Dahlia: A Novel of Dark Desire

by Viola Calvary

  Chapter Eleven

  The next couple days were relatively uneventful. Fidelity nearly had a meltdown because Rezzi accidentally burned her favor wooden practice mallet. Genji managed to pull another trick on Nel that nearly resulted in Nel responding with a formal challenge--both men were instructed to clean the common area then finish her paperwork in reprisal--and Raschel accidentally buried her room in an immense amount of sand. Sometimes Dahlia felt like she was managing a family of pre-teens as opposed to a squad of soldiers.

  Each barrack tended to create their own personality. As a younger captain with little taste for formal structure, her team seemed a bit freer and had somehow developed a weird sense of humor that showed up at inopportune moments. Genji was the worst but not the only culprit. She was secretly glad Nel had chased after him, at least he was slowly loosening up. Dahlia liked being surrounded by vibrant, dynamic individuals. She would have despised leading a barrack without an original thought in their heads. She’d deliberately taken on diametric members on her theory that there was strength in originality and diversity.

  Out of the barracks bordering hers, Borreal’s tended to be less melodramatic than her team and a bit more organized while Ravin’s team was fierce: trained fierce, fought fierce, and were fiercely loyal.

  She was reflecting on this, reminding herself how much she loved the barrack she’d created after dealing with Raschel’s sand incident when Kenny walked into her room. This time she threw a cup at his head. He caught it and placed it back on the table for her.

  “What now? And haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  “Knocking, knocking, let me see…” he pretended to ponder. “Nah, not familiar. I came back for my teapot. Went to make something and couldn’t find it.”

  “Oh, right, I’ll get it,” Dahlia went to her pantry, grabbed the teapot and came back. Kenny had seated himself so she plunked it down in front of him.

  He seemed content to remain where he was so she picked up the book of meditations she’d been reading and continued.

  He was quiet for a few minutes, observing her. She tried to ignore it.

  “What are those meditations for?” he asked.

  She pretended to continue reading, “They help me balance and focus.”

  “Do you feel unbalanced?”

  “Sometimes. Don’t we all?”

  “Some people say I’m permanently unbalanced.”

  Dahlia put her book down. Kenny grinned, pleased at having distracted her. “Do you feel like you are?” she asked.

  “Can’t say I think much about it,” he paused. “Duel weapons are pretty unusual,” he said nodding to her axes, “people also say a choice of weapon says a lot about the person.”

  Dahlia blinked at the abrupt change of subject, “What does your sword say about you?”

  He didn’t even hesitate to take advantage of the opening she’d given him, “I’m long, strong, and hard as steel.”

  Dahlia rolled her eyes and picked her book back up. Kenny laughed.

  “Can you throw your axes?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him again, “Yes but I don’t do it often. You see, they don’t come back.”

  He let out another rich laugh, “No, I bet they don’t.” Then he collected the teapot and left. Dahlia returned to her book.

  Ten minutes later there was a knock on her door.

  “Well I know who that isn’t,” she muttered to herself. “Come in,” she called out, tossing her book down.

  Traedon slipped into the room, “How’s it going? I haven’t seen you around the last couple days.”

  Dahlia smiled. Traedon always brought a warm, calm feeling to her room. His long hair was bound up in a mane and his simple white shirt set off the color brilliantly.

  “Raschel buried her room in sand.”

  Traedon laughed, the sound relieving any tension she still had around the incident.

  “It is pretty funny,” she admitted.

  He came over and sat in the seat next to her.

  “I was hoping you’d let me make you dinner tonight.”

  “That sounds lovely, I need to get out of my barrack for a bit.”

  He stood again, pressed his lips to hers and then left. She returned to her book once more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Traedon made an excellent cut of venison. A little rare for her taste but she noticed his was even rarer. People were shaped by their abilities as much as they shaped and sharpened those abilities. Maybe his tigers influenced his tastes. His dishes did seem to lean towards meat-heavy. She wondered if the greens were a regular presence or a concession to her being a guest.

  She watched his body move, his loose linen shirt showing hints of the toned back and arms beneath as he cleared the table. The tip of her index finger circled the edge of her cup as she debated pouring another drink.

  She eyed the red-headed lieutenant appreciatively as he walked back to the table. Sliding up from her chair she moved between him and the table and slipped a hand around his waist, leaning in to run her lips softly up his neck. He caught her and pulled her hips in hard against him. Her breath quickened in anticipation and he leaned down to meet her mouth.

  Feeling him hard against her, Dahlia buried her hand in his long hair and nipped at his lip, catching it in her teeth and playfully pulling. Traedon let out a pleased growl, cupped her butt in his hands and lifted her onto the table so she straddled his hips. She knocked over one of the cups on the table and pulled her hips back towards him. The strain of the past week drowned in alcohol and the taste of his mouth.

  He pulled her shirt off and dropped his mouth to her nipple, gently circling it with his tongue. She arched into him, already looking for more. He nipped gently at the bud, sending shivers down in between her legs.

