by Anna Carven
“If you try and steal them away, the Vradhu will try and fight you.”
“I’ll incinerate them,” he growled.
“And risk injuring my people? I’d never forgive you, especially if you killed one of my girls.”
“What do you want, Esania?” His voice deepened to a growl, and she sensed she dancing on the very edge of his patience. But still, this was her one and only chance.
“Take me with you. We’ll bring them back with or without the Vradhu.” Secretly, she fully intended to have the purple-skinned warriors around, but she could try and negotiate that later. This was a start, and the situation was fluid. “If they see that I’m unharmed, they’ll relax a little. I’ll convince them to come.”
Imril considered her for a moment, before leaning in close, breathing in her scent, absorbing the faintest amount of her energy. “Very well,” he said at last. “We will go and track down your people, but first you need to rest. I will not fly until you are at full strength.” He gave her a stern look that made her insides melt a little. Damn it. “One favor, Esania. That is all. Actually, it is two favors, but I will humor you just this once.” He went still, his eyes flicking up and down over her body, studying her with blistering intensity. “Then you will serve me for as long as I need you.”
“As long as you need me?” Her eyebrow twitched.
“Don’t look at me like that, Esania. I’m not some mindless savage. You will be well taken care of.”
She shot him a dark look. “In exchange, I just need to provide you with an unlimited supply of my life-force, right?” The thought filled her with a weird mixture of horror and anticipation. “What exactly are you planning, Drakhin?”
Imril folded his arms, the movement accentuating his glorious biceps. He really was a study in power; tall, muscular, radiating a sense of barely contained tension. His closeness put her on edge; she wanted to run from this deadly creature, but at the same time a dark part of her craved his touch.
“I’m going to take back what’s left of my world,” he said softly. “I made a mistake, and it cost me three hundred revolutions and my empire.”
“Mistake?”
“I grew complacent. It seems that the worst kinds of betrayals occur from within.”
“Sounds familiar,” she said dryly, thinking of Earth’s long, checkered history. “Does that have something to do with you flying around naked, looking for a defenseless human to abduct?”
“Huh.” He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “I entered the fray much too late. They had engineered a virus that was fatal to Drakhin, and they unleashed it inside my territory. By the time I reached the battlefield, I was infected. I thought I was dying.”
“And you tried to take all of them down with you… A pyrrhic victory, rather than defeat?”
“Am I that predictable, or are you some sort of telepath?”
“Just a scholar of history and a student of character. When you read enough, you get a feeling for how these sorts of things usually pan out.”
Surprise flitted across his elegant features. “I did not think war would be common to all worlds. I thought that perhaps my kind were abnormally aggressive.”
“Oh, it is, believe me.” Except on Mars. Through strict behavioral controls, and by limiting the number of people allowed on Mars, the Primean race had managed to keep war and conflict away from the Red Planet for centuries.
But the Serakhine wasn’t perfect. Far from it. The orderly exterior hid dark secrets.
She’d found that out the hard way.
“Why didn’t the Plague kill you?” she asked, half-fearing the answer.
“I don’t know. Maybe because my brother and I are slightly different to the other Drakhin. We are far more powerful than the second generation, but we paid a price for that.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I don’t know much of anything anymore. I don’t know what’s become of my world since I fell.” He moved a fraction closer, and she swore she felt the chasm inside him; a hunger that was so deep and complex that she felt she was only scratching the surface.
A hunger he kept oh-so tightly controlled.
His power, his darkness, his unexpected, unpredictable tenderness… it was intoxicating.
“You are my Source,” he whispered, a dark smile curving his pale lips. “I don’t want any other. With your power, I am going to take back Khira.”
Stars, what have I done? Is this all a terrible mistake?
But she couldn’t afford to go back on her plan now. The stakes were too high. Esania stepped forward, her eyes locked on his. “The difference between me cooperating, or having to be dragged kicking and screaming to do your bidding, lies in whether I can trust you.” She leaned closer, challenging him. “Is there such a thing as honor in your culture, Drakhin?”
“For the right person,” he replied, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. “Is there such a thing as the willingness to take a risk in your culture, Esania? How do you know I won’t just go to where your people are and slaughter them all?”
Because you didn’t hurt Sara, even when you so easily could have. Because you protected her when Mael came for her.
Because you didn’t kill me, even when I practically invited you to.
“You… wouldn’t,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off his face, particularly his mouth. Those lush, sensual lips were so at odds with the hard lines of his face. His lips parted slightly, revealing a flash of sharp teeth.
“Be a good Source,” he murmured, “and perhaps I will give you the world. This little favor you ask of me… it is nothing compared to what I can do for you if you please me.”
“You can have my vir, but I can’t guarantee that I’ll please you. I can only be myself.”
“Maybe that is enough. I will do as you ask of me, human, but do not mistake my cooperation for kindness.”
