The Moon Child's Wish

by Candy Nicks

  Above them the camera whirred, blinked and swivelled.

  "Ignore it."

  He groaned, deep and low. “We can't.” Ancel opened his eyes.

  Was she imagining the regret in his heavy-lidded gaze? He took her foot and gently pushed it away. Adjusted himself with care, sliding out of reach

  A brief moment of panic made her struggle against him, attempt to touch him once more. It was quickly overwhelmed by shame then an intense frustration that had her glaring at him as if it were his fault that they were shackled in a slave-transport and Bonded by magic. He gazed back, tense, unsatisfied.

  "Believe me,” he said and shifted again, his face contorting. “I want you to touch me. But Carine, we must have more control. If we let this take hold, overtake us, we're lost. We must be strong."

  What was he saying? She heard words that made no sense. What else was there than this? Every part of her pulsed with need of him and yet he sat before her, almost composed now, putting himself back together, methodically, mechanically. Three deep breaths, hands fisted then relaxed. He raised his face to the ceiling and counted to ten while all she could do was sit and stare at the large, battle-scarred hands resting on his thighs, the line of his exposed throat, his lips moving as if in prayer.

  Two people who desired each other; what could be simpler, or more complicated? She followed Ancel's lead and slid back in the seat. Pushed away image of hot sultry nights under the stars and sweat-slicked bodies moving as one. Offered a prayer of atonement to the Goddess and pictured instead the gentle concerned face of the Abbess of the Temple to which she'd been promised at birth.

  Memories of home brought a sad smile. Ancel pressed his foot briefly to hers as he mouthed the words good girl at her. The moment passed quickly and they retreated once more to a wary acceptance that what was done was done and they could only make the best of it.

  Without warning the transport halted, jolting them both against their restraints. Before either could react, the doors slid open and a voice ordered them to remain still and silent on pain of death.

  The next stage of their ordeal. One step at a time. She could get through this one step at a time. Ancel had called her a good girl. But when she looked at him, she wanted to be anything but.

  * * * *

  The City was a big fake. Outwardly it glittered and sparkled, but he could see nothing here of real value. No-one who cared for anything but profit. Ancel jumped from the transport and shook off the Overseer's hand pushing him towards a small door. They'd taken Carine first, knowing that the lion would follow the lamb.

  Their final destination, a tall, cube-like building, which appeared to be made entirely of gold and smoked glass, sat back from the road in a garden full of carefully tended, trees, plants and topiaries. A startling contrast to the bare elegance of the mountains. The too-shiny leaves shimmered and glowed, catching the few rays of sunlight that managed to pierce the smog. Perfectly formed fruit hung from the branches. Nature shackled and brought to order, as he had been. Ancel's heart filled with contempt. How would he survive this artificial world? A small flickering sign set in the wall simply said, O.

  The Overseer pressed a button and waited. Another stood by the parked transport, blast-gun in hand. From the communicator grille, a breathless voice told them to enter. Ancel squeezed himself through the small opening, relieved to see Carine standing in the dark, lobby-like area beyond. Just about standing. His thoughts were echoed by the owner of the voice.

  "Sweetie, you look terrible. Sit down before you fall down. And what,” the door-man paused for dramatic effect, “have they done to your hair?” He—or she, it was impossible to tell given the make-up and the floor-length kimono—glanced at Ancel's shaved head then turned a disgusted face to the Overseer. “I told you, no selling the hair. Can't you get that into your tiny brain?"

  "Come on, Vin.” The Overseer stood his ground against the door-man's wrath. Casually he reached into his pocket for a pouch of credits, which he dangled in front of Vin's eyes. “Was too good an opportunity to miss. Fifty, sixty percent? How much do you want?"

  "You over-ripe son of a Carvell whore.” Vin held out his hand. “Ninety. And then I might just forget this happened."

  While the transaction took place, another undersized door at the back of the lobby opened to reveal a dimly-lit interior. A sweet smell wafted through on a few wisps of smoke and above the muted chattering and restrained laughter, Ancel heard the insistent bump and grind of music. The place had a secretive air. As if it was hiding something, or from someone.

