by Y. M. Roger
A growl rose up from inside of Chiyoto – a growl that made every muscle in both Sila and Hiroto prepare for an attack – it was a feeling of helplessness neither cognate nor altre had ever felt before this moment.
They held their collective breaths and prepared for the worst – until Chiyoto’s much more realistic voice whispered forth from amidst the heat and the furor.
“My Rafal will deal with them,” there was a momentary pause in her quiet and personal proclamation before a rough and quite uncivilized voice finished the statement, “For now.”
Sila and Hiroto let go a collective sigh, but before they could answer Chiyoto, she turned to the volunteers that had heretofore been helping with clean up and rescue.
“Here!” Chiyoto’s voice was authoritative, but it was all her own, “There are two survivors buried here. Carefully get them out and bring them to the kyoukai!”
She swung her still exercised face back to Sila.
“Come, faithful one,” she directed Sila – her feminine and commanding presence once again under control – her Runa’s entire being suffused with a vengeful need but nonetheless stubborn for now. But the powerful altre wanted that Makers-forsaken Keeper gone; however, she did agree that she was pleased with both the Teyman and his altre’s actions even though her anger had yet to be assuaged.
As the two approached the distraught and struggling sire, both Chiyoto and Runa reached out with a soothing magic that, even before her hand met the male’s shoulder, caused his growling and writhing conflict with his altre to cease. The male simply whimpered as he began to raise himself to a standing position once again – sobs still wracking his upper body.
Chiyoto gently touched the grieving male’s upper arm – his name was Grundeihl, his altre, Satoru – his reaction to her soothing touch eliciting a whimper from his lechtneu as he turned his head toward her.
Sila positioned himself between the two of them and the remainder of the room as he spoke purposefully and very nonchalantly to Chiyoto.
“The vids are most likely still functional, Hanfendi.”
Chiyoto acknowledged Sila’s warning with a slight nod as she turned her attention to the bruise on Grundeihl’s face – the eye socket already beginning to swell.
And Chiyoto felt her Runa’s ire burn strongly once again.
But Chiyoto inconspicuously blew a hot breath across the male’s face and watched as the swelling receded and the bleeding abated and realization dawned on his pained and hurting countenance.
“Take us to your son, formidable one.”
A grin broached Grundeihl’s lips and tears of joy began to race down his face, but, as he went to bow in reverence, Sila caught his eye and glared at him – the threat of violence from the predator guard a very real one.
And both the lechtneu and the male stiffened their posture in response to the admonishment.
“This way—” he paused purposefully and looked longingly at Sila for direction – his submission to the Guard’s dominance clearly displayed.
“Hanfendi Chiyoto,” offered Sila.
“Yes, yes,” his and Satoru’s frenzied emotions of renewed excitement ebbing over them both as they began walking, “This way, Hanfendi Chiyoto. They are in the kyoukai.”
Chiyoto paused to look back at Sila – her annoyance with his interference in her interactions with Grundeihl gnawing at the already exercised Heiress. He may be tasked with watching her, but she would not have him handling her or any situations that …
However, before she could get a word out or even finish the thought, her impatient Runa chided her with a contained exasperation.
The loyal mixed-breed is right, my Treasure. Runa still smoldered with need for retribution while her first priority would always be her Chiyoto – but, still, she ground her talons together with angst. Your precious –Runa’s still dislike displayed in the use and tone of the word – Rafal chose your keeper well.
Chiyoto simply nodded an acknowledgement to Sila and turned around to follow Grundeihl – sneering internally to her agitating Runa.
The dragoness was not going to pass up an opportunity to remind her Treasure just exactly how the blood-thirsty altre really felt about the possessive Crowned Prince.
Especially not in their present state of mind.
Chapter 20
As he had expected, Rafal learned that the explosion had been the result of a minor terrorist attack from one of the fringe groups that sought to rid Bohrean society of all types of the Blood-bornes – not just the predators. And, as abhorred as the groups were by most Crimson and Blood-borne alike – a few of them had managed to gain a foothold within the fear resulting from the deteriorating mental condition of the Khedive. A few of their comm messages had even gone so far as to implicate “the Prime Magistrate’s apparent sympathetic eye for the Green abomination that, through the proper application of justice, should be cleansed from the Bohrean Empire so that it could, once again, rise to greatness.” Both Rafal and his beast had snarled, angrily amused at the author’s apparent ignorance of both Bohrean history as well as his or her definition of justice. In fact, if Rafal or Hondo ruled, any group with such beliefs would be eliminated – their bigotry and speciatic hatred, although small, prevented the healing that both Princes worked hard to affect.
But change of any kind took time and, although Rafal had poured himself into that change for so long, they could both now see their Chiyoto as perhaps their greatest reward in that work. The Crowned Prince warmed at the thought of her body held tightly against him – he fisted his hand on the railing just as he did in her hair when she was there.
“Mine,” he muttered to himself.
Ours.
Rafal smirked and tried to inwardly agree with his beast – something with which he had not much practice but on which they both seemed to be working since Chiyoto and her Runa became part of their lives. And Rafal thought he could almost see the enormous beast nod in agreeable amusement.