  She pulled his shirt off to run her hands over his rock hard chest, admiring the tattoos that swept over his lithe muscles. He looked delicious in the soft light. Hell, he’d looked good in the afternoon sun on the training ground. She’d wanted him then, too. She loved watching him fight, even if it meant besting her own men. His raw talent and practiced finesse were exhilarating to watch. Dahlia gripped his waist and ground against him, making soft sounds of desire.

  Traedon pushed a hand into the waist of her pants and slid his fingers into her to give her a taste of what she wanted. She pressed her mouth back to his, running her tongue against his. She felt herself growing wet as he stroked her. It felt devine but she already wanted more from him.

  Dahlia rocked back, hooking her leg over his hip and pulling him towards her. He followed obediently, removing his hand to climb onto the table over her. A second cup fell to the floor. He grabbed the bottle they’d left half empty and put it out of harm's way. He pulled off her pants so she was lying naked under him, then he shifted and pulled off his own so he could drive into her. She gasped at the first press of his body, the sensation burning through her, making her ache with passion. She pushed her hips against his hard thrusts as the table rocked dangerously. Waves of pleasure rolled over her body as he moved deep inside her. Her mind cleared, lost in the sensations. There was nothing but them and the heat building in her.

  She pressed harder against him, wanting to feel him completely fill her, intensify the pleasure. He responded by grabbing her hip again with one hand and pulling her closer to him as he increased the pace. She slid one leg over his shoulder and moaned again; that was exactly what she’d wanted. As she tightened, she felt every inch of him as he sunk into her.

  Her release built as they made love until she was on fire. She pushed against him hard and arched her back as she climaxed. The intoxicating rush made her head spin pleasantly. Feeling her release, Traedon let go and pressed himself into her as he came as well.

  He pressed his lips to her neck, her collarbone, her breast. As they finished he pulled her up, onto his lap, and wrapped his arms around her. Dahlia stayed there, happy for the moment.

  A knock sounded on his door.


  A chuckle rumbled in Traedon’s chest, “At least we got to finish this time.”

  “And it was a knock rather than an entrance.”

  “One second,” he called out.

  Dahlia slid down from his lap then replaced and tied her dress as Traedon donned his pants and opened the door. Nel stood outside looking a little less sheepish this time. She had to hand it to him, his composure didn’t slip as he addressed Traedon.

  “I’m looking for Captain DeMorra.”

  Dahlia stepped forward, “Yes, Nel?”

  “Captain Mazaran has requested your presence.”

  Dahlia looked at Traedon, “Well this can’t be good.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dahlia sent Nel back to his post, confident he’d be able to make his own way by now. She set off for the meeting hall herself as Traedon went to locate Borreal. As she walked the path in the moonlight her mind flickered through all the scenarios, each one worse than the last.

  Once again it seemed all the captains had been requested, roughly a third were present. Horan was among them. Dahlia forced herself not to go to the opposite end of the room from him but she did instinctively tighten her shield. She didn’t need any sort of encore from the last time she’d run into him.

  Ravin walked in a few moments behind her but he didn’t seem to take particular note of her presence, just made a general sweep of the room then slouched against the wall to one side. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Once again it seemed that he’d been clothed for bed when he’d been summoned. His low, lightweight pants did more to emphasize his body than conceal it. His powerful chest and abdomen were fully on displayed. There really wasn’t any part of him that wasn’t corded with muscle, she mused. His eyes drooped and he hung his head as though disinterested but she could tell he was alert, taking in the atmosphere of the room.

  Dahlia focused, keeping the shield guarding her own thoughts and emotions tightly in place while allowing her mind to scan the room for surface level emotions. She found nothing of interest, everyone seemed as unsure as she was.

  Within ten minutes everyone had arrived. The message from the previous summons added to the urgency of this one. Last to enter were Borreal, Traedon, and Mazaran. Mazaran mounted the platform and began to speak.

  “Captains, I must inform you that we have another traitor in our midst. Whether by force or freewill a ranked member of the research team is gone and casualties have been sustained. One guard stationed outside the secondary entrance to the research center is dead and another severely wounded. The wounded member was able to rouse himself after the attack to raise the alarm so we have a team from special forces sweeping the barracks and surrounding areas looking for the research member and a possible captor. A second team has secured all possible exits.”

  Dahlia scanned the crowd again but couldn’t sense anything through the shock pervading the room.

  “I trust both teams’ discretion but there is no way to keep this quiet as we did with the previous attack. You will all explain to your members the situation, both this attack and the previous. Then double your guards. I think we can expect to see further action from our enemy.”

  “Research members are reviewing everything the missing member was working on that could be related to the journal we recovered,” Mazaran continued. “They will discuss it with Captain Borreal. Nothing will be held back. We cannot take any further action until the enemy’s purpose is discovered. We cannot effectively defend unless we know where they might strike. The interest in research along with other details Captain Borreal has uncovered point to a threat in that direction. So the only step besides a general increase in the guards is to place members of the research team under surveillance and protection for the indefinite future.”

