The Moon Child's Wish

by Candy Nicks

"If you were there also."

  By the Goddess, love was humbling. His words brought tears to her eyes. She'd cried very little since their arrival, too intent on practical matters like staying alive and planning their escape to indulge herself in useless tears. Desperate as their situation was, the flame of hope still burned in her heart. She wiped the tears away, wondering if they were because he loved her, or because she knew that in reality he didn't. While he adamantly insisted that his feelings for her were real, the Moon-Child in her knew the truth.

  "I've been timing the guards. Watching their movements below. They fall into a pattern we can exploit, if you do as I say."

  When she started, inevitably, to protest, he closed in and held her fast, one hand covering her mouth. “No, hear me out. These past few weeks I've been watching, and learning. I know how to get us out. Vin is sick. Have you noticed he must be near death? He's getting easier to block—that means he's weakening and we regain the element of surprise. We can easily take him, and make him give up the access codes. Just a question of picking our moment and we'll be away from here."

  He removed his hand, allowing her to breathe normally again, although with her heart thumping so anxiously, getting air into her lungs was difficult.

  "I miss the sunset too. We will see it again, I'm sure of that."

  "You won't have a choice,” he said moving closer. “When I decide the time is right, you will come with me."

  "Don't do anything rash. It's all I ask. Wait a few days before acting. We'll plan it properly. Together. Please ... You die, I die, remember."

  He wouldn't let her join the symbols. From somewhere he found the strength to resist their irresistible pull. To prove his point, he held her fast in his arms, allowing her to breathe, but no more. At the sound of the communication buzzer, however, he dropped a swift kiss to her hair and stepped away. High on the wall, the camera swivelled and tracked his movements. A deep growl of a voice issued a curt order.

  "Into the bathing-room, warrior, and close the door. Carine, get yourself over here."

  "Fuck you,” Ancel replied pleasantly and turned back to the window.

  "Move, warrior. You know what will happen if you don't."

  "Go.” Carine shooed him away and moved to the door, knowing that whenever they were opened the guards preferred Ancel well out of the way. “I asked to go and talk with Jana. I won't be long."

  "Don't be.” Ancel fixed the camera with a glare and sauntered to the bathing-room, closing the door. They'd be watching him in there too should the camera be uncovered, making sure he wasn't about to rush the guards. The guards entered, eyes sweeping the room. One hugged a blast-gun to his chest, the other a smaller, stun-gun.

  "You. Over there.” The guard indicated the corner of the room with the barrel of his weapon. “Hands on your head, and don't move a muscle."

  Carine stepped back into the corner, watching their nervous glances at the bathing-room door. “What's going on? I was supposed to be visiting Jana."

  One of the guards turned his blast-gun on her, pressing it hard into her temple. “Call him out."

  "You want me to call him?"

  "Just do it, will you. Normal voice, got that?"

  She nodded slowly, not wanting to agitate the guard more than he already seemed to be. The other guard took up position behind the bathing-room door, stun gun at the ready.

  "What's going on?” She swallowed her terror. They'd come for Ancel, not her. But why all this? Even if he did try to run without her, the slave bracelet would disable his nervous system the moment he crossed the perimeter.

  In reply, the guard pushed the gun barrel harder into her forehead. With her back against the wall, it was all she could do to get a sound out her mouth. “Faylar,” she called. “You can come out now."

  The guard's brow creased at the unfamiliar name. “What did you call him?"

  "Faylar. It's his name,” she said, her voice trembling. “He's done everything they asked of him. Why the stun gun?” She made the last two words as loud as she dared, hoping that Ancel would pick up her warning. The door to the bathing-room remained closed. Behind it, silence.

  "Open the door, warrior. Walk out with your hands behind your head."

  They waited, still and tense. The door remained closed. The guard wielding the stun gun wiped his brow with his forearm and uttered a graphic curse. “Told you we should've brought back-up. Get on the blower and tell Brynn to get his lazy ass up here. Warrior, get out here now or we start on your woman. And that won't be pretty."

