Warlord's Flame (Krystile Warriors Book 2)

by Owner

  Bess had grown up with the rest of her kind at the MX Facility. The Conglomerate, the most hated group in the universe, controlled all legal trade and owned the MX. The Empaths kept their disgust and hatred of the Conglomerate a secret from their handlers. Each MX had a handler. Bess’s handler enjoyed benefits as well as political favor. The Facility gave the handlers drugs that made them immune to being read by the empaths. She’d been the only empath on this doomed assignment with a standard away team of five Facility employees including her handler. This assignment went horribly wrong from the beginning.

  The Facility rented empaths to members of the Conglomerate who needed insight into the feelings of those with whom they negotiated. The fees were costly, but they proved to be worth it. The wealthy paid a high price for their aid. In the climate of deceit and paranoia inspired by the Conglomerate, empaths helped people to know if their potential business partners could be trusted.

  Bess, a weak empath with an extra ability of being a dream walker had not been in great demand. In addition MX possessed at least one special gift. The Facility kept the extent and nature of their extra abilities a closely guarded secret and rumors abounded. They kept Bess despite the fact that her dream walking ability proved unmarketable for the most part. The result being her handler, an inherently lazy individual, did not work with her to help her use and control any of her gifts. She was seldom rented out.

  This disaster of her last assignment made her wish to be back at the Facility. As soon as she and her team left the transport, men with weapons surrounded them. They killed her handler and the rest of the team in front of her.

  Having never witnessed violence, Bess learned a lot that day. As an empath, she shared the emotions of those who died only disconnecting and pulling back moments before the darkness claimed their last thoughts. Alone, for the first time in her memory, she’d lost control, her strong emotions triggering the first use of her strongest ability. The memory of that horror haunted her waking hours as well as her dreams.

  While trying to recover from the bloody scene that stalked through her nightmares, the men who slaughtered her team and who wore gloves to protect themselves from her touch captured her. They tied her hands behind her back and covered her head with a cloth hood.

  The criminals transported her to another ship in a holding area. When she realized she was in one of the black market societies that dealt in slaves, hopelessness became a drag on her heart. When they finally took her out, it was to an auction.

  Mind-numbing panic and fear overwhelmed her while she waited to be sold into an uncertain future. She lost count of the days since her ordeal began. Her standard khaki clothing, never meant for this kind of wear and tear now hung in tatters. She felt certain she looked like a ragamuffin.

  Her bright red hair and green eyes, a feature of the MX, made her stand out in a land where no one had her coloring. Bess fell repeatedly while wearing the hood, slowing the entire line of slaves. Finally, they left the hood off, but gave her a head covering that covered her hair completely.

  Now in the slave line, the shock of the auction a terrifying memory, she walked through the wild landscape of gently rolling hills covered in tall grasses and occasional dense forests of towering trees.

  The horror of losing her team clung to her, even now, like the scent of smoke in her hair and on her clothes. As much as she despised the Conglomerate, she longed desperately for something familiar. Surely the Facility would get her back. No one stood against the Conglomerate and no one else could possibly want an empath, especially one with her useless ability.

  While the slavers rested in the shade, four men rode up on horses. Bess wondered what they talked about. This must be a backward place. She had not seen a modern vehicle since she left the auction stage.

  One of the slavers came toward her wearing heavy gloves. He motioned her up. Bess stood while he unhooked the chain from the metal collar at her neck. Free from the others on the line, they prodded her to go with the four men. Did she dare hope her situation might improve?

  The smallest of the four hooked the metal end of a rope to her collar. They mounted their horses and started off pulling her along behind them. Her mind reeled at the ease with which a person could be bought and sold.

  Hot and tired and thirsty, she wondered how long this journey would last. When she used her tongue to moisten her lips, she tasted her own blood.

  Bess concentrated on assessing the threat from the four men she traveled with now. Her new ability to read thoughts as well as emotions turned into a two edged sword. With great care, she explored their thoughts. Dread tasted bitter in her mouth. These men bought her just to deliver her to someone else.

  Panic filled her and her knees turned to water. She must get away. One of these riders had witnessed the death of an MX. His thoughts were so vivid she smelled the dust, felt the heat, and the fangs and claws of the wild animals set loose on the girl in the arena. The girl screamed and projected her pain and terror to the crowd. Bess gasped when she realized the audience paid for the experience. They wanted to feel the projected emotions of a dying empath.

