He reached for her, roughly pulling her to his chest. His breath was ragged, and her eyes grew large and dark in response. She didn’t stop him when he kissed her long and hard, like he was taking what was his. Wasn’t she his? Shouldn’t she still be his?
Her arms wrapped around him and she pressed her soft body against his. The memory of what used to be filled him, and he closed his eyes, letting himself sink into her kisses and caress, just as he had in the past. Was she was kissing him in her relief at her son’s salvation or because she could somehow sense it was him, her Edmond, after all these years?
His hands dipped under her shirt, exploring her skin and feeling the silky smoothness that hadn’t changed over the years. He was losing conscious thought in the feel and smell and taste of her, his desperate need for her mixing with the agony of what he had lost.
What he wanted was his nineteen years back. He wanted them to have been with her and their son. He wanted this moment to bring them all back and finally give him what was his by right.
She moaned in his arms and his fingers dug deeper, holding her tightly against him. He slipped his hands under her bottom and hitched her up from the ground, sucking in a breath and desperately keeping back a cry of pain. Her presence hurt him—her closeness reminding him with every touch of what could have been—but at the same time, he wanted all of her. He turned her so her back was to the wall and deepened his kiss, leaning into the hurt. She gasped, breaking the kiss for a moment.
“Anything you want is yours,” she whispered.
“This?” e asked.
“Yes. Please, yes.”
He couldn’t let this happen, though, could he? Not again. Hadn’t she seduced him the night before she betrayed him? He should tell her who he was and let her feel the anger and bitterness that still wrapped around his heart and mixed with the powerful longing.. He should tell her exactly what he thought of how she had treated him and let her feel a fraction of the pain he’d borne. He couldn’t yet expose himself, but he needed to say something to make her feel the way he did.
“He’s betting with his life, you know—your son’s life,” he said softly. “Your husband cares so little for you that he bets the life of your son in these games, all for positioning.”
She bit her lip. “I know.”
“Is that why you’re here? Is this nothing but revenge for you?” He spat the words, confused about whether he was angry at her, at himself, or at both of them, or if he just wanted to take them back and let this intimacy last a moment longer..
The ship dropped the mask so suddenly that Dante gasped, dropping his hold on Mercedes. She stumbled backward against the wall, her eyes wide as she clapped her hands over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.
“Edmond?” she whispered.
His lips parted, but there was a lump in his throat and he couldn’t respond in time.
“Mercedes?” The warning tone in Fernand’s voice as he entered the room made his wife stand straighter, her hands dropping to her sides. She was mussed, her hair out of place and her neckline tugged to the side.
Fernand couldn’t have heard her words, but her demeanor gave her away. Her gaze darted from Dante to her husband and back.
His mouth formed a tight line as he took her arm in one hand. “I think it’s time for my wife to go. Her son needs her,” Fernand Mondego said calmly, steering her toward the door. He paused just before they went through. “But don’t think I didn’t catch a glimpse of the two of you. Mondego honor has been challenged and that challenge cannot be ignored.”
“No, Fernand, he saved our son!” Mercedes protested.
Fernand’s voice was almost a growl. “I challenge you to Bacarrae of the highest stakes!”
Dante frowned, drawing a breath. It was one thing to plan to bait a man, but another thing entirely when he bit. Now, to tighten the line.
“What bet?” he asked.
Fernand laughed harshly. “Everything.”
“What?” Dante asked quietly. He must not look too eager.
“Everything I have against everything you have, Davrini Hacken. All worldly possessions and all family, employees, and crew, including that man of yours Mondego Industries just won as a slave. If it’s not for everything, then it’s just a game. I will see you ruined!”
“I’m lucky when it comes to games,” Dante said.
“Don’t count on it. Your luck left on the last transport. It’s just you, me, and Bacarrae now, Captain. “
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE OFFICIAL WAS FINISHING UP the final tally at Company Headquarters. Personal bets were handled on terraces beside a massive water display. Between intricate mermaids spewing water into the air was a small holographic display and a smug-looking official in Company uniform. All of Dante’s other matches had Company-mandated bets; this was his first time at the headquarters, and his skin crawled from being so close to the governing arm of the Company. Someday, someone would have to do something about them. Perhaps that might be his goal, when all this was over.
The Company shared his aversion as officials watched them carefully, hostility in their expressions. So much for their desire to see the Davrini Hacken pleased. They looked like they would tear him apart right now if they could, and every so often, one of them would nod to Fernand as if he were doing them a favor. Was he?
Not to my knowledge. This is personal for him, just like it is for you. His company is in peril, his son worships you, and you would have destroyed his top enforcer if you hadn’t forfeited. His wife was the last straw.
“Mr. Mondego has bet against everything you have, Captain Monte Cristo. Our tallies of your worth, based on the value of your ship, your crew, your credit account, and your life, are very close to the estimated worth of Mr. Mondego when you include Mondego Industries, his employees, and his family. His own life is deemed a tiny fraction more than what you bring to the table, so it is not included in the bet. The game is set to be Bacarrae Mortalis, full immersion and pain simulation. This has been agreed to by both parties.”
