A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  Who am I kidding? I’ll have more eggs…and they’ll want them too.

  The journey to the theatre seemed to take an impossibly long time. She could hear the low murmur of Hollis and the theatre nurse, and felt the curious eyes of the orderlies who pushed her bed. She wondered dully why she was letting this happen — shouldn’t she fight like a wildcat?

  How useless is it to have this sentience-activated-body-whatsit if I can’t make it work on demand?

  She tried again, but again nothing happened, although she noticed through half-closed eyes that her skin was reminiscent of a rainbow Paddle Pop icecream.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ hissed the nurse to her left. Sabra looked up, startled.

  The nurse had brown eyes and they gazed down at her hard. Hair tickled on the back of Sabra’s neck and her rainbow skin flushed and automatically camouflaged with the bedding again. She knew those eyes; the hair this time was brown, but the slightly yellowed teeth were the same.

  ‘Keeping an eye on me, Mags?’ Sabra whispered, slightly dismayed that her dribble seemed to weaken the effect of her words.

  The nurse smiled mildly, though the eyes remained hard. ‘I’m Mary, sweetheart.’ Using her free hand, she gripped the ID card pinned to her bosom with her red-nailed fingers. Mary Stuart, theatre nurse, it read. ‘See?’

  The red nails did it.

  ‘Hollis!’ Sabra bellowed, and several of the entourage jerked to a halt, spinning around and aiming weapons, lights and lasers directly at her. ‘This nurse is one of the Mafia!’ Spittle flew from her slack lips. It was quite a mouthful.

  ‘What?’ Mary exclaimed, letting go of the wheelie bed and clutching her red-nailed hands to her chest with a look of horror.

  ‘Her name is Mags. She’s a shape-shifter, I recognise her!’

  Chaos reigned in the corridor. The nurse gave a shriek as four of the armed guards stalked towards her.

  ‘Get a Magical Ion Sensing Device on her!’ Hollis rasped, and from somewhere, someone brought out a small gadget like a handy vacuum and switched it on. The gadget roared to life.

  Sabra waited, her eyes increasingly heavy, for the device to ring its alert. It should, after all, Mags had enough magic to shift, didn’t she?

  ‘You don’t have the right to do this!’ the nurse screamed. ‘This isn’t in my contract — I don’t have to submit to random magical ion tests — I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Hold her down,’ one of the guards growled.

  The nurse struggled and squealed, drawing attention from the nervous-looking doctors and patients who shared the corridor.

  The sedative was making Sabra increasingly tired, but she tried to keep her eyes open.

  The device was pressed close to the nurse’s body; if she had just one magical ion on her, she’d set off the alarm. Sabra waited for the alarm to cry.

  Nothing happened. Nothing happened at all.

  Could I be wrong?

  The corridor fell silent, the only sound was the noise of air being sucked into the device. The nurse trembled, her manicured hands still clutched to her heaving bosom, tears leaking crystal rivers from her damp brown eyes.

  ‘Nothing,’ Browne grunted, and Sabra felt Hollis’s gaze turn towards her. He stalked up close to her, leaning down over the bed so his breath blew fetid and hot into her face.

  Her stomach swirled.

  His expression was furious, the pupils tiny black slits in the icy ocean of his blue eyes. ‘Not funny, Westwood,’ he growled. His hand was raised as if he meant to slap her face.

  Dr Elliot gripped the raised hand and forced Hollis’s arm down. ‘I hope you don’t intend to strike my patient, sergeant?’ he asked, his voice dangerously low.

  Hollis froze and shot the doctor a withering glare.

  ‘Get her into the theatre, and let’s be done with this.’ He turned his back and stalked away.

  Chapter 12

  Cain stalked the corridor, looking official and business-like. Time was of the essence. Peony was following Sabra and Hexa regularly zoomed back for updates. He had dressed in theatre scrubs, used a spell or two to slightly change his appearance. It had been easy to find out which theatre was booked for the oocyte removal — a few suggestive spells, fake ID and a charming smile was all it had taken and the receptionist had been very helpful.

  He strode purposely to theatre number two and pushed open the swinging doors. Another doctor stood by the sink carefully soaping his hands and forearms. He turned as Cain entered.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked, hazel eyes peering above the hygiene mask he wore.

