The Moon Child's Wish

by Candy Nicks

  "Can we get on with this?” Ancel swallowed down the bile in his throat, everything focused on outward calm. She liked her men stubborn, but, he suspected, not too much so. Dealing with her would be like walking a path strewn with broken glass.

  "Disrobe."

  Ancel emptied his mind as best he could and tuned out the watching guards. Humiliation was the first lesson of slavery, and one he was learning to accommodate. His honour more than a little ragged about the edges now. The blacks and whites, the clearly defined rights and wrongs of his past, were fast being replaced by the dirty greys of this desperate new life. He pulled off his tank and unfastened his pants, pushing the tight leather down to bunch against the leg restraints. Brynn studied the floor, intently. The other two guards stared fixedly at the mirror. Ancel stood, unblinking, waiting for the enemy to reveal itself.

  "It pleases me. Restrain him."

  Ancel bit back his anger. “That will not be necessary. I told you, there will be no trouble."

  "You heard her. Get over to there.” The guard shoved him hard, making him stumble. Each grabbing an arm, they hauled him to the bed and snapped one wrist into the restraints hanging on the bedstead.

  "You may remove the leg restraints."

  They went, along with his pants. With one arm clamped to the metal bedpost, Ancel waited for the Mistress to show herself. The door opened to reveal Vin, instead, flushed and flustered and resplendent in a green wig.

  "Thank the Gods,” he said, waving his arms. “You're co-operating. I was so worried you'd put up a fight.” He glanced pointedly at Ancel's crotch. “Fluffer,” he screeched. “Got to get it up, darling. She won't take kindly to that."

  Ancel gave him his best stare. “One day, Vin. When your mind's finally gone. I'll be there. Just remember that."

  "She asked for Carine.” Vin adjusted his wig and turned away from the mirror, speaking in a stage whisper. “Have you any idea how much persuading it took to change her mind? Just so your head doesn't get too swollen, you're very much a second choice, Ancel-baby. This better be good, or we're all for it."

  "No pressure then?” Ancel pulled experimentally at the restraints, causing the guards to leap into action, weapons at the ready. “Get her in here so I can show her a good time, will you?” he said pleasantly.

  "Hard and fast, that's all she requires. You don't make the first move, you don't talk unless she speaks first. You hearing me?"

  "Loud and clear."

  A young woman clad in only a thin, transparent shift pushed open the door. Ancel vaguely recognised her. She walked without hesitation towards him and kneeled at his feet, hands resting on his bare thighs.

  "Jana will be your fluffer for tonight. Think happy thoughts and we'll all get to keep our eyes. Comprende?” Vin prodded Jana with his foot. “Get to work, will you? Time's a-wasting."

  For a terrible moment Ancel thought nothing was going to happen. The Mistress wanted Carine? Over his dead body. Leaning back on his elbows, he concentrated on the feel of the woman's expert hands on him and prayed. Jana's blank obedience bothered him more than Vin's avid appraisal of his progress. Once upon a time he would have defended her honour with everything he had; she was an Eagle maiden, he could tell by her bright yellow hair, and therefore worthy of his sword. But in this upside-down world they were nothing, each of them concerned only with their own survival. Compassion—a precious commodity, and the longer he lived this life, the less he felt for others. Carine was his sole concern.

  The guards studiously ignored them, eyes fixed on the door for the arrival of their boss. The symbols made their displeasure known in no uncertain terms. Stabbing pains pierced Ancel's palm and the noise in his head threatened to deafen him.

  "Okay, that'll have to do,” Vin said, pulling Jana away. “Get this on and I'll bring her in. And for the Gods, do your duty well, Ancel.” He flung a protective sheath onto the bed and shoved Jana towards the door. Throughout the whole ordeal she hadn't uttered a single word, or caught his eye. Ancel envied her detachment, drug-induced though it undoubtedly was.