Fernand’s eyes went wide, his face paling as the blood rushed from it. Dante clamped down on a grin. So, Fernand had not realized how valuable his holdings were. He’d bet blindly, thinking Dante’s all-in could not possibly be worth enough to worry about. The tables had turned, it seemed.
All those years ago, he had taken everything from Dante, except his life. Now, if Dante won the match, the stakes were the same and he would take everything from Fernand, except his life.
“You have agreed to the terms by your thumbprints before the tally,” the official said. “Good luck in your game.”
He left before Fernand was able to pull himself together enough to reply.
Dante stalked through the holds of the Monte Cristo. A moment earlier, he’d sent out the all hands call; now his crew was assembling in the holds. They knew what had happened—they knew of Jack’s fate. Dante had only had a moment to talk with Jack before the agents of Mondego Industries had taken him away.
“I plan to get you back,” he’d said. “I just need to win this battle with Fernand. Your freedom is part of the bet.” Dante had grasped Jack by the arm. The young man was a turmoil of emotions, but he’d returned his Captain’s grip.
“You’re betting with my life again.” He’d showed no emotion on his face, but his dead tone had said it all. Loyal or not, he felt betrayed by Dante’s actions.
The older man had swallowed. “I owe you an apology. In the middle of the game, I found out Albert is my son. I couldn’t watch him die when I could do something about it. I just had to try...”
Jack had nodded, comprehension dawning on his face. “Sothis time it wasn’t about revenge.”
“And it isn’t this time, either. I’m going to win your freedom back.”
Jack had shaken off his grip. “Don’t say it isn’t about revenge. I’m a side bonus—the main meal is revenge on Fernand. Don’t pretend it’s not something more.”
Dante looked away.
“What do you want me to say? This is all I’ve had for twenty years.”
“I want you to say it isn’t all you have now. You have a friend who needs you, a crew, and now a son. Maybe that could be enough.”
Dante had run a hand through his hair. Could it be enough? He’d shaken his head. “Even if saving you didn’t mean fighting him…”
“You’d still need the revenge.” Jack frowned. “Just remember: when your hunger is insatiable, you end up eating yourself, too.
“Meaning?”
“If you’re not careful you’ll lose what little humanity you still have. Stop this madness before it’s too late. You can come out of this without regrets, Captain. There’s still time.”
“I’ll think about it.”
His loyalty is beyond anything you deserve. Although his concern for your humanity is misplaced. What makes humanity a trait worth embracing over revenge?
He’s proven himself beyond a doubt, whether I deserve it or not.
Dante brought his mind back to the present, to the door in front of him that led to the hold where his men were gathering. He took a steadying breath and pushed it open.
“Captain present!” Sleeveless Bill called, and the crew came to attention. A stab of pain flashed through him as he realized that job had been Jack’s.
Dante surveyed them. He’d worked beside them under the command of Captain Roberts, commanded them when he’d taken over Schrodinger’s Feline, and he’d led them here, to discover something wondrous and powerful. He’d promised them riches, but that’s not why they followed him. These were the men who had seen him walk into the eye of the Great Mind and emerge as something more—something powerful.
“Friends, the journey I started so long ago is nearly at an end,” Dante started, looking at each of them. “I haven’t always asked, but I’ve always known you would all follow me wherever I went.”
“Of course, Cap’n,” Bill said. “None of us could have seen what we saw and not followed you. You challenged the dragon, so to speak, and found the treasure.”
“I did,” Dante agreed with a sad smile, “but my reasons were mine alone, just as this revenge is mine alone. Now I’ve been challenged in the final fight to take everything from my enemy and utterly destroy him, but it could cost me everything. He’s wagering everything in his influence against my fortune, the Monte Cristo, and all of you. If I lose, I will lose everything.”
The crew grew silent for a moment.
“You’d get Jack back, then, when you win?”
“Yes.”
“Would you get that boy you keep saving, too?”
“If I win, yes.”
Bill nodded. “Seems to me you’re the best Bacarrae player the galaxy has seen in a long time—maybe even since Napoleon. Hell, if you and Napoleon were to square off, take off the gloves so to speak, I don’t know where my money would land. What’s at stake is powerful motivation.”
Dante nodded. “That it is.”
“Seems to me you can’t lose, Captain, with only that Fernand Mondego against you. He can’t be as good as all that,”
“He’s become a master at the game,” Dante said, “although most of his plays happen off the field. He’s underhanded, ruthless, and never plays fair. He’s been run up against the Bacarrae board a number of times, but he’s always managed to counter the charges brought against him. His mercenary, Gune, was a master psychic, but Fernand will be my most powerful adversary.”
Bill surveyed the crew while scratching the stubble on his jaw. “Well, we’d better all get box seats for the show, then, hadn’t we, Cap’n? You’ll be paying for them, of course.”
It is a great man who can foster such loyalty. I chose you correctly.
“Does Bill speak for all of you?” Dante called out to the room.
There was resounding agreement—a chorus in the affirmative. Dante felt his heart move, a dangerous feeling when he’d been so often consumed the by rage and bitterness that fueled his revenge. This was more, though—this was the dedication of a family to a father who may have made some wrong decisions in the past, but who nevertheless still inspired his children. In their eyes, he could do no wrong.