“Fine.” Esania carefully concealed her surge of triumph. By using Primean logic, she’d just convinced a incredibly dangerous millennia-old being to protect her people. Was it risky? Sure. But she couldn’t stomach the thought of them staying in the wilderness, at constant risk of being attacked and abducted.
She considered all the possibilities and came to the conclusion that out of the two options, this was by far the better one.
Besides, Imril had the chance to feed from Sara, and he’d held back. Just now, he’d told Esania something profound and more than a little terrifying.
He only wanted her.
She was betting he wouldn’t try and feed off anyone else. She took a deep breath. “Now, there’s this small matter of cooking.”
“Cooking?” a look of bemusement spread across Imril’s face.
“Cooking.” Esania nodded, crossing her arms. “We humans actually prefer our meat cooked by fire instead of eaten raw.”
Not that she expected him to understand.
He, who didn’t even eat food.
She, who had never touched a cooking utensil in her life.
Ha.
She was about to explain the concept to him when her legs started to feel wobbly, and she had to put a hand out against the crumbling windowsill to steady herself. It was as if all the adrenaline had drained from her body in one huge rush, leaving her completely depleted.
“I have used you far too much,” Imril murmured, and for the very first time, she saw something else in his eyes—tenderness—and it floored her. “I won’t touch you again until you are ready. You need to rest.”
He stopped just short of apologizing, and Esania secretly wondered if he had ever said sorry to anyone in his life.
“Speaking of food…” He reached into his pocket. “Here.”
“Wh-what’s this?” Esania reached out and took the item. She stared at it for a moment, not quite comprehending. The sweet, slightly pungent smell of tchirrin berries filled the air, and it clicked. This was the pouch she’d dropped when Imril had swooped down and plucked her away from the Vradhu clan. “How did you find this?
”
One of the ripe fruits rolled out onto her palm. Out of impulse, she popped it into her mouth, and its delicate skin broke, releasing the sweet, soft, gooey, overripe flesh.
A cross between kiwifruit and watermelon and pineapple. That’s what it tasted like. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a streak of violet across her brown skin.
Then it occurred to her that Imril was staring at her intently, his gaze fixated on her mouth as she chewed.
“Mmhm?” What? Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. She swallowed the fruit, and Imril’s eyes dropped to her neck, and she could have sworn she heard a growling sound coming from deep within his chest.
A warm sensation flooded her body, rising into her cheeks and her ears, spreading right down into her core, seeping between her thighs, awakening something that she hadn’t thought even existed.
“You found this in the forest and brought it back… for me?”
Imril nodded. Now he was staring at her hands. Why was every single part of her body suddenly an endless source of fascination for him?
“You dropped it,” he murmured. “They should not go to waste.”
How unexpectedly… sweet. Esania curled her fingers around the pouch, holding onto it as if it were the most valuable gift in the Universe. The taste of tchirrin lingered on her tongue, and it was truly the most delicious thing she’d ever eaten.
She could almost feel its energy surging into her, replacing the vir Imril had taken.
“But you are tired,” Imril growled, “and that cut needs tending to. Rau!” He summoned his servant, switching from intense to tender to bossy to utterly imperious in a heartbeat. Esania could easily imagine him presiding over a court of equally domineering Drakhin.
Overlord.
Somehow, the title fit him perfectly, but it was just a drop in the ocean of his history.
Who the hell are you, Imril?
Chapter Twenty
They drifted over the forest, searching, searching, searching. Esania had quickly found out that Imril’s vision was much, much sharper than hers; he could spot tiny things on the ground from incredible heights.
Just like a damn eagle.
“Anything?” she asked hopefully as they circled the spot where Imril had abducted Sara, where the Naaga had fought against the Vradhu. It was as good a starting point as any. Esania squirmed in her bonds, trying to get used to the feeling of being thousands of feet above the surface of the planet while tethered to Imril’s hard, armor-encased body.
The so-called harness was a contraption of Imril’s making; a flat, ribbon-like black rope that felt like silk and was apparently incredibly strong. Rau had magicked it from somewhere deep within the ruins of the lake castle, and Imril had quickly and expertly trussed her up, making sure her back was pressed firmly against his torso, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.
It was crude, but it worked. Imril needed to have his hands free, just in case they were attacked, and Esania needed to be safely restrained.
The moment he’d taken off from the spire, jumping out of the crumbling window and getting them airborne with a few powerful strokes of his wings—that had been exhilarating… and terrifying.
And these bindings… she couldn’t help but feel that they were just a little bit naughty. Imril had assured her he’d tied it in a way that would enable him to release her in a flash just by pulling one of the ends, but to be bound to him in this way, all the while feeling the subtle flow of power from her body to his, feeling the hard planes of his body against her back.
This was a dream. A pleasurable nightmare. Her world had been turned upside down, and she was going crazy.
At least he wore full armor. The scaly barrier between them reduced the drift of vir quite significantly. It seemed she wasn’t going to end this day completely drained, unless he suddenly needed her power.
A strange thought occurred to her. If skin to skin contact caused him to suck the life right out of her each and every time, how were they ever going to be…
Close?
