by KC Klein
Her head bobbed a fraction in acceptance. I turned on my heel and fled the infirmary. I’d had enough. This damn mountain was closing in on me, ratcheting up my fear of being buried alive to the top ten least appealing ways I wanted to die.
I needed to assume control of my life, start making decisions again. Not only were my thoughts being probed, but I had no peace in my living quarters. ConRad’s presence was everywhere. Yes, he was neat, probably to the point of OCD, but now that I was aware he lived there, I couldn’t un-aware myself.
Hiding out in the infirmary wasn’t cutting it. My living arrangement wasn’t cutting it. Sleeping in the same bed as ConRad and smelling him on the pillow wasn’t cutting it. Just this morning I’d woken in a flush of heat, not from a nightmare, but from something else that had a dampness forming between my legs, which had nothing to do with the stifling humidity.
It was best to have it out with ConRad. Clear up my living arrangements, start talking about a way for me to get back home. Of course, wanting to find ConRad and actually doing so were two different things. But dogged persistence was one of my virtues. Granted a more useful virtue would be patience, but that trait didn’t seem to swim in my Polish-Hungarian gene pool. After numerous attempts at locating Mr. PITA himself—the code word we used at the hospital for a “pain-in-the-ass” patient—I was directed to a back pathway, a place I’d never gone before.
I wound my way through tunnels and crevices. The temperature spiked and the telltale sulfur/rotten egg smell underscored the musky air. The heat hit me in the face, and within seconds I wanted to rip off my clothes and run screaming back to the coolness of the upper levels. In no time my army-green tank top was darkened with sweat, and when I ran my hands through my hair, I could feel the frizz at least a foot in all directions. Grrr.
Just when I was about to give up, I caught a flash of glistening skin through a split in the cave wall and skidded to a stop.
My heart jumped as the reptilian part of my brain woke up and raised its ugly head. I bit my lip in anticipation and rounded the corner.
I had every intention of announcing myself—really. I wasn’t into sneaking up on people; most people’s secrets were best left undiscovered. But nosiness—or curiosity as I like to call it—was also another enduring link in my DNA chain.
I mean, I just wanted to know what the hell he was doing down here all by himself. Did he skin small children aall up, I cnd eat them for lunch? No, that was unfair. He probably tortured unwilling victims for mere practice.
Whatever he did, darkness surrounded him, a coldness that kept him shuttered from the world. And why, I had to ask myself, did I find that quality appealing? It was plain and simple: I had a sickness that only years of therapy could cure.
I caught sight of him. With profound regret, I realized no amount of therapy could save me; I needed a complete lobotomy. The primitive beast in my head purred and my mouth watered like a damn Pavlov’s dog.
ConRad wore nothing but low-riding cotton pants, even his feet were bare. I mean, didn’t the man own an f-ing shirt? How hard was it to stay dressed? He stood in the middle of a black exercise mat performing some type of martial arts. His movements were quick and deliberate; his body performed like a machine made up of rippled muscle and taut skin.
Sweat ran off him like water, shimmering and reflecting with each movement. His hair, slicked back from his face, showed off his chiseled profile. Jaw muscles clenched with each blow and kick as his breath came in with hisses, tightening his stomach.
I watched in a trance. He was dangerous and fascinating, and on some basic level I found myself wanting to respond to his authority. Whoa! Where the hell did that thought come from? A throwback from a Stone Age ancestor? If I didn’t watch it, next thing I’d know I’d be asking him to drag me by the hair and take me back to his cave, which reluctantly, when I looked around the carved out mountain, wasn’t very far from the truth.
He came to a stop and closed his hands into a prayer pose and did a thankful bow. He turned his back toward me and walked over to get a drink from a metal canteen alongside the mat. “You do know it is against the rules to walk in on your Commander without permission. I’m quite sure even in your time it is considered rude.”
Heat flushed my face; it was like I was twelve all over again and my mother had just caught me kissing the neighbor boy. “I’m sorry,” I stammered, “I didn’t mean to catch you unaware.”
“I wasn’t unaware,” he said, then added softly, “quite the opposite.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that, but a little flame lit up in the center of my belly. “I wanted to talk to you,” I said, not bothering to hide the pull of my lips into a stupid grin.
“So talk,” he said.
He still wasn’t facing me, and I demanded eye contact with any conversation. I walked closer and peered over his shoulder. “I wanted to finish our conversation we started the other day.”
He turned and fixed me with the bluest of eyes, like an Arizona pool during a hundred and twenty degree summer. “You’re still upset about the sleeping arrangements. You didn’t seem to have a problem this past week.”
“I’ve been . . . exhausted and you haven’t been in the room.” I wasn’t about to tell him each night I buried my face in his pillow and savored his scent.
“We haven’t been in my room together since you got here. So what’s the difference?” He unscrewed the cap from his canteen and poured the water over his head and neck.
My tongue went dry. I was suddenly so thirsty. “Yes, but I didn’t know it was your room until the other day.”
Focus Kris, focus.
“So now that you know, or more importantly, now that you know what other people know, it’s a problem,” he said with his famous half smile.
