savage 04 - the savage vengeance

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

  He looked down at Clara, the red of her hair contrasting richly with the pale winter day that broke all around them, the light casting its ethereal glow on the ice and snow, washing everything a pale yellow. He recognized he had not been simple to love. Matthew thought of their terrible beginnings, his confusion over his place in the Band, what he was to her.

  What she was to him.

  Matthew knew that answer now, Clara was all.

  She was his everything.

  Clara felt Matthew's strong arm come around her and press her against his side and she smiled. They looked at each other and walked toward the horses.

  Neither felt the eyes which watched their every movement, an awful plan of retribution burning toward reality.

  *

  Calia stuffed her rucksack full to bursting with none of the care she usually gave her packing of articles. Punching her clothes in the sack was very... satisfying, she thought with detached glee. She was beholden to none. And no one, save Clara, was thankful for her battle prowess.

  Calia heard a small noise behind her and released her dirk, dropping her rucksack as she spun, turning low with her small dagger in front of her.

  But it was that large ox of the Band.

  Philip.

  Calia scowled and he smiled in return. The big fool had anticipated her swipe and not drawn too near. She straightened and his smile became a grin.

  “If you come to laugh at me, come nearer so I may wipe the smile off your smug face.”

  Philip's smile faded. Good, Calia thought. She sheathed her dirk and winced as her arm crossed her body and her torso moved with it, the pain of her ribs throbbing from where his fist had struck her. She tried to hide the small signal of pain but he caught it, his expression becoming contrite.

  “I came not to make jest but to apologize. I did not know it was you. I would never...” he spread his massive hands out at his side and Calia was momentarily stunned at their size. It was no wonder that her ribs ached. His hands were the size of her head. And... he had pulled his strike. Calia shivered slightly at the thought of what a full impact would have done. Fear crept into her as she thought of what it would be to fight one such as he.

  She did not care to. Calia was skilled, she was strong and clever. Knowing that, she recognized what it would be without surprise on her side.

  She would lose any and all engagements against him.

  Philip watched the play of emotions wash across Calia's expressive face and when fear flashed across her features instead of her normal anger and bristly indifference he moved forward as if bidden. He could not have this female of the select in fear of him.

  His very being rebelled against the idea.

  Every brave moment, every horror that she had endured, all the transgressions committed against her welled up into Calia's throat, causing her breath to hitch and for the first time in her life, overwhelmed... she turned to run.

  Philip surged forward, his sole purpose to calm her fears. His fingers flowed through her braid, missing purchase and she sprinted. Philip redoubled his speed, gaining on her.

  Calia pumped her arms by her side, running faster than she ever had, the woods which surrounded them clung beside her in a blur of green as she deftly moved amongst the giant trees.

  Philip was amazed at her grace, her speed. But his desire to allay her fears was greater. He leaped forward, grabbing her about the waist as he did, surprised anew at how very small she was against his frame.

  Her momentum caused them both to begin to fall, Philip rolling his huge frame into the fall, as he had been taught, taking the brunt of it against his side, the breath leaving his body and Calia yelped, landing on the bruised ribs of her side as she bounced against him.

  She turned in his arms as he lay slightly dazed beneath her and she panicked, placing both palms on his chest she went to push away and made contact with his skin instead.

  Calia stilled as fire branded her... liquid warmth climbing her arms, numbing her in place, she stopped breathing, her heart hammering inside her ribcage.

  Philip's breath returned in a rush as the flesh of her palms sucked a reaction out of the core of him he had not thought possible. He had experienced something like this with Clara, in the Rite of the Select, but it was a mere echo of what he felt now. A branding fire tore through his veins, scorching his blood, setting his flesh afire.

  As was the case with all the Band, Philip did not think, he reacted. Concerning himself not at all with who sat astride his body, her eyes wide with fear.

  With wonder.

  Philip sat up straight and snapped his arms around Calia, crushing her against his chest, his hand wrapping the thick golden braid in his fist. He used it like a handle and pressed her mouth to his own.

  The environment melted away for Philip. There was nothing but this woman, this moment.

  Calia had never been kissed. She opened her mouth in surprise, her fear simultaneous with her passion. A foreign emotion, she whimpered, trying to get away even as she pressed her lips against his mouth, their tongues exploring each other's mouth in a kiss without breath.

  Without end.

  That is how Daniel found them. He saw nothing but Calia's body pressed to Philip's, his hand buried in her plaited hair, her whimper sounded like a plea to his ears.

  Daniel was Band enough, reacting as swiftly as a full blood.

  He punched hard, striking Philip in the temple. It was just the right maneuver to knock him senseless, from his vulnerable position on the ground. He fell to his side, completely unprepared for the assault due to the distraction of Calia.

  Calia turned, her body straddled on an unconscious Philip and locked her gaze on Daniel, the wood held its breath as if awaiting their words.

  They never came.

  When the fragment melted into the open from their hiding spots behind the trees, Calia did not scream but for the first time in her life, hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Grief crushed Calia where she sat, hope flying away on the winter breeze.

  *

  Clara's brow furrowed, watching Daniel chase after Philip, who had, in turn, chased after Calia. Perchance she could play as mediator?