  "Not secretive, exclusive, darling. We like to think of ourselves as exclusive.” The doorman turned, tucking the credits into his sleeve. He scrutinised Ancel with a quick up and down flick of his head. “Well, at least they got the rest right. You can call me Vin. What do we call you?"

  Two hybrids ducked through the open door, blast-pistols holstered at their hips. They stood on either side of Carine, arms folded, waiting for instructions. Ancel shook with the effort it took to stay still. Carine sat frozen between them, acknowledging neither him nor their surroundings.

  Vin's lacquered fingernail scraped Ancel's bicep. “You be a good boy, Ancel, and she'll be just fine. Do you dance?"

  Ancel blinked. Vin was a Reader? He glanced at Carine.

  "Don't even think about it, Ancel-baby. You'll be dead before you get to her. Okay, no dancing. Just work on that glower, the customers will love it."

  Questions seemed irrelevant, escape out of the question, for now. A place that could afford their price would have state of the art security. On the face of it, low key, but probably the best money could buy. Vin touched him again, too familiar and Ancel felt the door-man's mind reach out to his.

  "My, my, we are in for some fun.” Laughing to himself, Vin beckoned them to follow. “You thought I was the door-man? Oh my...” He laughed again, appearing to find that notion hugely amusing. “Come on, there's much to do. Food, shower, sleep, then you and me are going shoe-shopping,” he declared to the barely-conscious Carine. They disappeared through the door, Carine staggering between the two hulks and, for a brief moment, Ancel found himself alone in the lobby.

  To one side of him, through the open front door, he saw the garden, the sky and potential freedom. On the other was the door to Carine. In between, his frantic heart, straining and anxious for both. Ancel took a step towards the front door, spun around lifting both fists and thwacked them twice into the wall, shackled more by his honour than the restraints on his wrists. Vin's laughter drifted through the door to the interior, along with polite applause and a few angry boos. Ancel took one last look at freedom, then turned and followed the sound.

  * * * *

  The transition to her new life passed in a blur of strange faces and unfamiliar smells. Scented water caressed her. A sweet taste melted on her tongue. Cool hands caressed her body, smoothing and soothing and then she was sinking farther and farther down into a sleep so deep that when she awoke, she had no idea where she was.

  In her dream, she'd lost her Crystal. Broken a sacred trust; something that would not be easily forgiven. She sat upright, panic overtaking her. One hand on her frantic heart, the other grasping the bed-sheet. Searching for something—she didn't know what. A man stood by the window, hands gripping the sill. Clad in only a pair of loose-fitting pants, barefoot, his naked back tense and angry.

  "Ancel?"

  The man turned, crossing the room in a few strides. “Carine, thank the Gods. I thought you were never going to wake up."

  The bed dipped under his weight and she remembered the touch of his hand, the sound of his voice. Still half asleep, she pressed herself against Ancel's bare skin and let herself be held, not knowing who needed it more.

  With the remembering, came the guilt. What if they never escaped this place? Was she destined to be both the instrument of his salvation and his pain? Without her Crystal she had no way of knowing.

  "How long have I slept?” Outside, night had fallen
but that didn't give her any indication of how long she'd been here. Time had suspended in the transport and she barely recalled what had happened since.

  "A whole day."

  Droplets of water dripped from the fuzz on his head. He smelled of strong soap and clean skin.

  "Your tunic. They've taken your beautiful tunic."

  "It's of no consequence."

  Another link to his former life broken. She knew he must feel its loss. “Where are we?"

  "An entertainment establishment, I think. I've seen no-one since they put us in here."

  She struggled through the fog of waking, aware of the strength holding her. A solid rock of muscle and bone, determination and resolve. The symbols on her palm prickled and begged to be united with their other half. Sliding them over the silky coverlet, she sought Ancel's hand and entwined her fingers with his. Warrior's hands, twice the size of hers. Capable of brute strength and, sometimes, this spine-chilling subtlety. She breathed in time with Ancel, enjoying the brief interlude of contentment while the symbols whispered their reassurance and became one.