  "I'm all right,” she called out. “They wouldn't da—"

  The guards shoved her through the double security doors and into the corridor before she could finish. Brynn burst through the end doors, hair unkempt, still fastening his body-armour.

  "Get her somewhere secure, then come and give us back-up, you lazy son of whore,” the guard barked at him. He pointed back into the room with his thumb. “That one in there's more slippery than a slime-worm. The Mistress don't like being kept waiting and if she gets mad, we blame you. Got that?"

  "Yes sir.” Brynn sketched a brief salute then almost lifted Carine from the ground in his haste to get her away. She stumbled after him, gripped securely by his large hand on her arm, matching his long determined stride as best she could without falling over.

  "Does Vin know about this? I want to see Vin. Vin!” she screamed as they started on the stairs. She sent thoughts as well as words, already knowing that, in his weakened state, Vin had to be within touching distance to read them.

  "Stop with the squawking, will you? They'll bring him back—eventually.” Brynn stopped at one of the holding rooms and released the door catch. Still clutching her arm, he steered her inside, locking the inner door behind them.

  "What's going on, Brynn? Vin knows the bracelets would stop any escape. Why do they need the stun-gun?"

  Brynn leaned against the door, slowly looking her up and down. He smoothed back his short, spiky hair and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

  "Want one? They're good."

  She shook her head and swallowed down her panic. “The guard mentioned the Mistress. What does she want with Ancel?"

  It was a stupid question and Brynn was right to laugh.

  "Seems the Mistress has taken a fancy your man. Wants to see him in person, and she hardly ever does that. Means strict security. Better pray he can't get it up for her. He pleases her, and you've lost him."

  "Tell Vin I want to see him. Find him!” Now it was serious. Vin had mentioned blinding and all kinds of horrors in the same breath as their Mistress. And the thought of Ancel with another woman? The symbols prickled and stung her palm as she glared angrily at Brynn's smirking face. He lit his cigarette and blew out a nonchalant stream of smoke. Flicked the ash onto the tiles.

  "Vin might be queen here, but he does what the Mistress tells him. We all do. Stop being so hysterical, it's just an eminently forgettable fuck. You'd do the same for him—wouldn't you? Relax. If you'd seen our old hag of a Mistress, you'd realise that you've nothing to be jealous of."

  Jealousy? Is that what this leaden feeling inside was? She'd begged Ancel to understand that they should submit where they could. Bide their time. It was just sex. A physical act that meant nothing without love. He'd had many women; this would simply be one more.

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "What?” The symbols whimpered, pathetically, picking up on her distress and magnifying it. She clenched her fist tight, shaking with the effort to shut out their pain. She would do the same to save him. And expect him to understand. But the thought of Ancel debasing himself this way for her? Carine slid down the wall and sat, panting, on the floor. Too many threads to hold at once; she was losing control of it all.

  She raised her face to Brynn. “I'll let you have me, if you help us escape. That's what you want me to say, isn't it?"

  The cigarette hovered at his lips for a heartbeat, before he took a long careful drag.
“I'd rather fight for you."

  "You promised you wouldn't."

  "Then I'll buy your services. Cash in some bonuses."

  "I'm not a whore, Brynn."

  "You're whatever Vin decides you are. We all are, Carine.” He looked at her with something amounting to sympathy. She heard the resignation in his voice. “All the women here sell it. Some of the men too. Chance to make a few credits. Vin takes his cut. It's the way things work. I help you escape and I'm dead. That's a pretty big price to pay for a fuck."

  She turned away, leaning her cheek against the wall. With the Bonding in place it could never simply be anonymous sex for either her or Ancel. Escape would be so much easier without this heart-stopping possessiveness that gripped her every time she thought of him. She banged the symbols hard onto the floor. “Stop it,” she cried. “I hate you. I don't want to feel this any more. Leave me alone."

  Brynn dropped his cigarette and ground it underfoot. “Hey, calm down."

  "I won't calm down. Go back to the others and do your dirty work. They'll be wondering where you are. If you won't help me, then leave me alone."

  "I can't help you escape. I swore an oath which I won't break. Not even for you. Accept it, we're both stuck here."