  Bess doubled over from the visceral experience, but the horses kept moving and jerked her to the ground. These men planned to sell her to die in an arena. She would be the center attraction in a depraved sport. People paid to see empaths ripped apart. The one whose thoughts she read held the memory of watching the empath die as she projected her terror to the audience. An audience who paid a high price for the privilege of seeing a young woman ripped apart in order to share her emotions.

  One of the men circled around behind, cursed at her, and struck her with something when she tried to stand. She barely registered the pain of the blow. Bess looked for an escape path, but found no way out. She refused to die like that, to suffer for the amusement of others. Her mind and her heart hurt.

  Her only choice was to bide her time and wait for an opportunity to escape. Escape would be her only chance to live and avoid the bloody death she just witnessed. It would do her no good to fall apart now.

  Their thoughts told her about the bounty for MX. Although these four men disagreed on her care, they all wanted to take her to their buyer, none of them planned on her survival. Bess reminded herself that all information was power. Now, how could she use this information.

  In the middle of an open field, they stopped. She wished the knee-high grass would swallow her.

  “She is slowing us down” the leader of the group said. “One of you put her on your horse.”

  “I will not touch her,” the one behind her stated.

  Bess tasted their sour fear. As they argued about who would allow her on their horse, two men on horseback approached from the forest to meet the lead rider.

  Although she felt nothing from the two new riders, she picked up surprise and fear from the men who held her. The exchange between the two groups escalated. Her captors filled the air with harsh words. The newcomers spoke softly, but she heard steel in their words. She did not understand the language they spoke, but they drew swords and a fight ensued. The one holding her rope dropped it when he drew his sword.

  Bess turned and ran toward the shelter of the trees. Fueled by panic and the prospect of escape, she ran, ignoring the blisters on her feet and the rope dragging on the ground behind her.

  She ran until she fell to her knees just inside the trees, the sounds of battle in the field spurred her on. Panting for air, she bent over and pulled her bound hands under her bottom while sitting on the ground. Her hands in front of her, she retrieved the dagger hidden days ago in a strap around her thigh. She cut the rope that bound her hands, but lost precious time sawing it. Leaving the rope where it fell, Bess replaced the dagger in its sheath and raced deeper into the trees, putting more distance between the men and herself. They fought over her.

  Hope sprang up in her heart. She might get away. Maybe she would get lucky and they would all kill each other.

  Bess ran as far as she could before she
had to stop and catch her breath in a clearing. She cut the rope attached to the metal collar around her neck and continued, propelled by the vision of freedom and life. Being captured by any of these men meant certain and horrible death.

  When she could no longer hear the sounds of men fighting, she found a small stream and drank her fill before continuing. Surely they could not follow her through this dense forest on horseback. Branches tore at her clothing and yanked at her hair covering. Her bare feet bled. When did she lose her shoes? She was doing damage to herself, but she continued running. Her only chance at safety was to get far away from the men. She struggled for each breath. Dying alone in this wilderness was preferable to the life of a slave or death in the arena as entertainment for depraved rich people. She could heal later, right now, running was her only choice.

  A sound in the brush behind her flooded her body with adrenalin. She turned and ran again. Spotting a dense patch of green, she forced her way through it and stumbled out the other side. Bess crashed into the leg of a huge man sitting on his horse in front of her as if he waited for her to arrive. She staggered back, regaining her balance with effort. Fear threatened to choke her as she searched the small clearing for an escape route. Her chest heaved with the effort to draw air into her tortured lungs while she took in the man’s fierce expression. Never had she seen such a large man. He spoke to her in a harsh language she didn’t know, but she didn’t care what he said.

  She turned to run again, only to find another mounted man behind her. How did they get to her so fast? These two had attacked her most recent captors. After winning the battle for her, they cut off her escape. It was not a good sign that these men had fought the others to gain control of her. The impression of death clung to them still.

  She felt as if it her heart might stop. Bess screamed in fury at being so easily caught. Terror strangled her. She turned back toward the dense thicket and pushed herself to continue the run for her life.

  Near collapse, exhausted and bleeding from the briars that ripped into her flesh and tore at her hair and clothes, desperation and anger rose up in her.

  The men stalked ever closer on their horses.