Was the smirk on his face a little annoying, or was it just me? But the small flame that was glowing warmly only a moment ago was now out. “I don’t care if you agree with my reasoning or not. I just want my own quarters. And . . .”—in for an ounce in for a pound—“I want a unit to escort me back to the portal.”
“No.” And with not even a glance he got down on the floor and started to do push-ups.
My teeth slid edge to edge. The impressive display of rippling muscles was getting . . . less impressive.
“No? No to the escort or to the new quarters?” Stay calm, do not get baited.
“No to them both.” He sighed, obviously unaccustomed to explaining himself. “An escort is too dangerous at this time, and there are no other quarters available.”
“Fine.” I said, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. Unfazed I pushed ahead. “Then I’ll move in with Quinn.” I hadn’t actually asked her yet, but I knew I could plead and beg my way in. I’m sure she wouldn’t hold a grudge over my threat of physical dismemberment.
ht="0em" width="1em" align="justify">“Request denied.” Another round of push-ups, but this time one handed . . . show off.
“Why? I’d prefer it and would feel more comfortable.” I stood above him, hands on hips, my scowl wasted on his back.
“Simple,” he said. His voice muffled as he continued talking to the floor mat. “She’s a goddess-in-training and needs sensory restraint in order to hone her skills. With a goddess down, we need her active as quickly as possible.”
“So Quinn’s a goddess huh? What kind of powers does she have?” Maybe I could pump ConRad for information to see exactly what she could do—mind-invasion perhaps? The hairs on my neck stood at the thought.
“Good question,” Conrad growled. He had flipped onto his back to do sit-ups, and I could see the flexing of his jaw muscle. “Since she spends most of her time in the damn infirmary, and not in sensory restraint, it’s hard to know for sure.”
Guilt flared up at the thought of what really was drawing Quinn to the infirmary. I decided to move on.
“The infirmary then. I could stay there at night and crash on one of the cots.” It wasn’t my first choice, since there was no pr
ivacy, but I could manage for a time until I left.
He stilled and threw me a raised-one-eyebrow look. “You really want to sleep in an open room, with no locks, in a compound full of men? Some who haven’t been with a woman their whole lives?”
Small point. Damn, but my options were diminishing fast. Of course, his way would have me in his room, door locked, and with only one horny man.
“Look,” I said, my voice edgy as I tried to steer the conversation back to my objective. “There has to be another way, some sort of compromise.”
“Look.” His tone sarcastic, was that supposed to be an imitation of my own? “There is something you need to understand.”
He propped himself up to rest on his elbows, which showed his abdominals off to their best advantage. He looked . . . um . . . inviting. My eyes must have glazed over because both of his eyebrows raised and that devastating half smile softened his eyes.
“See something Seeaisyou like?”
“What?” I snorted. “No.” My voice sounded lame even to my own ears. But I was not about to tell him that he had just replaced Brad Pitt in all my late night fantasies.
“The invitation is always open.”
I narrowed my eyes. I’m sure it is, buddy. Then I did a circling gesture with my hand to have him continue our original conversation. Between the two of us, someone had to keep us on track.
ConRad flashed me a full smile this time as he continued on with his denial of my request. “See, the thing you’re worried about, not wanting everyone to think that you belong to me, it’s already happened.”
He put his hands behind his head and started to crunch to the side, working his obliques. The sight of his washboard stomach flexing and relaxing must’ve rendered me stupid because I found I needed clarification. “What exactly are you saying?”
“I am saying I’ve already claimed you. It was over the first night you slept in my quarters.”
“And claiming is . . . ?”
“A provision made for available women. I’ve claimed you, and so it’s my responsibility to protect you with my life.”
“How can you have claimed me without my permission? Without my knowledge?” I blinked rapidly as each word sputtered out of my mouth.
He shrugged. “You came to my quarters willingly enough. That’s all that is needed.”
“Because you ordered that I be taken to your quarters!” I shouted, stepping closer and glaring down at him. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the rush of power from standing over him. He must’ve realized this and quickly jumped up to come nose to nose with me, or more like his shoulder to my nose.
“Look around you, woman. How many unattached females do you see walking about here?”
“There are at least a dozen or so goddesses here,” I countered.
“They’re not unattached . . . they’re unavailable. No relationships with goddess are permitted, not of any sort.”
“But there are no other females,” I protested.
“Exactly, females are at a premium here, and we all want one. If I hadn’t claimed you, then someone else would’ve. And trust me when I tell you they wouldn’t have been nearly as nice. In fact,” the tilt of his head was decidedly arrogant, “you should be thanking me instead of berating.”
“Really and why is that?” I asked unbelievingly.
“Because I am the highest ranking officer here and no one, I mean no one, should be giving you any trouble.”
“Does that include you?”
“Well . . . almost no one.” His eyes licked my body like hungry flames. I began to question my place on the food chain.
Irritation didn’t begin to touch what I was feeling. I’d been manipulated into a position I neither wanted nor was able to control. My defenses slammed up, and like my grandfather used to say “there she goes gettin’ all prickly.”