  "I said leave me.” She jumped up and rounded on him, eyes blazing. “You're a coward, Brynn. The only one in this Goddess-forsaken place with any shred of humanity left in them, and you're too cowardly to see it. Or use it."

  "You're wrong.” He slammed his fist over his heart. “There is nothing left in here. Nothing."

  "Then you're as trapped as we are. What happened to you, Brynn? What brought you to this?"

  The glint of a knife-blade made her recoil. She eyed it warily, hoping she hadn't pushed him too far. Brynn towered over her, a trembling fist clenched about the handle.

  "You talk too much."

  "I know. It has always been a failing of mine."

  "You'd drive a man to distraction."

  "Where are you from? Tell me about your family."

  She sagged with relief when he slid the knife back into its sheath. Brynn didn't look like a City-dweller. His scarred skin was still sun-darkened, his eyes clear and undamaged. He still had all his fingers, which meant he wasn't yet in thrall to the Quatross gangs. And his hair still grew straight and strong.

  "I have no family. No past and no heart."

  "And no future, Brynn. No future. Think about that."

  "I've got to go. Save your energy and stop thinking altogether. It's less painful that way."

  His frustration showed in the slamming of the door. Hers in the insistent throbbing of the symbols. Goddess! This was a curse, not a blessing. Ancel, an Eagle warrior, everything she should hate. Yet, here she was, all but tearing out her heart for him.

  Wildly, she looked around the room. Martha said cut the symbols out to sever the connection. Carine jumped up and flung open the storage chest. Raced into the bathing-room in search of something sharp. Nothing. The razor was powered. The toothbrush handle blunt and spongy. She found an abrasive panel on the wall and rubbed her palm frantically against it. Obliterate the symbols and she wouldn't have to care about Ancel caressing another woman's body. His mouth on her.

  She rubbed harder, streaking the wall with blood until the symbols sobbed out their pain. Or was that her crying? Cradling her aching palm, she rocked back onto her heels and took a deep breath. Martha had been deluded. The marks were merely a manifestation of something that was a part of them. Cut off a hand and the connection would remain. Leaning over the tub, Carine opened the tap and held her throbbing palm under the cooling stream of water. Ancel killed for her, and he would do this for her. Her task was to endure it, and most importantly of all, to forgive him.

  "I'm sorry,” she said, rational again. “We will endure until I can find my Magic again.” She placed a kiss to her bloodied palm and pushed away the thought of making love with Ancel, after he'd been with the Mistress.

  Chapter 9

  The stun-gun caught him in mid-chest. A weak charge, designed only to drop him, not completely disable him. Instantly, he sprang up, lunging on rubbery legs at the blurred image of the guard. Another charge hit his shoulder, dropping him again. This time he stayed down, teeth gritted against the pain, chest heaving for breath.

  "Why?” he ground out. “Where's Carine?"

  The guard bent down and snapped him into leg restraints then kicked him in the side for good measure. “Because we can. Get up and start walking. Mistress wants to see you."

  "You only had to ask.” Ancel levered himself from the tiles. “What does she want?"

  "What do you think? Now get."

  He didn't want to think. Nothing made sense any more. He'd humiliated himself for Carine. Done everything they'd asked. And still he was in chains. “Where is she?"

  "Safe, for now. You know the drill."

  "Fine. Let's get this over.” He watched the third guard sidle in through the door, blast-gun in hand. Younger than the others, he stood by waiting for orders, his expression carefully blank.

  "Well, thanks for deigning to join us, Brynn. She somewhere safe?"

  "Yes sir."

  "What kept you? Better watch out, warrior. Brynn's got designs on your woman.” The guard smirked and dug his elbow into Brynn's ribs. “Don't you lad?"