  "It's locked,” Ancel said, following her gaze to the door. His words tumbled out in a rush. “Carine, we must be ready. When they bring more food, we'll make a break for it. There's a double-door system and if I'm quick enough, I'll be able to jump the guard and take his weapon. They won't be expecting it so soon, so we'll have surprise on our side.” He stopped for breath, shoulders heaving.

  "No, it's too soon. They'll be expecting it more than ever now. We must bide our time. Wait until they become complacent. Earn ourselves privileges. Please don't do anything rash."

  Ancel closed his eyes, his mouth a grim line. “Why won't you trust me? Why won't you let me repay my debt?"

  "I never wanted your life.” She reached up to stroke his newly-shaved cheek. A droplet of blood oozed from a razor-nick and the sword-gash on his jaw looked raw and red. “The Wish chose to save you. I must honour that by keeping you alive the best way I know how."

  "I can't go without you. You know that. And if you don't come willingly, we won't get far."

  Willingly? She had no doubt that he would take her by force if the opportunity arose, and part of her begged him to make that decision for her. Naked and still half asleep, she would gladly have gone without a murmur of protest, wherever he chose to take her.

  "I need you with me,” he said a note of resignation in his voice. “Carine..."

  The room was simply furnished—a bed, a chest upon which lay a short, crimson gown. A low table held the remnants of a meal. A large mirror hung on one wall and an open door revealed a bathing room with a small tub and other facilities. The flooring was of plain wood, covered only by a small rug. Bars at the window. A solid metal door. A prison, without doubt.

  The room went out of focus as the dream-state called her back. Carine closed her eyes and sank deeper against Ancel. He groaned softly as her fingers skimmed his smooth chest, moaned again when her lips followed. She didn't want to think about risking their lives to escape when they could be doing this instead. Perhaps when she'd tasted him, and touched him, and made him moan some more, she'd be ready to make that grand futile gesture he seemed so determined on.

  The sheet slipped away, exposing her breasts. He'd seen it all, every part of her, but still his breath caught and his heart tripped and skittered. The symbols refused to be parted and made her bold. She held him tighter and, taking his other hand, guided it to her aching nipples. Hesitant at first, he hovered for a long moment, ghosting over her skin, making her strain for him, until at last his long fingers closed over her and took command.

  "Yours,” she breathed, empowered by the desperation in his touch. It was her job to keep him alive, to stop him running headlong to his doom. Lying back against the pillows, she drew him down to her, shifting to allow him space on the bed.

  He followed, giving up the battle of wills in favour of the comfort she was so freely offering. The Wish had saved his life—that she was proud of—but the Bonding had been poorly done. Too much haste and without the usual ceremony, it had been a shock to them both. Worst of all, there had been no completion and without that how would they ever know peace?

  Even as her body yielded to his touch, she remembered her vow to find a way to release him. Would completion only strengthen the Bond and make it harder to break, or would it simply bring the blessed relief they both so urgently sought?

  The struggle with her conscience lasted mere seconds. Enough time for the sheet to slip from the bed and Ancel's large body to cover hers. Despite her inexperience with men, the Bonding, knew exactly what each of them wanted and needed. Ancel held himself above her on rigid arms, his hips dipping into the cradle of hers. Separated only by the thin cloth of his pants, she could feel his desire, the heat of his thick hard cock seeking her out, moving in a sensuous rhythm that was as old as time.

  Warm lips touched the underside of her jaw. Hot breath moist on her skin. The friction of his sliding hips, too much and not enough. She raised her hips to get closer, tugged at the waistband of his pants to free him. He pressed closer, stopping her hand. In this, at least, he seemed determined to have his way.

  "Let me give us both relief,” he said, breathless. “The rest is too complicated for now."

  "Yes, Ancel. Whatever you want. Just don't stop..."

  "What I want is to take you somewhere, away from here, and fuck you swift and hard and deep.” His hips moved faster, his weight heavy on her. She pulled him close, startled and excited by his words. Desperate to go there with him.

