Intimidator

by Cari Silverwood

  “I can try, yes.”

  The downcast and miserable look didn’t tie in with what he expected.

  “What?”

  “Just…” She spread her palms. “I don’t know how I do it, sir.”

  “You don’t?”

  The crisped thing in the tank rotated a little, like a spit roast had been thrown in by accident. Tubes ran everywhere, some of them into where his face should be.

  “Brittany, I don’t care. Try. Do your best. Anything at all is better than letting him die without trying.”

  “There’s something we haven’t tried. What happened on the day I truly bonded with Jadd. When I kneeled for him and said my vows.”

  Words? He considered this. Maybe words had powers here, or perhaps it was something else. All he cared about was the result. “Do what you wish to. I’ll watch over you both.”

  “Good.” Jadd eyed the tank, saying nothing. The horror of what he saw seemed reflected in the small lines shifting about the man’s eyes. “He’s far gone. I love the man, but I don’t know what trying this could do to her.” Then he looked back at Brask. “If anything goes wrong, keep her safe, please.”

  She nestled into his side and whispered something Brask couldn’t understand.

  Meaning save her over him, if it came to that? He nodded. “I will.”

  *****

  Kasper had not done the same thing again. He was like a creature with a bucket list to check off and once done, he moved on.

  Chop off toe. Check.

  Interrogate sternly. Check.

  Deprive of food and water. Check.

  At least they mostly left her alone in the room, as long as she didn’t make too much noise. Willow sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her palm over the sheet. Another day gone. They never changed the sheets and it was beginning to look grimy. No clothes still, but she was used to that. The men ignored her as if they were sexless.

  She’d seen Ally yesterday while Kasper had talked. He seemed to like having both of them in the room at the same time when he was there. Though she was listless, her foot looked clean. It was bandaged even. Somehow they’d found a doctor, or maybe one of them was one? She had no clue.

  Whatever they were waiting for, it was still coming. Nerve chewers. God. That scared her. Just the frickin’ term did. The one or two men who’d seemed…human, had changed too. After they’d changed, she’d seen them with puncture marks on their hands and ankles like some gruesome stigmata. It had made her wonder if this was, after all, merely a cult.

  Then something odd would happen. Kasper would just give her one of his lizard looks, and she’d go no, no way, these guys are not human anymore. A word Stom had once mentioned had popped into her head. Bak-lal. His people’s enemies.

  She’d used the word once to Kasper’s face and he’d ordered her beaten. It wasn’t conclusive. Hell, it meant zero really. That man was so fucking weird.

  She followed the line of her chain leash to the new bolt on the wall. Bastards. They’d found out where she’d nearly pulled it off the headboard. Since Stom’s collar was reinforced with metal and locked onto the leash, she’d tried the other end.

  Fuck.

  She flopped back and found the bit of paper under her pillow.

  Whatever they were waiting for she had a feeling it was soon.

  But last night something had happened.

  On the lower edge of the piece of paper was a brown smudge. A char mark? She prayed it was that.

  When all the lights went out, she took it out, put the pale thing before her eyes, and by moonlight she tried again. Staring. Concentrating. Thinking of Stom. Imagining what she could do if she could control fire, beautiful, beautiful fire.

  Burn you little motherfucker.

  Last night her arm mark had also burned. She’d woken and clutched at it. Real, or dream? Did it mean life or death? Or something else she couldn’t conceive of?

  Burn.

  Like a sign of possibilities, an indefinite nibble played with her mind, calling her. When she tried to pin it down, the sensation vanished.

  She concentrated again.

  Burn.

  *****

  He awoke, floating. The world a muted pink, distorted. Specks drifted before his eyes. His mouth was wedged open. His skin felt wrong. All of him felt wrong. When he tried to move his arms and legs, to swim through this water, nothing had stirred despite the distinct sensation of his limbs moving.

  His thoughts wandered for ages.

  Until someone appeared miles away through the water. Their faces were bloated, wavering. Then he knew them, her, him. Jadd and Brittany. And he watched as she lowered herself and looked up at her man with her hands in his.

  His heart awoke.

  A glow expanded, jarred him, like an avalanche of crackling glass, and swept him away in the torrent.

  Willow.

  Flames. The bang and the whirlwind of fire. He’d tied her to the bed and, what, left her there. Why was he here!

  Where was Willow?

  He struggled then, making a monumental effort to erupt from what he now knew was a regen tank.

  Then the true burning began. His skin was ripped into fragments of pure, piercing fire. He arched his body and he screamed. Slivers of torment began to cover his skin. He could see them, feel them assemble, piece by piece, in layer after layer, sucking on his agony, sticking to him, merging, lacing him with more fire.

  Whatever had gone before, those memories of the explosion had been mostly lost, though he knew he’d come so close to dying that death had a skeletal hand on his throat and his balls. This slow knitting together, this exquisite torment of his body with needles, threads, and patches of fire – unforgettable agony.

  He was a conflagration concerto in A major and someone was going to pay when he got out of here.