  In the event, the whole sordid affair lasted mere minutes. The Mistress was a grizzled old decadent wearing an eye-patch and an ill-fitting wig that kept threatening to slip from her head. Even Vin turned away as she struggled unsuccessfully to impale herself on Ancel's large cock. She was way too dry, and the hell Ancel would help her with that. Eventually he grabbed her by the hip and thrust upwards twice. Her eyes widened in surprise and he felt a very tiny ripple of orgasm take her. He shoved upwards again, deliberately hurting her. Not wanting her to remember him for giving her what was probably her first climax for years.

  She clambered off him, taking Vin's hand to stop herself falling. Adjusted her clothing and walked from the room with neither a comment nor a second glance. Leaving Ancel with no idea whether he'd pleased her or whether he'd just sealed his own doom. He flung off the sheath in disgust and let out a long breath, understanding what Carine had been trying to impress on him. Honour had no place here.

  The guard unshackled him. Vin silently placed his clothes on the bed. No one seemed to know where to look. The relief was palpable and perhaps mingled with some gratitude from his captors for his sacrifice. The guards kept a respectful distance on the way back to the cell. Almost as if he'd passed some kind of test and was one of them now. No longer the high and mighty Ancel, Eagle warrior. Now, simply a man who would do anything to survive. Carine had begged him compromise his honour. He'd done it, but he had to wonder how easily she would forgive him for it.

  * * * *

  Brynn didn't offer details and Carine didn't ask. Denial was the best way to deal with this.

  "I want to see Vin. Take me to him."

  "He's sick. Gone for some down time."

  "Jana, then. I'll go talk to Jana."

  Brynn unlocked the door and waved her through. “She's not someone you want to be with right now."

  "I don't want to know what happened. I don't care.” Carine raised her hands to fend off the truth. “Don't tell me. Please."

  "Hell on earth. What have you done to your hand?"

  "Nothing.” Carine clenched her fist, unable to stop the small groan of pain it caused her.

  Brynn pinned her against the door-frame with his thigh and gently uncurled her fingers. “Like hell you don't care. You want him to see this?"

  "I ... No, I don't."

  "Come on then.” He led her to the medical station, glancing inside to see if it was occupied before steering her through the door. “Sit down,” he said and turned for the dressings-box.

  She sat on the edge of the low cot, watching his broad, armour-clad back while he rooted through the supplies. The way he so-carefully held her hand and cleaned the wound with such infinite tenderness, completely absorbed in his task, didn't speak of a man with no heart.

  "You have a gift for healing, Brynn.” She kept very still and let him work. He grunted in dismissal. She pressed on, regardless.

  "Had you been a Moon-Child, you would have been chosen for training at an early age. Healers are a gift to the community."

  "What are you going to tell him?” He gave her a wry smile. “You're starting to look pretty beat up."

  "About this?” She inspected the neat dressing. Another battle-scar to add to the rest. Were they proof of her progress, or her despair? She didn't know. “I'll tell him I fell."

  "You just happened to fall on the marks?"

  "What else can I say?"

  "Tell him I did it. Give him a reason to challenge me."

  "Brynn, no. I won't do that. You know it."

  He blew out a resigned breath. “Going to happen sooner or later. How does it work?” He nodded at the covered symbols.

  "You give your Wish-in-hand, then you can take one back for the Bonding."

  "It's for life?"

  "I'd always thought so. But there may be a way to break the Bond, if needed.” She hopped from the cot and waited while he tidied up the supplies.

&nb
sp; "Oh. How?"

  Outwardly casual, she didn't miss the brief pause and tightening of his shoulders when she'd mentioned breaking the Bond. “A Crystal. I'd need a new Crystal."

  "Not easy to come by. Ready to go back?"

  No. “Yes ... Brynn, what happened?"

  "Thought you didn't want to know."

  "Just tell me yes or no?"

  "Yes."

  Her heart plummeted into her shoes, even as her chin lifted in steely resolve. “Good. I'm glad it went ... well for him."

  "And that's all you need to know. Don't torture yourself over it. It's nothing.” Brynn lifted a hand and ghosted it over the length of her hair. She shivered. His eyes widened. Then the moment was gone. “Want to go outside for a while? You must miss that."