  "Then I'd make love to you.” His hand slipped between their bodies, his fingers where she so desperately needed them. “Slow and easy. A knight always lets his lady come first. Let go, Carine. I'll be right there with you."

  His arms trembled and she hung on tight to stop herself falling, at the same time determined to take him with her when she did. A futile gesture since there was no stopping the wave that overwhelmed and engulfed them both. The words, as much as what he did to her, tugged her under and then tossed her breathless and gasping on the shore. Now Ancel lay beside her, his chest heaving to pull in deep breaths. He looked as if he'd been tortured, and enjoyed every minute of it.

  "Your hands...” She blinked, taking in the sight of his bloodied knuckles, having no other conversation at that moment other than, where did my breath go, and please can we do that again? The grazes looked new enough to have happened since they'd arrived here.

  "They separated us. Yesterday. I lost my temper."

  "I don't remember that."

  "You were dead on your feet.” He swung himself into a sitting position and stretched out. Slid from the bed, ignoring the wet patch on his pants. Carine lay still, too relaxed to move. Naked and exposed. A little bereft, even though Ancel had walked only a few steps away. Why wasn't he holding her? Whispering sweet words of gratitude to her?

  No. She sat up, drawing her knees to her. That was unfair. He was trying to do the right thing. They both were, even if their ideas on the best course failed to mesh. He'd given them both what they needed. Helped to diffuse the tension, although now that he was standing, he looked anything but relaxed. More like a caged bear she'd once seen in a travelling show. The poor animal had done nothing but walk back and forth in its tiny cage, out of its mind with boredom and despair. Ancel did the same, almost as if he'd forgotten about her. Winding himself more tightly on each sweep of the room. Eventually he stopped, forehead pressed to the wall, thumping hard with a flat palm, as if he were trying to demolish it with his bare hands.

  Carine could only witness his frustration. Of course she'd run with him if the opportunity arose, but to go now—when their new master hadn't even begun to extract their value—would be sheer madness. They'd have every bounty hunter on the planet out looking for them.

  Ancel stopped hitting the wall and turned to lean back against it, head tilted upwards. Carine took the opportunity to slip from the bed and pick up the dress. It moved lik
e liquid fire in her hands, shimmering and flowing through her fingers. The fabric almost seemed alive and was like nothing she'd ever seen. Ancel paid her no heed and remained in his catatonic position by the wall. Disconnected from her, for now.

  Giving him the space he needed, she tiptoed carefully past him to the bathing room, the dress her shield. Acceptance was key to surviving this ordeal—if only she could get him to see that. He wore his scars like badges of honour. A testament to his determination to always meet the fight head on and live life on his own terms. This would be a hard lesson for him to learn.

  Wear the dress, bow the head and smile when asked. The mirror in the bathing-room reflected what others would see. A woman resigned to her fate, someone who would submit when required, who gave no cause for alarm. The streak of determination and the hope that still lived deep inside, she would keep hidden from everyone, but Ancel.

  The dress adjusted itself to her figure, outlining her curves, dipping into her waist. It fell to mid-thigh, the same length as the summer clothing she might have worn at home. A little more revealing perhaps, although she'd always felt comfortable within her skin. But here she would be subject to a scrutiny she was unused to and unprepared for. Ancel looked as if he wanted to eat her whole and the others would regard her as merely an object to be used and thrown on the midden when they'd finished with her.

  "Carine."

  Ancel stood in the doorway, eyes guarded. Showing no reaction to the spectacular dress. He spoke in a monotone. “You're wanted."

  Her heart jumped against her ribs. Behind Ancel, she glimpsed a figure in the bedroom, one she vaguely recognised as the door-man. “Vin?" she mouthed softly. Ancel gave her an almost imperceptible nod of his head, but otherwise showed no outward emotion. With one last glance at her hacked-off hair, which she thankfully had no time to angst over, she replied in kind—an emotionless “Oh” and a slight widening of the eyes. Ancel steered her into the room, one hand resting lightly on her back. He let it linger. She was glad of the comfort.