Rafal glanced again at Shuttle Commander Westrungis.
“I like him,” Rafal mumbled more than spoke to his beast.
In fact, if Rafal’s impressions of the unusual sensations – or vibes, perhaps, he was not quite sure how to interpret them – inside of him were what he suspected they were, both he and his beast found themselves quite comfortable here on the bridge with Westrungis and the small crew that remained at the controls given the massive responsibilities of officers in situations such as these. The commander was about Rafal’s age, maybe a bit older, and his composure in dealing with this crisis as well as his actual handling of it had them both impressed.
And he does not mind our presence.
Yes, that was certainly the truth – and yet another thing about the commander that Rafal liked. Although distant without being aloof, neither Westrungis nor his wary yet confident pahlgryst were bothered in the least with their Prime Magistrate’s presence – even seemed to welcome such as they smoothly communicated between their crew and Rafal and everyone else in between necessary to affect proper action.
Suddenly and without warning, the ship shuddered as if it had been hit by a shock wave or the like. Rafal braced himself on the nearest panel outlay as he cast a questioning look at the commander – he felt his beast tense inside.
“A belated outgassing of the engines having been brought to full stop perhaps,” Westrungis stated aloud to Rafal as much to himself as he was already reaching for his comm – his attention smoothly transitioning to the crew on the other end of his electronic hail, “Systems?
Another shudder followed shortly after, so much like the first that they could not be the result of multiple explosions or random outgassings. To Rafal, the two almost seemed connected, as if they were crests in the same wave pattern …
And then a slight almost imperceptible sensation that glided across his skin.
As Westrungis spoke
with his personnel in Systems, Rafal felt his beast grow restless – the growling within him accompanied by an urgency that they no longer needed to be here on the bridge, but with …
Another shockwave – yes, that was what best defined the physical realities that rumbled through the entire bridge – and another brush of sensation – and Rafal’s mind flashed back to Chiyoto’s quarters two nights ago when the first wave of her anger had slammed the door shut while the subsequent one had knocked him back a step or two. He reached up to touch his cheek – the bruising from the blow still an ache beneath his skin. Why would his subconscious recall such an incident as the wave magnitudes were not …
Unless it was not his subconscious that made the connection at all …
His beast growled smugly and almost triumphantly as the Crowned Prince caught his breath at a connection that was suddenly almost as evident as the hair on his face.
Find her! Now!
Rafal turned to Westrungis to bid him farewell – a large part of the Crowned Prince now convinced that an answer would not be found in that Systems consult in which the trustworthy commander was currently engrossed – when, without warning, the doors to the bridge swung open revealing three individuals.
As yet another wave rolled through the bridge.
The haughty male leading the entering three wore a hakim’s jebba and traditional flared uniform pants fashioned from some of the finest materials Rafal had run across in some time. The non-traditional sash with the large and obviously Khedive-issued clasp made Rafal growl even before the scent of the male and whatever beast he housed infiltrated his olfactory. The hakim had just looked toward Rafal in a sneer of disdainful recognition when his scent hit Rafal …
And Rafal’s beast roared in acrimony.
He wreaks of your sire!
Then his Chiyoto’s words of angry determination echoed loudly in his head, “Because your kind will not!”
Without so much as a hint of his intentions, Rafal had violently thrown one security guard against the far wall – rendering him unconscious – and lunged toward the hakim – pinning him violently against the wall by the throat. The remaining security guard stepped forward as if to interfere but then quickly stepped back in complete submission, lowering his weapon and his gaze, when Rafal turned to growl and bare his beast’s partially presented set of oversized fangs.
Rafal had never understood how Khitam managed to imprint his scent on these, his most highly trained and specialized operatives. However, with the rumors that traveled on the winds from the Royal Palace regarding his sire’s state of mind and the depraved actions that supposedly resulted from such, neither he nor his beast actually wanted to know. They both considered themselves the better for not possessing such vulgar knowledge.
Rafal was having trouble containing his beast’s bloodlust with the smell of Khitam so prevalent in the air and the words of his Chiyoto so raw against his nerves. The beast had always hated Khitam, even before Rafal had made up his own mind on the matter – in fact, the beast was almost uncontrollable in his sire’s presence. This being before them and in their clutches – the aura of respect and of fear finally replacing his earlier sneer – was a purveyor of the speciatic hatred that prevented the healing in their Empire.
“Prime Magistrate,” the sniveling hakim managed to choke out, “We meant no disrespect with …”
Rafal’s face contorted more with the beast’s desire to be present and his now-taloned hand tightened on the male’s throat, silencing any hope of the hakim’s finishing his desperate and false statement. Not that Rafal had a problem with unleashing his beast on beings such as this – it was just not quite clear as to whether or not his fully-presented beast would fit or be able to maneuver properly in the confines of the bridge.
In addition to being hideously unique and lethal, Rafal’s feared beast was disproportionately large in comparison to himself.