“I’ll make the preparations,” Dante said, “and one way or another, we will finish this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A HAWK SCREAMED OVERHEAD, SO life-like that Dante could have sworn it was real. When they’d said this would be a more immersive experience, they hadn’t been joking.
“This is common?” he’d asked Lily as she hooked him into the full bio-response rig, attaching patches to various points across his body. “Can’t the room read my biometrics?”
“Yes, it can,” she’d said. “These are to simulate pain.”
“Only simulated?”
Her eyes had been sad when she’d replied. “It makes no difference. Enough of it and you’ll overload and die of a heart attack or fall into a catatonic state. I’ve seen both.”
“Ah.”
“They’re not common, but they do happen. If the participants request it, they can go full-immersion. Usually, it’s a grudge match. Full immersion matches are always a crowd pleaser, and with your bet today, there won’t be a place to stand on the observation deck. Trust me when I say if you survive this, you’ll be all anyone can talk about. Are you really betting everything on this match? Everything?”
“It says it on the board, doesn’t it?”
Now here he was, standing in the game, leading his units in the last great Bacarrae battle he ever expected to fight. The game would start in two minutes, and they were frozen until it began. After that, it was only his skill and passion against Fernand’s. Either he’d walk away with everything he still wanted in the universe, or he’d be dead.
He could almost taste his victory, but the echo of Jack’s words was still in his mind. Was he eating himself up in this insatiable drive for revenge? Was he losing his humanity?
Is someone thinking about losing? How fitting.Fernand’s mental voice echoed in his mind.
He was surprised by how recognizable his old friend’s voice was. It was like a mental echo of who he was. Dante felt his thoughts focus at the feel of it.
You’re always losing, Fernand Mondego, because you don’t know what you have. Friends, family—they’re nothing but pawns to you, aren’t they?
What do you know about my friends?
I know you don’t seem too shaken up about your old crony, Villefort, taking his own life.
I hardly knew the man.
That’s not what the evidence I have of cheating the Company shows. The two of you were so deep in your embezzlement that it would take a full division of forensic accountants to find all the little leaks going from the Company and into your pockets.
Ah. So, it was you who drove Villefort to jump. Interesting. If you expect me to make your job here easier by offing myself, think again. If you had real evidence, you’d have gone to the Company and dealt with me through official channels. I’m calling your bluff.
Oh, I don’t work for the Company. Their punishments are too good for you.
Ten more seconds and the game would start.
Who do you work for, then?
Five more seconds. Dante took a deep breath. It was time for the fight of his life.
When we meet face to face, I’ll tell you.
His thoughts focused and he was in the game like he’d never been before. There wasn’t a choice, this time, and he was the elf lord, cemented to the unit’s health and actions. His beloved avatar was him, for this battle, and their fates were firmly entwined. Fernand, he knew, would be playing as his iconic night guild assassin—ironic that their two sides so closely mirrored their respective personalities. Dante chose a complement of archers, woodland knights, and two elven wizards with flaming staffs. Fernand loved shadows, sneak attacks, and deflection; Dante would burn through the shadows, reveal himself, and destroy his foe.
The arena was woodland grown up through old ruins, a lan
dscape that benefitted them both in equal measure. Dante’s woodland elves could easily hide and move through the trees while Fernand’s assassins had bonuses in the city. For once, at least, the tables weren’t slanted to begin with.
He moved forward, the bio-sensors causing him to feel the wind on his face, and he shivered, feeling cold. If he’d woken with no memories in this place, he might have believed himself to be King of the Woodland People. His units surrounded him, although they moved silently. There was only the sound of the wind and the trees.
Out there, somewhere close at hand, Fernand was hiding and waiting for him. He couldn’t have known Dante would be his undoing. He close his eyes while walking and stretched his mind out like a net. He’d repelled several mental attacks already, and now he was ready to put Fernand on the defensive.
Every man’s mind was different. Gune’s had been a calm pool, wheras Albert’s had been a wall with several large doors. Fernand’s mind was a pit of vipers, twisting thoughts, and schemes and plans writhing together. Where Gune’s emotions had been schooled, Fernand’s were a labyrinth of purposefully confusing and misleading lies. His only strength, it seemed, was to be obscure and obscene.
He is still dangerous. Do not let your guard down.
After sacrificing this much? I would never forgive myself. He will pay for what he’s done, and he’ll pay today.
The faintest sound came from Dante’s left. It might have been a tree rustling or a soft boot, but Dante ducked just in time to miss being hit in the neck with an arrow. As it was, the blade of the arrowhead grazed his temple, and he discovered first-hand the reality of the pain simulators. Dante was amazed when he felt the blood trickle down his forehead.
He quickly recovered and threw himself down as more arrows flew from the cover of a low, broken wall ahead. His own archers retaliated with an arcing volley, and his knights raised their shields to protect their Dante. At the same time, he watched the serpentine mind of Fernand Mondego to see the reaction. Ideas and thoughts flashed quickly, but he caught one before it was too late.
Captain of the Monte Cristo: a space opera retelling of the classic tale (Classic Retellings Book 1) Page 12