  ‘I’m Doctor Ng,’ Cain replied with an easy smile, taking a quick glance at the ceiling to check for ion sensing devices. There were none, as he’d expected, as often magician doctors worked their magic alongside human doctors.

  ‘Why are you here? I’m about to do surgery.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that Doctor Bosca,’ he said as he glanced at the ID badge. ‘But you’re no longer required. You see, my shift has just started and there was no need for them to call you.’

  The hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Really? They called me away from a day at Rottnest Island on my yacht for no reason?’

  ‘It appears so.’

  ‘Have you spoken with Sergeant Hollis? I’ll have to clear this with him.’

  ‘It’s all sorted,’ Cain replied easily.

  Doctor Bosca didn’t seem convinced. ‘All the same, I’d like to speak with him. I was told this is a matter of national security.’

  Cain hesitated for the briefest of moments. He could use a spell but he’d rather not — residual ions were traceable and he’d used enough already. ‘Okay, let’s go and find him.’ Cain directed an arm towards the door.

  The eyes behind the mask looked irritated. ‘This really is very inconvenient.’ He looked at a nurse who was preparing the instruments, but she merely shrugged.

  Cain could hear noises coming from the other side of the theatre door where he knew they’d be preparing Sabra. His gut twisted.

  ‘Is that — ’

  ‘No, that’s for theatre three,’ Cain interrupted. ‘Come this way, Sergeant Hollis should be waiting through here.’ He gestured to the opposite doors.

  The doctor sighed, and still holding his dripping wet hands up and away from his body he walked through the swinging doors, Cain closely following.

  Doctor Bosca was a smallish man, and Cain pointed him in the direction of the vacant room he’d spied earlier on scouting around the hospital. ‘In here.’ He pushed the door open for the doctor.

  When they entered the room the doctor looked around, clearly perplexed. ‘Where is Hollis?’ he asked, but as the last syllable passed his lips Cain let his fist fly. He didn’t want to really hurt the doctor, and a spell would have been gentler, alas, if his plan worked he’d be leaving enough magical ions in the hospital to send the sensing devices into hyper-drive.

  His fist collided with a meaty thunk on the side of Doctor Bosca’s head. He let out a startled cry and began to fall instantly. Quickly, Cain caught him and checked him over. He’d be out for a little while.

  Effortlessly, he lifted the limp body of the doctor, rested it upon one of the couches in the room and locked the door carefully behind him with the latch.

  Without further delay, he stalked swiftly back to theatre two. He pushed the doors open, and surveyed the theatre. It was full and bristling with weapons.

  He was surprised to see a Bright Light Team scouring the dark corners with lasers. They were clearly taking no chances.

  ‘Doctor Bosca?’ A grey-haired man strode towards him, extending a large hand and muscular forearm.

  ‘Yes.’ Cain smiled easily, profoundly glad he’d disguised himself, and extended his own hand to grasp the sergeant’s firmly. For a moment, something tingled in his hand and Cain fought the urge to pull his arm away. There was more to Sergeant Hollis than met the eye, that was certain.

  Sergeant Hollis’s eyes star
ed into his searchingly. Cain smiled back. Finally, Hollis released his hand.

  ‘Let me have a look at the patient,’ Cain said and turned toward Sabra.

  His heart ceased to beat.

  She’d been moved onto the theatre table, her head lolled to the side, her eyes half open. His gaze absorbed her face; she looked wan and sickly, and a bandage still covered her throat where Jürgen — damn him — had sliced her. Her skin was fluctuating wildly.

  My rainbow.

  He walked towards her, and as he did the theatre nurse reached down, lifted Sabra’s leg and placed one, then the other, in the gynaecological stirrups. The pathetic gown lifted revealing the bush of her pubes, and the slick folds of her sex.

  Cain stared, his blood heated with anger.

  All these men, looking at her.

  He felt his teeth involuntarily grate together, and he took a deep breath to try and calm the raging anger the situation inspired.

  A long moment passed as they waited for the Bright Light Team to finish their check and line up along the walls, all eyes on Sabra.

  My Sabra, exposed, vulnerable.

  The rage rose again, red and purple, it filled his brain and body like a rapid tide.

  ‘Doctor?’ a nurse said, her brows furrowing at his evident anger and his ungloved hands. ‘Umm.’