  *****

  The nerve chewers had arrived. She knew this because Kasper had ordered her brought into his torture room, as she’d decided to call it, to announce the arrival. She curled her hand around her charred piece of paper and went obediently with her handler, the leash dangling between them as he led the way. Down the hall, through the doorway.

  Even if he had been taken over by some alien intelligence, she’d decided that some small part of him, perhaps the most creative part, was still Kasper. Unfortunately, it was the evil part.

  He wasn’t dispassionate after all, which was why he was telling her about his fresh pretty nerve chewers with Ally also in the room. The girl sat slumped in a chair.

  Whatever their doctor had given her, it left her spaced out ninety percent of the time.

  Ally’s hair was so matted she ached to go to her and untangle it carefully. Then she would brush that long white-blonde hair that reached to her waist, and tie it in a bow, though Ally hated bows.

  Kasper had said something else. She turned her head to listen.

  “You will be second.”

  Which meant…

  What he was about to say, she predicted even to the flash of menace in his dead eyes, and this was when she became totally certain some deeper portion of this creature remained the original evil man.

  “And you will watch while we give it to her.” He smiled. “While they begin their journey up her nerves to her brain, you will watch.”

  They pulled her to the wall and attached the leash to a bolt. They tied her hands then they began on Ally. When the girl was securely held down on her back by four men on the Persian rug, Kasper strolled to a table. He picked up a piece of equipment. It was only when he kneeled beside Ally to use it that she recognized it. A drill.

  Sweat broke out all over her body.

  The stigmata. The screams. This was what they did.

  The whine lanced straight through her and her head filled with Ally’s shrieks. Though she shut her eyes, squeezing them tight, she couldn’t block those out.

  The paper in her palm grew hot, hotter. The temperature climbed and climbed and though she became convinced her hand was
alight she said nothing.

  The screaming continued. The drill stopped and began again, vibrating into her gut.

  She uncurled her hand, cleared the phlegm gathering in her throat, and forced open her eyes. Her throat shook with the hard beat of her heart.

  Her hand seemed far away and the tears made it difficult to see, but she focused on the black fragments on her palm. There was nothing left but crispy shreds.

  Shit.

  She would burn through the leather they’d tied her with, break loose, and turn them all into dead men. But though she tried and tried, until sweat slicked her body and her head pounded, nothing had happened by the time they freed her. Her lunge toward Ally came to nothing.

  “Let me see her, please. Let me see her. Please!” She dug her heels in but the man holding her leash dragged her toward the door.

  Kasper inclined his head. “You can see her. There she is. Tomorrow, if she has survived, we will do this to you.”

  Willow didn’t look. She didn’t want to see more blood on Ally. She’d wanted to touch her, to hug her, to hide her in her arms and whisper that somehow she’d make things right, even if…even if she couldn’t.

  Those sounds she heard. She knew them. She didn’t want to see her seizing. The sounds were Ally tapping her heels on the floor and her jaw clicking. She’d seen it in patients at the hospital.

  Wrapping her hand around the leash only made her staggering progress across the floor a little slower.

  Outside she heard doors slamming and the rumble of truck engines. Voices. The tramp of boots on the floor. Kasper nodded at the men walking into the room. More of the enemy.

  They were lost. So terribly lost.

  Her poor, poor girl.

  Things of the nastiest kind had preoccupied her but now, between the dragging of her heels across the rug and the tromp of boots, the indefinable nibble returned and grew, and slammed into her with the subtlety of a man pushing her into a wall and kissing her.

  Stom, she mouthed.

  She could feel him. She put her hand to her breast, smiling in wonder, feeling the beat. Thump. A man who had somehow wormed his way into her soul, as well as her panties. A man who she suspected had his name tattooed on the underside of her heart.

  She went to her knees and looked upwards, waiting. The creature holding the leash turned to stare at her.

  Where are you?

  Chapter 22

  He opened his eyes, assessing where his body said she was. The pull was strong. So close. Stom leaned over the co-driver’s shoulder and tapped the electronic map. “The next street over. About there.”

  The man spoke quietly. “Operations control? Can I have a visual on the possible house from data extrapolation?” The screen wavered and snapped to a top down view in shades of blue with what seemed to be people shown as red. They moved and there were so many.

  Was she there? His heart said so.

  “That’s it,” he said to Stom before turning back to the screen. “Operation control, I see forty-three enemy. The women’s location?” He tapped the screen again. It zoomed into a view of one room. “There. Is this attack approved? We have a target! Go.”

  The driver accelerated.

  Yes.

  Stom said a quick and urgent prayer then tugged on the belt linking him to the ceiling of the van. The side door had hummed open minutes ago and he’d grabbed a handhold to stop himself falling out the door and onto the road that zipped past. Whatever the human speed limit was here, the driver was now exceeding it. Instant maiming if he fell.

  Though maybe not. He eyed again his lower torso where the ceram suit ended at his waist. Brask hadn’t let them crank him into a full suit, only Jadd and a couple of others were trained for that. The powered, armored suit clung to you like it wanted to have sex with you and was capable of bouncing you around like an ape on stimulants. They were scared his new flesh wouldn’t take the g forces on his upper torso.