  She made a move to go into the deeper part of the woods and Matthew wrapped her upper arm gently, pulling her against him. Her back was pressed against his chest and a warm palm wrapped the front of her throat, the only flesh visible, ensconced as she was in her makeshift cloak.

  He stroked the skin under his palm and Clara gave a soft little moan in pleasure and Matthew felt his body respond to the small noise she made. Instead of kissing the mouth that his thumb trailed over he asked, “Where do you think to go?”

  Clara blinked. She had been utterly distracted. She cleared her throat to speak and could not. She did a second time and croaked out, the heat of his palm igniting a fire deep within her body, “I thought... to help with Calia.”

  A smile curled Matthew's lips and he turned her in his arms, the hand that held her throat traveling front to back. He then stroked the small bones which traveled the upper part of her spine, at the base of her skull. He grinned at how marvelously put together she was.

  Clara gazed into his blue eyes and smiled. “What say you?” she asked on the softest breath.

  “How beautifully fashioned you are,” he pressed his fingertips gently against where her head, like a fragile egg, sat attached to the string of bone like delicate pearls that held her small body together.

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” Clara murmured, blushing at his compliment, she curtsied and as she did, her head bent ever so slightly and those delicate bones protruded into his palm. He caressed them and Clara groaned in pleasure, the soreness of the last few days melting away into his capable hand.

  “Calia does not need your attentions right now,” he said with the barest trace of humor in his voice and something deeper, desire.

  “Yes...,” Clara agreed on a whisper.

  Edwin said behind them, “I do not mean to
interrupt...” he began.

  He certainly did, Matthew knew.

  Clara turned and stepped out of the warmth and protection of Matthew's arms, where she felt right, true and perfect and asked, “Yes?”

  Edwin scorched her with his gaze, speaking volumes without uttering a word but she would not be bent or manipulated by guilt. Her sphere was in jeopardy, Edwin's concern over choosing him or Matthew would have to wait for a time in the future.

  The uncertain future.

  “When Philip sees fit to make amends for the mess he made with Calia, I would like to discuss plans for her return to her rightful clan.”

  The morning light swept the meadow, making all that was dark stand in stark contrast. Edwin's hair, as black as the Red Men's, his eyes a strange color somewhere between sunlight and amber took on an eerie glow.

  Clara shivered suddenly, feeling a creeping dread. She had learned not to ignore those pangs of insight. Those flashes of intuition had never let her down.

  Matthew saw the slight tremble on her body and asked, “What is it?”

  Clara shook her head slightly, dismissing it for the moment, turning her attention to answering the question at hand, a slight frown puckering her brow. “I understand, as her brother that you would like to encourage her to reunite with her proper family...” Clara put her arms out at her side in supplication. She could see that Edwin was displeased with her. But more than that, Calia would not be coerced into doing anything in which she felt forced. Clara knew this. They had spent enough time together, intimate time. Clara was confident in what she said next, “Do not tell her in haste. I may add, Edwin,” and Clara trained her eyes on his in that disconcertingly bold gaze she was known for, “Calia will not respond well to manipulation.”

  “And you know her so well?” Edwin asked in disbelief, baiting her.

  Clara stepped closer to him and he met her, anger boiling between them, his feelings for her and what she would not freely give a wall of awkwardness standing in the way of resolution.

  “Aye, I do, Edwin. Mayhap if you had spent half as much time and concern on becoming acquainted with her rather than scheming of how to return her as your primary objective, you would as well,” Clara said, her chest heaving with indignation.

  Edwin clenched his fists as he looked down at Clara, his eyes swinging like an irresistible pendulum to her full lips, the softest pink, kissable.

  Then Matthew was there, his face like thunder. “You are not threatening Clara?” he asked in a voice that brooked no argument, on the finest edge of temperance, rage its faithful companion.

  Edwin met his stare with challenge and they moved toward each other in the age old dance of rivals.

  Over a woman. But not just any woman.

  Clara put her palm on each chest as Bracus jogged up to the group, rolling his eyes at his Bandmates.

  They did not have time for this posturing. He glowered at them.

  “We must leave.” Bracus turned to Edwin, seeing much on the man's face, his expression softening. “Go. Fetch Calia and remove her from the mess of their conversation,” he said with sarcasm. He could only police so much in his Band. He had charge over Philip, as much as one could, as he and Philip were blood kin, but Daniel was of a different mindset. Half-fragment, half-Band... he was unpredictable. But what Bracus could see quite clearly, was his watchful care over the new select. Sometimes, Bracus thought, chemistry and attraction masqueraded as hot tempers flaring. He had seen the mark of such between Philip and Calia, and to a lesser extent, that of she and Daniel. The time had stretched uncomfortably for Bracus. He palmed his chin, thinking.

  Edwin's anger fled, he stepped forward, eyeing the Band leader's face. “You are worried,” he stated.

  Bracus hesitated. “Somewhat. It is unusual for Philip to tarry.” Then a smile broke across his face. “Unless that female berates him!” He laughed and Clara joined him.

  “Aye, that may be more likely!” Clara grinned, knowing the temperament of Calia and that of Philip as well.