  Her reluctance to return to their cell and face Ancel must have shown on her face. Cowardly, yes, but both she and Ancel needed time to process this turn of events. The symbols needed time to accommodate the fact that this relationship no longer had the luxury of being exclusive.

  "Please ... could we?"

  Brynn was perceptive enough to realise that she needed time out, but she saw plainly his need to keep her to himself for a while longer. Another trade-off. He'd tended to her, she would give him this. He led her through a small door at the top of the building, which opened out onto a surprising roof garden. Similar in style to the gardens surrounding the O, there were seats, a central fountain and shady canopies. A gently scented breeze wafted over them, pleasantly cool after the stifling humidity below.

  "Climate control.” Brynn flicked open a panel on the wall. “How do you like it? Hot, warm, breezy? We have fifty-five different types of birdsong."

  "This is fine,” she said, unable to resist extending her arms and lifting her face to the sky. Freedom. She let the breeze rustle her skirts and listened to the music of the water splashing into the fountain. The sound drew her and she pictured the waterfalls and lakes of her home-land.

  "Moon-Children like water, right?"

  "We're drawn to open water. It's something I miss dearly."

  "Go on then."

  She slipped off her shoes and stepped gracefully into the fountain, filling her hands with the cascading water. It splashed onto her hair, plastering it to her head. Soaked into the thin fabric of her dress. Its vitality seeped into her pores and reminded her of things she was starting to forget. Brynn stood back, arms folded. Allowing her to simply be. And, undoubtedly mesmerised by the way the wet dress clung to her every curve. She didn't care. In this hell-hole, this was a small piece of heaven. Let Brynn look.

  Eventually, she stepped from the fountain, shivering a little in the cooling breeze. Brynn flicked another switch and the breeze increased, warmer now so she could dry off. She wandered to the edge and looked over. Below she saw people scurrying about their daily grind. Beyond the club's perimeter, the City in full flow. The smoke and pall of saffron smog which hovered over the industrial quarter. Outside the city walls lay more mines and the wasteland their workings created. And beyond that ... She turned away. One day she would return. One day...

  In a shady corner, she spotted a bubbling hot-tub and gazed at it with longing.

  "We can't stay,” Brynn said, following her gaze. He flicked a glance at his wrist-chronometer. “Ready to go back?"

  "I am. Thank you for this."

  "You owe me for it."

  She managed a smile for him. “I know.” The brief lifting-of-her-spirits evaporated as they made their way down the stairs to be replaced by a net full of butterflies flying frantically about in her gut. She wanted desperately to see Ancel, but was terrified of what she would find.

  Brynn felt her hesitation and urged her forward with a hand on her back. “Acceptance is the only way through."

  "I know."

  He reached for the door-lock. “Whatever happens, you've got a friend Carine."

  She gave his hand a grateful squeeze and prepared to enter the room. “I know that too,” she said.

  * * * *

  Part of her wanted to find the room empty; Ancel usually dealt with his frustrations in the training room. No such luck. Already washed and changed into a soft white shirt and loose pants, he stood in his usual place at the window, hands deep in his pockets. Still as a rock. A droplet of water dripped from his hair onto the damp shirt. He'd obviously been in a hurry to wash away the evidence.

  He didn't turn around.

  What does he need? To talk about it? Silent support? What would she need at a time like this?

  To pretend it had never happened, that's what. Whatever he'd done, he did for her. It didn't make it any less painful, but it did make it more tolerable. Still without turning around, he slid the hand bearing the symbols from his pocket and extended it. She ran to him, grateful that he'd broken the ice and wrapped her uninjured hand around his. He glanced down.

  "I see.” He shook her off and placed his hand flat on the window frame, bracing himself. “I understand."

  "What? No, you don't. I didn't mean..."

  "Look, Carine, it happened. You're angry with me, I can understand that. But don't play games with me. You, of all people, know why I did it. Please at least tell me I haven't got that wrong."

  "You did right, Ancel. I don't blame you for what you did.” She leaned her cheek onto his back and hugged him, tightly. He always felt so warm and solid. The blood pulsing around his body, his heartbeat heavy and strong. She loved the way he smelled, so clean and vital. Energy pulsed off him in waves, pent up tension that needed an outlet.