  Cain turned to look at her, willing away the burning anger, determined to remain in his professional role, and walked slowly around to Sabra’s head.

  ‘Hello, Miss Westwood, can you hear me?’ He bent close to her face and inhaled her natural perfume, his heart pounding in response.

  ‘Mmph,’ Sabra gurgled, and Cain saw the drool pooling on the pillow behind her cheek.

  ‘Just get on with it, Doctor Bosca. Don’t you understand that this woman is wanted by the Warlord, Cain Dath, the Magical Mafia and Shadow Men? We need to get her compos mentis as soon as possible in case of an emergency, so we need to get this procedure over with.’

  Cain looked up at the sergeant, unable to disguise the anger and irritation in his eyes. ‘Is that so? Well get these guards out of here, and we can begin.’

  Hollis clearly rankled at this. ‘No, doctor. Didn’t you hear me? She’s wanted by every powerful force in the known world. She cannot afford to be left unguarded.’

  ‘She isn’t unguarded. You’ve swept the room for shadows, and the guards can remain outside during the procedure. Give the woman some dignity.’ Cain fought to keep the passion from his voice.

  ‘Dignity? This little whore spent six months in the Warlord’s harem, or haven’t you read the book?’

  Cain gritted his teeth. ‘I’ve read it,’ he snarled, ‘and she isn’t a whore.’

  There was a split second of inactivity.

  ‘Seize him!’ Hollis barked, and within an instant Cain found his arm caught by strong hands. He tried to heave himself free and Hollis yelled, ‘Shoot! It’s Cain Dath!’

  How did they know?

  Cain looked around wildly, as Sabra’s wide grey eyes flittered open and caught his. ‘Cain?’ she murmured and her head lolled again.

  There was nothing else for it — using a powerful spell, the room erupted in flame. Surprised cries arose from the guards and the Bright Light Team, and blessedly in the pandemonium Cain found his arms released. Men scrabbled for fire extinguishers as the fire alarms squealed with hysterical intensity and water gushed from sprinklers in the ceiling.

  Pushing through the toxic smoke and heat, Cain made his way to Sabra. As he drew closer, he saw a blond curly-haired doctor swiftly disconnect the saline drip and scoop her up into his arms.

  ‘Stop!’ Cain snarled, ‘Give her to me or you die.’

  The doctor’s eyes reflected the red of the flames. ‘This woman deserves better,’ he retorted.

  ‘She’s mine, mine!’ Cain growled.

  The doctor did not release her, and Cain jerked forward to grab her.

  ‘Dr Elliot?’ Sabra interrupted the moment. She looked up and coughed from the smoke.

  ‘Yes?’ the doctor replied gently.

  Despite the shiny golden ring that reflected in the flames of the fire, jealousy burned through Cain with more ferocity than the inferno around him.

  ‘I want to go home,’ Sabra mewed, then coughed, her head lolling again.

  ‘Sabra…’ Cain’s voice was thick with longing. ‘Give her to me, man, I’m — ’

  ‘The Warlord, Cain Dath, I heard,’ the doctor replied coldly, his arms still tight about Sabra’s body. Flames roared around them, tables were melting, and screams of panic echoed from every angle. The doctor seemed as unaffected by it as Cain himself. ‘What is it that you want her for? Eggs? Like the rest of them?’

  ‘I want her for my wife,’ Cain replied, shoving a panicking guard away, sending him careering into the wall of flame around them. The man howled. In the corner of his eye, Cain saw Hollis pull his gun. ‘Give her to me. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for her.’

  The doctor’s eyes seemed knowing, suggesting that he did.

  ‘Take her then, and get her away from these men. Keep her safe.’

  Elliot stepped towards him and extended Sabra to him.

  ‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ Hollis howled, and redirected the weapon to Elliot. ‘I’ll have you for this, you son-of-a-demon.’

  Cain didn’t miss the look of pure loathing the doctor shot at Hollis before shoving Sabra into his willing arms. ‘Go, don’t worry about me.’

  There was a whizzing ping as a shot was fired, skimming past Cain’s arm and grazing the flesh as it did. ‘I wasn’t planning on it,’ Cain retorted, ignoring the sharp pain and smiling at the doctor who looked cool and easy despite the wildfire around him. Without further word, Cain doubled his spell before disappearing in a fluttering of magic, relief singing through his veins.

