his head up to look at Limek.

  “Tell Russia we will give them what they want.”

  Limek’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty?”

  Nothing mattered but getting her back. He had not drawn a full breath since she had been taken, living a half-life without her. He nodded to himself. He would give the Russians the materials they had been salivating over. And he would have Abby back.

  “Come with me. I must speak with Her Highness.”

  His mother was still in her night clothes when he entered the family sitting room. She started to smile when she saw him, but the expression froze. She rose from her chair.

  “What has happened?”

  He sank into the chair across from the one she had vacated. “Abby has been taken from her home.” He paused when his mother gasped and met her gaze. “She has been greatly injured and is being held captive by the group trading with Caern.”

  Loreet’s jaw clenched. “Is Caern responsible?”

  “Ask your arammu. His second was at his palace.” He did not bother trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

  His mother frowned. “Your father said…” she trailed off and her nostrils flared. “I will speak with him.”

  “I am going to speak with the president, again. He was not forthcoming when I spoke with him yesterday.”

  “Do not kill him. He is the leader of Abby’s country.”

  Edric narrowed his eyes. “I will do whatever I have to do to get her back.”

  “And if she hates you for your actions? If she refuses you?”

  His chest clenched at the thought, but he gave his mother a tight smile. “If she is safe, I can accept that.”

  “Go, then. You have my blessing.”

  “Thank you.” He stood and turned to the door. “If King Gol is responsible…” He gave his mother a dark look.

  She nodded silently. “Go.”

  He stopped in his own chambers to change into a fresh suit, before he returned to the entry hall to meet his guards. Desta and Roshan stood near the door, the thin woman leaning into her mate as they spoke. He noticed she was wearing far more weaponry than usual.

  Nitya and Voski hovered beside the window, Nitya looking shaken. Voski held her hands in his. Edric could not make out his soft words, but Nitya nodded. Konani and Limek entered the room only a second after him and immediately approached.

  “My most sincere hopes for a safe return of your arammu,” Konani said.

  He nodded. “Thank you Gibil Konani.”

  “I volunteer to slay those holding her captive,” Desta said, as Edric moved past her to the door.

  “Only if I do not get there first.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The Empty Place

  “One ought to hold on to one’s heart; for if one lets it go,

  one soon loses control of the head, too.”

  -Friedrich Nietzsche

  She stared at the wall in front of her, her lips dry and her face aching. Her left eye was swollen shut from her chat with the man who turned out to be the leader of the band of misfits. Oleksiy had not been pleased with her refusal to answer his questions. She licked her lips and winced at the taste of her own blood.

  Jerk. She hoped he tripped and fell down the stairs. For the hundredth time, she shifted in the chair and tried to wriggle an arm free. She muttered under her breath, as she twisted her good arm between the coils of rope. If they thought she was just going to sit there like a damsel in distress, they had another think coming.

  She kept one eye on the door to the stairs and ignored the rasp of the rope on her skin. It was worth it if she could get free. Straining her shoulder to the point of pain, her fingers finally found freedom. The rest of her hand and arm followed seconds later.

  She grinned. Her knuckles were bloody, but her hand was intact. She immediately shifted sideways and ducked her head, slipping out of the remaining rope. Jerks, she groused to herself. Kidnap her, beat her up, and try to get her to betray what she knew of Edric. Not okay.

  She leapt from the chair as soon as she was free and crossed the room to grab the knife she had been eyeballing. It felt good in her hand, steady and comforting. It was not the dagger Edric had given her, but it would do the job. She crept toward the door opposite the stairs.

  It opened on to another hallway, this one wider and lit by sunlight. She glanced both ways, before striding to the small window. The hall was empty for the moment, but there was no way to know how long it would stay that way. The leader of the crazies could reappear at any moment.

  She curled her fingers under the window sill and jerked upwards. Nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. Peering at the window, she realized someone had painted them shut. Part of her mind babbled about the window being a fire hazard. She ignored it and hurried down the hall.

  The scene outside the window was not reassuring. The building sat in the center of a wide open plain, filled with nothing but weeds and broken machinery. A shout would definitely not bring help. She had just entered an empty room when she heard the sound, a low rumbling. She paused and glanced around.

  As it continued to get louder, she inched toward the window. What looked like a tank crested the hill less than half a mile away.

  “What the?”

  She pressed closer to watch the tank approach, its pace increasing as it rolled down the hill. A second later, two Humvees and half a dozen jeeps popped up over the hill. That could not be good. She slowly backed away from the window. Halfway across the room, she heard a strange whistling sound.

  She dropped to the floor, as the building shook with a deafening boom. This could not be happening. She scrambled to her feet, arm holding her ribs, and ran from the room. Dozens of voices were yelling, seemingly from every direction, and she heard the crackle of a radio from one of the rooms as she sprinted by.

  She had to get out of the building before it came down around her. The whistling came again and she had just enough time to throw herself to the left, before the room on the other side of the hall exploded. Hot air rushed toward her, burning her face and making her eyes sting.r />
  These people were crazy. She stumbled out of the room to see half the hallway destroyed. Soldiers dressed for battle, spilled into what remained. She hid around the edge of the door and watched them hustle past. At least, they had lost interest in her. Just as the thought crossed her mind, three soldiers rushed into the room.

  She barely had time to gasp, as they backed her into the wall. Two grabbed her arms and the third dropped a black bag over her head. She kicked blindly, striking something twice before her feet were caught and bound tightly. She could barely feel her toes when they were done.

  “So help me, when I get out of this you are so dead!”

  Their answer was to bind her elbows behind her back, loosely looping more rope around her forearms to completely immobilize her. She sincerely hoped the tank ran over them.

  “Let me go!”

  Their hands were bruising, as they lifted her and began moving. The black bag over her head smelled strongly of alcohol and mold. She breathed through her mouth to keep from gagging. These people never washed anything. The random thought distracted her from the dizzying sensation of being carried down a short staircase.

  The temperature suddenly changed and she could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. Surely they were not stupid enough to go outside during a siege. The whistling filled the air, again. A loud bang came from her right and seconds later she hit the ground hard. The men yelled to each other in Ukrainian, as she heard them scrambling to their feet.

  They were going to get her killed. Idiots. She wriggled with renewed vigor. The rope had no give in it and the struggling did nothing but chafe her already broken skin. Machine gun fire came from her left. She did not hear the sound of running feet until they were nearly on top of her. She heard a shout from near her head, then the running feet struck her.

  The person tripped over her body and fell, hitting the ground hard. She heard muffled cursing and the sound of jiggling keys, before she was airborne again. The two carrying her had picked up their pace, nearly jogging, to follow the other set of footsteps. A car door slammed ahead of them.