  Brynn lifted his head, neither denying, nor admitting to the charge. Meeting Ancel's bleary gaze with just a hint of challenge. “Move,” he ordered, waving his blast-gun. “Mistress doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  "Easy to be brave, when I'm like this,” Ancel replied. “If you've touched her, you and I are going to have words.” He knocked Brynn's shoulder as they prodded him through the door. Brynn stood his ground, unflinching. Giving no indication that he'd heard the threat. Ancel resigned himself to yet another inevitable confrontation and concentrated on getting one foot in front of the other without falling flat on his face. Where was Carine? The symbols strained vainly to connect, distinctly agitated in a way they'd never been before. He rubbed his palm against his pant leg in an effort to quell the fierce tingling. Something was wrong. Either with Carine, or had the symbols picked up on what was about to happen?

  He stopped abruptly, almost causing the following guard to fall over him. “I'm going nowhere until I know she's all right."

  The guard lifted his boot and shoved him forwards. “Get on with it, will you? We haven't got all day. Put in a good performance and your woman will be fine.” His colleague sniggered. Brynn pressed his lips together, almost as if he were trying to stop himself speaking out. Ancel had no option but to stumble on until they reached their destination—a dimly-lit and windowless room in the basement.

  He moved his arms, discreetly, trying to get his system working again. Flexed his fingers and leg muscles. Fortunately, apart from a slight numbness, every thing seemed to be returning to normal. He'd been so concerned about Carine, that he hadn't given much thought to why he was here. Now, he glanced around at the fur-covered bed and mirrored walls and realised that this was where the male and female slaves earned themselves a few credits when they could. The symbols throbbed in protest. Don't do this, they urged. You belong to Carine. There can be no other.

  "Stand there and look that way,” the guard ordered. “Brynn, tell the Mistress we're ready."

  Ancel turned to the central mirror, his mind in turmoil. He'd bested men twice his size. The Mistress was a mere woman, albeit a powerful one. Fuck her, or whatever else she demanded of him, and go? What could be easier? Brynn moved to the back of the room and pressed a button on the communication grille. The sharp buzz split the silence, cutting through the tension. Speaking into it, he announced their presence and then stood back against the wall, blast-gun held tight to his chest.

  "Come and watch, laddie,” The head guard beckoned him over, grinning from ear to ear. “You'll see nothing from there."

  "I'll stay here if it's all the same to you, sir."

  The head guard rais
ed his eyes to the ceiling and nudged his companion. They both laughed at some secret joke. “You're a fool, Brynn. Fresh young thing like you?” He nodded to the mirror. “She'd have you like a shot."

  "Lights are on, sir. She's here."

  "Oh.” Both guards snapped to attention, faces carefully neutral. “You do everything she asks and we might all walk out of here intact,” the head guard said to Ancel out of the corner of his mouth. “Piss her off and you'll never see your woman again. And I'm talking literally here, get my meaning?"

  "I got it the first time.” Ancel stared straight ahead. What would the other side of the mirror reveal? It had to be a two-way, the Mistress inspecting the goods. And the way Brynn was practically cowering in the corner of the room didn't inspire confidence that this would be a pleasant experience.

  "There is insurance?"

  Ancel tensed, looking instinctively around, trying to pinpoint the source of the surprisingly feminine voice. A metallic edge indicated a voice-changer, yet the tone was conversational rather than confrontational.

  "We have his woman confined. He's safe."

  "What do I call you, slave?"

  Instinctively, Ancel pressed his lips together. He would play this game, but not all to her rules.

  "Ancel.” The guard answered for him, giving him a warning poke in the ribs.

  "He has no voice?"

  "Stubborn, Mistress. As you like them."

  "Indeed I do.” The voice held a hint of amusement. “Is he safe to unchain? Obtain his guarantee."

  Another poke in the ribs. “Guarantee her safety on you and your woman's life,” the guard ordered through gritted teeth.

  "You have nothing to fear from me.” The words choked Ancel. The thought of his hands about the Mistress's neck, squeezing out her miserable life, comforted him. Without Carine in the mix, he would gladly have taken the bitch to the afterlife with him.

  "You may recite my promise."

  "Oh ... yes, Mistress.” For the first time, the guard appeared to lose some of his bravado. He coughed and spoke quickly. “Resistance to the Mistress is punishable by blinding. Eyes will be removed and ... served for dinner. Harm to the Mistress is punishable by slow death. Do you understand?"