  "You no longer wish to join with me because of it?"

  "I hurt my hand,” she said, feebly.

  "How?"

  "When they took you. I ... I was distraught."

  He turned her hand palm upwards and inspected the dressing without comment. “It hurts,” she said. “That's the only reason I didn't use it."

  He held his out in silent challenge. The symbols strained and whimpered for each other. Carine slipped her injured hand into his, sighing when the symbols found each other. Biting back the pain when Ancel closed his fingers tightly about hers. Whether to make a point, or because he needed her, she didn't know.

  "I'm not going to talk about it."

  "Whatever you want, Ancel."

  "Just so you know. After the show tonight, I'll sleep on the floor."

  "He won't put you on. Not after..."

  His fingers clenched, making her grind her teeth. She tried to wriggle free, to no avail.

  "Made a deal with him, have you? You'll be visiting Jana later? Brynn maybe?"

  "You're hurting me. Let go."

  "Not until you answer my question."

  "I'll be with you, tonight. Either on that stage, or here in our bed."

  He slackened his hold. Bringing their joined hands to his mouth, he placed a kiss on her fingers. “I can't. Not tonight."

  "I don't mind."

  "Don't push me on this, Carine.” He was staring at the dressing, nodding slightly, his expression difficult to read. “I think Brynn is going to challenge me."

  "He won't.” She answered too quickly. Unflinching, Ancel kept up his quiet appraisal, his gaze travelling to her damp hair and dress.

  "You already know?"

  "Yes.” No point in lying. “He promised me he wouldn't."

  "Don't keep secrets from me."

  "I don't."

  "And don't lie to me either.” He held up the palm bearing the symbols. “Do you think these don't tell me when you're lying? That they don't scream out their pain here, in my head? What were you up to when I was downstairs? Why weren't you here to meet me? Why is your dress wet? Do you know how much agony is it, loving you? Why didn't you let me die, back there in the slave cage? Why?"

  She stepped back from the large angry man towering over her. Sometimes he was just that; a man driven to distraction by circumstances he didn't understand. A warrior who could snap her neck with one hand. He stayed in place, allowing her to move out of his re
ach. Distraught, but too proud to show it or ask for the comfort he needed. And at that moment, she was too scared to offer it.

  Night fell without a word spoken between them. Vin left them in peace; ironic since the atmosphere in their small room held anything but that. Ancel lay, fully dressed on the hard floor. A pillow snatched from the bed under his head. She lay fully dressed on the bed, watching the rise and fall of his dark silhouette as he pulled in each tight breath. Her heart overflowing with love.

  Slipping from the bed, she crossed the few strides to his makeshift bed, pulling the dress over her head as she did so. Ancel rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. Before he could speak she kneeled at his side and pressed her lips to his in a lingering kiss which both forgave and asked for forgiveness. His large familiar hand closed over a breast, guiding it to his mouth when she broke the kiss. She moaned with relief as his tongue lapped at her nipple and his other hand tugged impatiently at the waistband of her panties. He stopped, and grabbing the material with both hands, tore them from her and dragged her up, to kneel over his face, his mouth already seeking her out.

  He wouldn't let her touch him, or undress him. Or make love to him. But he did show her that he was still there for her. That what they had between them could weather the storms ahead. She lured him back to their bed, ignoring the blink and swivel of the camera high on the wall. Whoever was watching could look and learn. She tucked into Ancel's side, tired but too agitated to sleep. Able to offer him at last, the comfort he craved.

  While he slept, she indulged in a fantasy—or did she dream it? Ancel and her, standing at the door of their own dwelling, a proud, tall building of mellow stone and gleaming windows. The garden a riot of flowers and vegetables all growing cheek by jowl. Running water, the hot sun overhead. Children at their feet. She drifted away reminding herself that she needed to tackle Vin about the Crystal. Wondering what part Brynn was to play in this unfolding drama. He'd be a powerful ally. But at what price?

  Perhaps her soul wasn't all that would be required in her quest to set Ancel free.