  He swallowed, swaying into the swerve, staring at the pinkness on his chest visible under his black shirt. Not much of him was the old him. Baby man, that was him. All pink and hairless. His Feya markings were mostly gone. His bond mate marking was so faint.

  Who cared? All that mattered was finding Willow.

  The Preyfinder coat whipped out behind him and flapped in Jadd’s face.

  “Control that thing,” he yelled. “When we hit the ground, I’ll watch your back, Stom. No hero stuff from you. I’ll take point.”

  He growled. “You and Brittany might have saved me and I’ll never forget that, but don’t stop me reaching Willow.”

  The assessing nod from Jadd said, sure, but I’ll do my duty by you too. He suspected that meant, he was number one and Willow was second. That would not go well. Maybe he should get there first. These suit legs could do some mean jumps.

  Operations beeped on in his ear comm with a global message to the attack team. “Surveillance shows multiple new Bak-lal arriving. Now sixty plus. Don’t move in until Accor’s team gets there.”

  There were nine of them packed in this van, including the driver and co-driver. They’d all be fighting on this mission. With only human weapons and the armored coats the odds weren’t great. Brask hadn’t yet dared to approve off-world weaponry. If only Dassenze were back.

  The co-driver spoke up. “The screen shows one of the women has multiple injuries. Her life signs are going crazy.”

  “Which one?” Stom croaked out. His voice wasn’t so good. “Which one is injured?”

  “Don’t know, sir. The drone is going on body heat and audible data. We don’t know which is her. Operations, advise when Accor is in range.”

  The van screeched around the corner, pulled to the side.

  Mission control’s reply sank into Stom’s head and resonated. “Acknowledged.”

  There were times you just had to act.

  He leaned down to check the map, unclicked the belt above, stepped out the door onto the road, and jumped. The engines in the legs detected his need for boost and kicked in with a complaining whine. The pale blue sky flew past. The house roofs became his landing points and he bounced from one to the other, leaving shattered tiles and dented roofing iron on the way.

  Willow was worth it. He pulled out two grenades and linked his retinal display with that room as he went. He knew where the women were held; now all he had to do was neutralize everyone else.

  On his way over the front yard, where a whole posse of Bak-lal was peering up at him with their blank-eyed expression, he tossed down the two grenades. One-story house. The roof was tiles and he landed above the room where they were.

  Stom took another leap fifty feet upwards, spiraled to wrap the coat about his body, and came straight down on both boots. Tiles, timber and ceiling caved in. Something tore along the coat but spun off. The room was revealed. Plaster and timber fragments whizzed out like a flock of angry bees. Willow was to the left. Ally to the right. He hit on the floor and sank to one knee, the armored joints screaming as they compensated. His guns were already out and spitting bullets. Men fell as they reached for their weapons, spinning from the impact of the projectiles.

  Blood sprayed. People shouted.

  Got the one holding Willow and the four around Ally. A tall one, with some metal thing in his hand, sneered at him and roared, waving at others.

  The room filled with sound and blood and whirling figures. He twisted, still shooting.

  A horde of men piled toward him, reckless, disregarding the lethality of his presence. Shining blades glanced off the coat. The ones that came toward his face he batted away. Under the sheer weight of six or seven of them he fell, still fighting, one gun skidding away, the other under him. His wrist cracked and fractured.

  Pain speared through him.

  What a waste. He only just got that healed.

  He was losing.

  Desperately he threw out an arm to tell Willow to run. More Bak-lal poured in, mouths open, teeth showing, guns raised. What a mess. Brask was goin
g to hate having to bury him again.

  Worth a try. It was Ally dying, he’d seen her wounds, but it didn’t matter. If he let her die without trying, Willow would been destroyed by grief.

  The face of a Bak-lal obscured the ceiling as he scrambled atop the pile of men who were crushing Stom. One of his arms was trapped, but with the free one he warded off blows, then he kicked out with his legs. Two of the enemy flew out, smacked into the walls, and kept going, leaving body-sized holes. The top Bak-lal’s pistol swung, coming in to aim at his head.

  The rattle and crack of weapons told of the team arriving outside. A new hole or three appeared in the walls, blasting out chunks of plaster and timber. His ears hurt from the sound, his skin hurt, his muscles burned. The air misted with white.

  He bared his teeth as the trigger was drawn back.

  Like an avenging demoness, Willow leapt on top, naked, snarling, standing on the writhing heap. As she lashed out and clawed at the eyes of the one leveling his gun, the barrel swung and fired to the left. The Bak-lal grabbed her throat, held her still, her feet dangling, and shoved the gun at her side.

  He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move.

  *****

  The gun was coming her way. Willow stared into death’s eyes, her fingernails had left red scored grooves on his face but the man wasn’t registering pain. Why couldn’t she do more? She sobbed. They were both going to fucking die.

  She’d been trying to set these bastards alight. Nothing.

  His hand on her throat was choking her and she sucked in a wretched gasp of air, her vision smudging as her brain faltered.

  The metal of the gun jabbed into her ribs. She was a half second away from having her guts blown across the room. Why couldn’t she?

  Burn.

  Think small. Eyes? Oh. Yeah. Course.

  His eyeballs burst into flame, a simmering orange.