Her heart beat faster.
Intimate?
As they caught a swirling wind current, Imril wrapped his arms around her. He held her tightly as turbulence hit, swooping to a lower altitude. They shot through a bank of thick cloud, the fine mist turning into moisture as it hit Esania’s face, before quickly drying again.
Flying through clouds, held tightly in the arms of a winged alien, thinking about what he looks like underneath all that armor.
So much for her Primean values. She might as well be human.
“Down there,” Imril said suddenly, the wind stealing away part of his voice. “That’s the spot where I took the pregnant female.”
“Sara,” Esania corrected. “She has a name.”
“Yes. She was throwing stones at the Naaga from a distance.” Unexpectedly, he laughed. “They did not know how to deal with her.”
“Sara is a bit of a spitfire, in case you haven’t figured it out by now. Why did you choose her out of all the humans you saw?”
“I thought she would make a good alternative Source,” he said. “Her vir was extremely bright. Now I know why.”
“Let me guess. Pregnant women have a certain ‘glow’ about them?” She wondered if he understood irony.
“Two lives. I didn’t realize it at the time. My mistake.”
“Ah.” She shook her head. Well, at least this obstinate Drakhin admitted to his mistakes and faults.
“That’s the place there. We’re going down.”
“I can’t see anything.” Trees, trees, and more trees. That was all Esania could see.
Abruptly, Imril angled his wings and they dropped rapidly, causing Esania’s stomach to flip.
“I told you not to do that,” she grumbled, trying to slow her racing heart. No matter how long she stayed up in the air, she would never get used to the feeling of flying.
Imril didn’t say a word of apology, but he did slow down a little, easing Esania’s fear. “We are going to land and go on foot. I need to track their escape path from the ground.”
Phew. Solid ground sounded good right about now. Imril controlled their descent, pulling them into a feet-first position and spreading his wings.
They drifted downward, and the trees became bigger and bigger. Suddenly, she recognized the terrain. They were on the outskirts of their tiny makeshift village, a series of small, watertight huts that the Vradhu had built out of sekkhoi branches.
There was that small freshwater pond—the one they collected rainwater from, since the greater waterways were apparently full of poison. There was the small beaten path and the central fire pit. There was… a shoe. A harvest bag. A piece of torn cloth. A broken war-spear.
Signs of a struggle.
And the village… it was deserted.
They dropped through the canopy, and before Esania knew it, her feet were touching the rocky ground.
How surreal.
She didn’t even trip or overbalance. Imril had timed their descent perfectly, and she got the feeling he’d done this sort of thing a million times before.
But had he ever taken another passenger, besides her?
He was supposed to be thousands of years old. Of course he would have had other passengers, other… Sources.
He was the damned Overlord, whatever that meant.
A strange emotion rose up inside her, unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her life, and it took Esania a few moments to realize what it was.
Jealousy.
How very un-Primean. What was she turning into? Away from the neat hydro-gardens and atmosphere-controlled domes of Mars; away from the carefully controlled environment of the Serakhine, where emotions were diluted with medication and human behavior was frowned upon, every single thing she’d been taught in her life was being challenged.
And to think most other Primeans had labelled her a radical.
Ha.
She’d tried to introduce laws for
better treatment of humans on Mars, but most Primeans detested their Earthborn relatives, and thought of them as grossly inferior. Even after all these centuries, humans on Earth were still violent and self-serving and destructive.
But they could also be capable of great kindness and courage and ingenuity.
Most Primeans didn’t see that.
No, Esania couldn’t treat her sapiens cousins as inferior. She just couldn’t. After all, her genome wasn’t entirely pure. She’d never understood how her mother, Fabra, had managed to keep the details of her conception a secret from the Serakhine authorities, but somehow, she’d been born on Mars and raised as a full Primean.
She never met her father. Primeans didn’t have fathers. They were conceived in labs, implanted in surrogates, and raised in the communal kinderhaus.
She only found out the truth when she was an adult, just before the incident with Sara.
Her mother had come to her and told her everything.
And her entire world had tilted on its axis.
Shwick.
Esania was jolted out of her thoughts as the silken rope fell away from her body. She spun around and came face-to-face with Imril—all glittering scales and intense golden eyes. He wrapped up the rope in a few swift movements that spoke of years—maybe centuries—of practice and stashed it in a small pouch at his waist.
“This way.” He removed his helm—a sleek thing of curved metal with small openings for his eyes. Esania half expected his glorious golden hair to tumble out, but then she remembered he’d cut it before they left, in a style that was distinctly military. It was a drastic change, but as she stared at it now, she decided she liked it.
This new style accentuated the elegant angles of his face and made him look even more regal, if such a thing were possible. Losing the hair had caused a subtle change in his demeanor, as if he had now decided to get serious.
It suited him.
Oblivious to her scrutiny, Imril pointed up a rocky slope, frowning. “Their retreat was absolute chaos.”
“You can tell?”