“You meant any and all disrespect, hakim,” Rafal’s words carried the vehemence both he and his beast were feeling, “As I do now, filthy creature.”
Yet another wave rumbled through the shuttle, although this one was much weaker than some of the prior ones.
Commander Westrungis watched the spectacle before him with more than a simple veiled interest – there had been rumors swirling about the feared Prime Magistrate through some of his unofficial channels for cycles now, but as quickly as those had surfaced, they had also been squelched. Both the commander and his beast had felt comfortable around the Prime Magistrate – this having been their first physical interaction with the obviously dangerous but eerily calming male who would soon rule the Empire – so much so that this sudden outburst had been completely unexpected. Still, there was a trust that seemed almost second nature that he could feel with the obviously powerful Prince’s presence. Because the Crowned Prince of the Bohrean Empire certainly radiated a power that both he and his beast could easily feel, but, surprisingly, neither of them felt the least bit threatened. This revealing interaction before them now, however, may help to answer the lingering question the commander had as to the direction of the Bohrean Empire – an Empire to which Bahlilik Westrungis felt a strong loyalty even with the speciatic biggotry inherent to the flawed system. Although those flaws did not affect his style of command or treatment of those included therein. In Westrungis’ view, every being earned his place – and that place never took into consideration blood color.
And it never would to him – no matter who ruled the Empire.
Rafal breathed deeply in an attempt to calm himself as the male – who seemed to vascilate between imperious anger and outright fear – fought down his beast’s frail attempts at becoming present. Once again, in a move that no one on the bridge saw coming, Rafal reached up with his other hand and ripped the hakim’s jebba from neck to shoulder to reveal the Khedive’s Perse specialized military identification tattoo. An even more feral growl – if such were even possible at this point – rolled up from somewhere inside of Rafal.
And one quietly but distinctly echoed from Commander Westrungis – apparently, the commander had been unaware of the presence of such an operative on his crew. The growl was something of which both Rafal and his beast took note.
“This signifies life-loyalty to the House of Sadid, my brilliant hakim,” Rafal’s voice was no longer his own, but more that of his beast’s snarls, “Making your sneer toward us earlier an act punishable by death, yes?”
The look on the hakim’s face hardened and Rafal felt the animosity roll off the belligerent male.
“My vow was to the Khedive,” the words were broken, pained, and mixed with a rebellious beast whose presence was being prevented by Rafal’s hold. But the hatred in both of them was still evident.
All the more reason for Rafal and his beast to seethe with an almost malicious enjoyment.
“In the absence of my sire and as your future Khedive, I give you an ultimatum, hakim,” Rafal spat the title across the male’s hardened face as an extremely disturbing smile spread across his face, “If but a single survivor dies from this moment forward – whether that survivor be Crimson or Blood-borne – you forfeit your own life as payment for the death.”
The waves have ceased.
His beast calming, Rafal abruptly dropped his hold and stepped back – stance wary but almost relaxed – as the hakim’s face transitioned to a bright crimson. A belligerent howl erupted from the hakim and his beast combined as he dropped to his knees trying to regain control of his breathing and of his beast. The irate male rose to full height almost immediately after his recovery, hands flexing, the veins in his neck and temples threatening to explode outward. Even though he still had to look up to Rafal’s towering presence.
The smile had still not left Rafal’s face – though amusement now mixed with his aggression. It seemed he and his beast needed this outlet.
The hakim’s anger and disbelief boiled
over to his vocal chords – though the words were still snarled with the sound of his beast.
“You cannot equate an exceptional Crimson life such as mine with that of a Green piece of tr …”
The backhand from Rafal so swiftly met the hakim’s cheek that Westrungis was not sure if it had actually happened until the contentious male nearly lost his balance in an exaggerated lean to the left.
“A Perse Commander of your rank should be more familiar with orders and ultimatums or, more specifically, with the execution of such without questioning your superior.”
Rafal’s voice was cold and calculating – the power he housed within his beast nearly filling the bridge although there was no presentation – even the beast within the hakim backed down after the strike and at the tone in Rafal’s speech.
The hakim simply stood silently and seethed as the imprint of Rafal’s hand slowly became visible on his face. Rafal’s deadly gaze never left the hakim as he spoke to Westrungis.
“Commander? I will expect a complete report when you reach planetside.”
Westrungis snapped to attention with Rafal’s vocal address of him.
“Yes, Prime Magistrate.”
Rafal let himself smile a little wider.
“To include the good hakim here in shackles if there are any deaths on-board prior to docking,” the seething male growled low and threateningly as Rafal continued, “His physical condition does not matter, only that he be alive when he is brought before me.”
Unmoving yet with a slight gleam in his eye, Westrungis nodded quietly.
“It will be done, Prime Magistrate.”
Not even looking back to acknowledge the respectful and, from the scent and the emotions emanating from him, loyal Commander, Rafal stepped close to the still fuming hakim as his beast growled from within at their proximity to the repulsive scent.
“Life for a life, Perse, none above another,” Rafal let his beast growl openly in the hakim’s face as he scraped a claw across the tattoo to draw blood, “Especially none of your ilk.”