  He paused and let the situation sink in. “Would anyone like to add something?”

  There was silence for a moment then Horan stepped forward “Captain Mazaran may I ask, the guard that survived, did he witness anything about his attacker?”

  Mazaran acknowledged the question with a nod. “No, it seems he was attacked first. We believe the attacker neglected to deliver a fatal strike because he was distracted by the second guard then fled, fearing discovery.”

  Horan stepped back.

  Mazaran spoke again, “Captains, you are dismissed except Captain Borreal, Captain DeMorra, and Captain Jahwei. If you could please remain.”

  The other captains left along with Traedon as Borreal motioned for him to wait outside. Mazaran addressed Jahwei first. As the leader of the special forces, his team was currently searching for the attacker.

  “Captain Jahwei, when your team has finished please have them trade off shifts patrolling the perimeter. If someone tries to escape that way I’d like to know as soon as possible.”

  Jahwei bowed and left.

  “Captain DeMorra, you know the man who is likely involved in this and, I am told, came in contact with some of his work. Dr. Ahriman. Would you be able to locate him based on the psychic pattern?”

  Dahlia bowed her head, “Captain Mazaran, were he unguarded I would be confident in my ability to locate him. But I do not expect he is unguarded nor do I expect he is unprepared. The trap left in the prisoner’s mind may have been set to merely wound me or he may have underestimated my abilities but there is no doubt that it was placed there so if someone were to discover the concealment then the traitor’s mind would be destroyed and the person probing his mind would be injured. He is expecting psychic warfare.”

  Mazaran nodded, “Very well. Will you reset your previous trap in case the new attacker is still in one of the barracks?”

  “Yes, I will make a more durable one now that can identify more than one individual.”

  “Thank you Captain DeMorra, your efforts on our behalf are valued.”

  Dahlia recognized it as a dismissal, bowed her head, and left.

  Traedon was waiting outside the door, “He asked you to stay behind?”

  “Yes, the same trap I set that branded Macada will need to be placed again.”

  “Isn’t that risky? If they know the first trap was sprung...”

  “I’ll be fine, Traedon. Turn your mind to aiding Captain Borreal and we will all rest easier.”

  Traedon nodded. Despite their relationship she was still his superior officer. Anything else he said, no matter where his concern stemmed from, would be seen as disrespectful by any other party watching. She wanted to reassure him but didn’t want to risk being observed. Instead she placed a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes.

  “I appreciate your concern,” was the most she could say.

  He nodded, then she left him to walk back to her room. She’d need a good amount of rest before attempting this.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning she rose, gathered her barrack and proceeded to recount the events around the attacks. She left out only her connection to the journal and the session in which Macada’s mind had been destroyed. Their faces became sober and serious as she recounted it all. When she opened the floor for questions Sabir stepped forward first.

  “It seems hard to predict the enemy’s moves. What’s the plan?”

  “It is indeed, Lieutenant Sabir. Watches will be doubled from here out and we’ll be volunteering to help increase the watch at night. To keep you all rested, training will be minimal during this time and you are to catch up on rest during the day. I expect you all to stay alert during routine checks of the grounds. Take your nightly set up seriously by placing weapons in reach and be diligent about your shields. We’ve encountered psychic tactics already and I expect we’ll see more. In that case I, and thus you, will be prime resources and likely targets.”

  “Be prepared to answer an immediate call to arms,” she continued. “With a denser guard we are more likely to be alerted in time to respond. I will be expected to offer surveillance similar to the trap used to brand the first traitor. As it has become evident there are multiple enemies I must make i
t a more permanent monitor. That will take me most of the day. Lieutenant Sabir, you are to structure the guard shifts in the meantime and send someone to find out about coordinating to assist the watch at night. Then review preparatory measures and drill a night alert.”

  “Genji,” she addressed her third ranked officer, “be prepared to have your tracking abilities called on.”

  Her barrack members bowed. She dismissed them and returned to her room to prepare to lay her trap.

  The preparations were familiar and comfortable. When she’d first started training she’d adapted them from the standard rituals she’d been taught and had used them for almost any of work she did. As time had gone on and her skill had developed she’d had less need for them. She had progressed to the point that she could perform complex maneuvers in chaotic situations. When she had high-risk or difficult work that she needed to do though she would borrow strength, stability, and clarity from the preparation rituals.

  First she renewed her perimeter, cleaning out any metaphorical cobwebs and strengthening the bond between the beeswax candles. Then she burnt sage to cleanse any lingering energies from the air and dressed herself simply in one of her loose, clean linen wraps. She removed all items from her work area except for her tools and she dusted. Finally she bolted the door, rubbed some of the ash from the sage onto her fingers to draw a focusing pattern on her chest and forehead. Then, she began.