  ***

  Sabra coughed and dimly realised that the strange sensation in her throat was that of magic, namely the motus spell, whisking her away. When she opened her eyes she was in a room, an unfamiliar room — not a particularly unusual circumstance these days. Still, this one was much more pleasant and significantly less institutional than her previous two.

  Her eyes still felt as though lead weights were attached to her eyelids and everything seemed slightly skewed, like a Salvador Dali painting.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, her voice still husky. She looked around nervously. Shadows were everywhere.

  Two blowflies buzzed past and she flinched from them. She sat up, and surveyed the surroundings, trying to steady the powerful throb in her head and the swirl of hunger and nausea in her belly. She was in a neat apartment or unit, decorated in a definite 1990s fashion with garish patterned pelmets in blues and greens, and vertical blinds blocking out the waning sun.

  ‘Sabra…’ A gentle, quiet, distressingly familiar voice spoke to her left. She turned her head and he was there. As gorgeous and flawless as a portrait. Her Warlord.

  It has to be a dream.

  Dressed in medical scrubs, his skin was dark against the green fabric. His eyes were hooded and heavy.

  Surely this was just some anaesthetic-provoked dream? She’d wake up soon, in the hospital or in the Mafia’s hands, minus however many eggs. Or perhaps this was a cruel trick of the mind on her sexually frustrated body.

  ‘Sabra,’ he said again, and this time his hand reached out and gently stroked her cheek. His touch was hot and electric. It ran down the line of her face and down her neck and fluttered over the bandage still covering her healing wound.

  ‘How did this happen?’ His voice was soft.

  ‘Jürgen, an accident, I think…’ She tried to explain but her tongue felt swollen. Her heart thumped treacherously loud in her chest. ‘This isn’t a dream, is it?’ she asked numbly.

  He didn’t appear to hear, instead his hands worked at the bandage on her neck, peeling it back to reveal what she presumed would be a pink and shiny scar.

  Cain’s sharp intake of breath startled her
, then he answered. ‘Not a dream, my little rainbow. Not a dream.’

  Warmth suffused her body at his words. It flowed through her from where his hands gently touched her wound. She could smell his magic: exotic, rich and gentle. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel, rather than think.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d stayed like that, but eventually she opened her eyes again, and she knew without him saying that the wound and its scar had gone. She felt clear-headed and calm. He was a mightily powerful magician.

  ‘Sabra,’ Cain whispered, inching closer to her. She felt her eyes widen as his hands found hers. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry about all of this. It was never meant to be this way.’

  She stared at him drowsily, a smile tugging her lips. The apologetic Warlord…it could have been a title to a sequel.

  His smell was intoxicating and her traitorous body stirred in reaction.

  ‘Cain?’ she whispered, trying to gauge the look in his dark eyes.

  His head shook slightly. ‘I should have spoken to you, I should have told you…’

  The words were coming quickly but she barely heard them, unable to concentrate until he kissed her. His effect on her was as strong as ever.

  Then, as if she’d commanded it, Cain dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. Whatever tenuous control Sabra had over her body disappeared. Nothing else mattered. Not the shadows, not the doubts. Nothing.

  A tear scurried down her cheek, yet she hadn’t realised she was crying. Concern rippled over his expression, and he gripped her face in his hands and pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest and running his hands through her hair. ‘Sabra…’ he rasped, ‘it’s been so long, so long. I didn’t know if…’ His words faded off, drowned out by the rush of blood in her head.

  All Sabra could do was make weak mewling sounds of agreement. With gentle, warm hands, Cain reclined her back on the bed and pressed his weight into her. His body pushed the air from her lungs and made her heart pound and her body melt.

  ‘Cain…’ she whispered and kissed the cheek that rested close to her mouth. She could feel him beneath his thin scrubs, pressing his rigid length into her. ‘Oh God,’ she sobbed, the words catching in her throat. ‘Yes. Cain.’ She thrust her hips up closer, trying to feel more of him against her. She’d dreamed of this since she’d left Laos — she wanted him now as desperately as she had that first day in Vientiane. Such passion couldn’t be real. ‘If this is a dream, don’t stop.’