“Everything about this,” I used my hands to encircle the whole crazy place, “goes against everything I believe in. Everything that makes up . . . me. What right does any one person have, male or female, to claim another? Especially without their consent? This goes against basic human rights. It’s archaic.”
ConRad stepped back and shook his head in pure disbelief. “Are you actually arguing, what’s the word . . . ethics with me?”
“Yes,” I said, excited to finally be getting somewhere. “Ethics, principles, morals—the structure of what all thriving societies are based on. What happens here is a total regression of human rights, not to mention women’s rights. . . .” I would’ve gone on, but his expression of utter bewilderment made me hesitate.
“Woman, you don’t get it do you?” His voice rose and echoed off the high cavern as he began to prowl aggressively. “Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’ve been here a total of what . . . one week, and you feel the need to lecture me on, what did you say, oh yes, basic human rights? What kind of bloody crap is that? Wake up. Look around. What society do you see here? Whose rights are you trying to defend? People die here every da0">an riy! This isn’t living; this is survival. Be glad, or better yet thankful, that I’ve claimed you or who the hell knows what would’ve happened to you. You should be kissing my feet that you’re still alive. So when you have a real problem, then you can come and ask my permission to interrupt my workout and see if I’d be willing to help you. And until then . . .” He paused dramatically, his nostrils flaring with a deep inhale. He let his hardened gaze slide over me. “You need to work out.”
I was stunned. My brain froze in blankness. Of all the things he said, of all the reactions I could have, the one thing my mind stopped on was “you need to work out.” Did I mention I was vain?
“Work out? Work out! I will have you know that I am a runner. I’ve completed my third marathon. Yes, that’s the number after two, muscle head. I work out every day, well . . . almost every day. I am in damn good shape, and I take offense that you’re implying otherwise.” Alright, so it’s been a while since I’d actually done any running, but my blood still boiled on principle. Screw human rights. This man basically just told me that I was fat. Did I mention that I was defensive about my weight?
“So you can run,” he shrugged. Then plopped himself back down and started leg raises, this time I could’ve cared less.
“Run . . . run! It’s a lot more than . . . it’s twenty-six point two miles of running. It’s endurance. It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s a hell of a long time to run. And why am I arguing about this with you? I’m fit, damn it, not fat, but F-I-T and how dare you tell me otherwise.”
“What?” He ceased his excessive exercising and stared at me as if I was the star of one of those daytime talk shows and just told him he was my baby’s daddy. “Are you . . . I don’t know what they call it in your time, but in mine it’s called lacking intelligence or slow?”
He was serious. My mouth fell wide open and my brain had a hard time wrapping around the fact that he had just called me fat and stupid.
“I never said that you were fat. I said YOU-NEED-TO-WORK-OUT.” He spoke as if I was hard of hearing and . . . stupid.
“That’s the same thing, you moron.” I yelled back.
“No, it’s not. You may be able to run from danger, but what if you need to fight? Claiming works both ways, and so because I don’t want to die anytime soon, you need to work out. Do you have any defense moves or combat training?”
I shook my head no. I wondered if we were both speaking English.
“You’re under my protection, and I will protect you, but I can’t be there all the time. You need to be able to defend yourself. And maybe then you can do the same for me.” Then for the second time in my life I heard his horse bark of laughter.
He jumped up and put his shirt back on. “Tomorrow, be here at oh five hundred hours. We’ll begin your training.”
He started down the exit tunnel, while I stood there still dumbfounded.
Before he turned the corner, he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh and Kris, in case there is any confusion,
this claim is forever. Don’t be getting any ideas.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alright, so maybe my idea wasn’t the best thought-out plan ever. I am a doctor, people, not a secret agent. My arms ached as I clasped all my stuff—soap, towel, change of clothes, and a metal chair. This wasn’t helping my goal of being inconspicuous as I hovered around an adjacent corner to the community showers.
A shower. A true, honest to goodness shower instead of the small sink I was making due with in my room. I raised my shoulder and did a cursory sniff of my underarm. Wow. My eyes watered. Nope, a spit bath was no longer an option. I was ripe and heading at Mach speed toward foul.
I peeked around the corner at the large metal door down the hall that sported the words “COMMINITY SHOWER” in spray-painted block letters. I’d discovered it while poking around when I first arrived. The word shower was used very broadly since it was basically a series of holes, bleeding rust and water in a stall-less metal room.
Boots pounded on the hard packed dirt as soldiers rounded the far corner. I quickly ducked behind the wall again, narrowly missing detection. If found out, no doubt I’d be immediately marched in front of ConRad, since I seemed to be his problem to solve.
And rightly so. It was all ConRad’s fault, really. I could’ve gone one more day, possibly two if it wasn’t for the butt-kicking, body-slamming, Ninja-warrior w block lorkout that had me contemplating faking a stroke before I called “uncle” and he released me.
This morning we’d worked out in the bowels of the mountain where the heat and humidity bordered on inhuman levels. I’m surprised I’d survived, considering the conditions were perfect for inducing a heart attack. Then ConRad sauntered off, back to commanding the world or torturing unwilling victims, I couldn’t say for sure. This left me panting, flat on my back and scraping my hair—sweat soaked and dirt filled—off my face.