  Matthew frowned. “Did you say that Daniel went after them?”

  “Aye,” Bracus said and they looked at each other then at Edwin.

  “We will leave this with you, after all, you are her kin.” Bracus winked at Edwin.

  “Oh yes! Task it to me. All will be thrilled with my timely appearance.” He laughed, his good humor returning. He was not concerned in the least for his wayward sister, she was more than select enough to stand before them both. He smiled to himself, envisioning a scene in which Calia had both men in knots.

  He turned to Bracus. “Will you begin the journey?”

  Bracus nodded, looking at the sun's height in the sky. “Aye.” He nodded a second time and continued, “Take my steed. Briar Rose will ken the path to the sphere from this direction.”

  Edwin nodded, giving a final glance at Matthew and Clara. It was not over, his mind intoned, his body turning away from the pair and lighting upon the horse with grace. He headed in the direction in which Calia had stormed.

  Bracus lifted his chin in a wordless signal to Matthew and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. He gathered Clara against him and followed the broad back of his leader to where the others stood waiting.

  Clara turned her head to look at Briar Rose galloping after Calia and frowned. For some reason, she could not dispel the discordant note of worry that had begun to ring like a dull bell from within. It was very like the chime of warning that she would receive when Queen Ada had taken to the cups.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Caleb's world

  Randi shuddered, turning on her side, she still felt the fist coming for her and braced for it.

  When it didn't fall she opened her eyes and met those of Alex. His strong face had lines of concern that no seventeen-year old should have.

  She sat up and looked around.

  The dump. They were at the hideaway.

  They were safe. She looked up at his face and Alex gathered her to him, his large body overwhelming hers absolutely. She trembled against him, hearing the groaning of her friends all around her.

  That was close, Randi thought.

  Too close.

  “What the hell was that?” Jonesy blustered. “Could you have given us some goddamned warning? I feel like my stomach just got returned-to-effing-sender inside out!” Jonesy stood, hitting his thighs with his hands, dust plumes rising. Some was the dirt of the hideaway, the other was from their travels in the dome world.

  Alex stood, Randi wrapped in his arms. “Hey pal, you signed on for this little exploration knowing full effing well it was experimental. Don't jump Randi's crap because it's not what ya signed up for.”

  John groaned, his ass in the air and his forehead pressed against his knuckles. “Terrible...” he muttered.

  Sophie sat there with her legs splayed in front of her, head in hands. “How do you feel Randi?”

  “Confused but otherwise okay.”

  John stumbled to his feet, looking over at Jonesy, Archer was still out cold. “How do ya feel, Terran?” Jonesy asked.

  “Jackhammer, multiple times to the skull,” John responded, rubbing his temples and looking around, taking stock of the group.

  Caleb found Jade a few feet away and ran over to her, giving her a gentle shake. She rolled over, groaning. Jade opened her eyes and immediately wanted to close them again, her stomach rolling in a slick, heated lump. Caleb went to help her up and she shook her head. “Not yet, Caleb,” she said, putting her palm up in the gesture for wait.

  Alex gave a look to Randi and she nodded her head. He went over to the small fridge that they kept in the hideaway and snagged some water bottles out of the depths. They were cool but not cold. Alex raised his eyebrows at Jonesy.

  “Yeah, I'll get right on that muscle-head.” Jonesy stalked over to the fridge and gave it a light tap with his finger, the internal bulb, fueled by Pulse Technology, blinked on and the air compressor and other internal mechanisms sprung to life, whirring and
clunking.

  Jonesy smiled. “That'll do it.”

  “Thanks, Jones,” Tiff said, grabbing a water from Alex. He frowned. “Manners, Tiff!”

  She smiled evilly. “Yeah... thanks.”

  Bry rolled his eyes. “Come on, sis, don't bust his balls.”

  “Uh-huh, thanks for the reminder, I was so confused about his balls.”

  Jade laughed. “Ah, Tiff... please!”

  Caleb noticed everyone was up except Archer. “Jonesy, check on Lewis, looks like he's still out cold.”

  “He's fine, Hart... it'll take him a little longer, being kinda on the girly side or whatever.”

  “I heard that, Mark! I'm gay, not a transvestite. There's a difference for those in the know,” Archer said from his supine position.

  Jonesy grunted in acknowledgement.

  Great, Caleb thought, everyone's on board.

  “Okay guys, let's talk,” Caleb said.

  “About?” Tiff said around a mouthful of water.

  Sophie rolled her eyes. “Ya know, that weird place Randi just jerked us out of!”

  “Right!” Jonesy said, “that.”

  John came forward out of the shadowy corners of the room. “I'd like to go back.”

  “No way, Terran! Are ya thinkin'? Remember the creepers out in the field?” Jonesy asked.

  Tiff barked out a laugh. “Yeah... the dead ones or the live ones?”

  Jonesy waved that away, “Nah, I liked the dead guys, they cleaned shit up great!” He fist-pumped and Sophie rolled her eyes again.

  There was a lot of that going around, Caleb thought.

  John shook his head and clarified, “No. I want to explore that dome. Inside that. It looks like the area outside the dome is dangerous.”