  Panic gave way to hysteria which kept the adrenalin flowing through her, but one could run only so long, even if they ran for their life. The riders expended little effort to keep up with her. Their horses could certainly go further and faster than she could. Bess stumbled and fell, got up, and ran again. The two men pursued her with a casual attitude. Content to let her run until she dropped, her capture was inevitable.

  They knew it.

  Bess knew it.

  She burst through another dense thicket of briers to find herself in a small clearing. Trapped! Why had she not seen this coming? On the far side of the clearing she saw a semi-circle of tall rocks that she could not hope to climb. Her only way out was back the way she had come. They walked their horses slowly toward her. She could not read their emotions, could not even think. There must be a way out, but they continued to close in until they trapped her! Bess screamed out her fury and despair. A cornered animal, she slowly raised her khaki skirt and smiled when her hand touched the dagger.

  Something flickered in the blue eyes of the man in front of her. On the ground now, he cut off her retreat, closing in for the kill. The scar that ran along the side of his face from his left eye down his cheek to the corner of his mouth made him even more frightening. She barely registered the fierceness of his gaze.

  He was a hunter. She was his prey and she was well and truly caught. Bess had no strength left while he had strength to spare.

  Chapter 3

  They weren’t human, couldn’t be. Both of them wore dark brown leather pants with a flap in front and sturdy boots that went to their knees with metal shields covering their knees. They wore leather vests and what must be weapons attached to the belts at their waists. Leather bands that covered their forearms from wrist to elbow were adorned with dark metal that came straight out of the arm band and then bent sharply toward the wrist. She imagined those spikes could do a lot of damage to someone’s flesh. Harnesses over leather vests held swords on their backs and revealed heavily muscled chests. She had never seen their like.

  The scarred man walked toward her. The metal covering his knees held images of skulls. Skulls!

  Bess gasped for breath. She couldn’t get enough air. Black spots reduced her vision. Lightheaded, she would not be able to stand much longer. The thought of being vulnerable with these men shot even more panic through her.

  The eyes of the man walking toward her were a piercing aquamarine blue. His blond hair gathered in a single braid that fell below his waist. Old wounds covered the hard muscles of his chest and arms. Broad shoulders and muscles told her he could easily break her in half. Most terrifying of all, she could read neither emotions nor thoughts from either of them. He held out his hand to her and said something in that language she didn’t know. If any emotions came from him, she did not feel them.

  “Try another language, brother,” his friend said.

  Bess understood that, but what had they said earlier? She could not best them, but she would not go quietly. Bess brought the dagger point into position just under her left breast. If she pushed it hard and fast, she should be able to pierce her heart. She would deny this man with the infuriating arrogant confidence in his eyes.

  Bess threw him a final defiant glare before looking up at the sky for the last time. She would die free, a slave to no one and certainly not a spectacle in an arena.

  The dagger vanished from her hand and a sharp, ear-splitting sound erupted close to her. She yelped then stood blinking like a dumb animal.

  A quick flick of the man’s wrist and the whip snaked out behind him. Bess thought it looked lethal. Like lightening, it had come out of nowhere. Now the menacing snake of leather lay on the ground awaiting its master’s next command. Bess stared at the lost treasure so close in front of her. The dagger had been her most carefully guarded possession. It was a last resort. A way for her to avoid dying on anyone else’s terms. She had drawn much comfort from it while in the slave line.

  How dare he take the knife from her! The choice of how to die should be hers. Was hers. He could not rob her of even that.

  The dagger lay within her reach. Bess dove for it, her hand reaching, needing to feel its solid handle in her grip. Again the whip cracked and the dagger disappeared. She yelped with shock and jerked her hand back. Tears sprang to her eyes.

  He strode toward her, closing the distance with ease, dragging the whip along the ground like a poisonous snake as he advanced.

  “Stay down,” he said.

  Fury rushed over her. When she struggled to her feet, he stopped a few feet from her.

  Bess took a deep breath and gathered herself to run again. She would not make it far, but it would not be easy for him.

  A vicious noise exploded close to her as she turned to run into the dense thicket. He jerked her to a halt. How? She saw his whip wrapped around her waist. Her arms, pinned to her sides, threw her off balance. She fell to her knees and hit the ground hard. He saved her from falling on her face by holding her upright with the whip. The smell of leather hung thick in the hot air, the weight of the whip around her evidence of how thoroughly he reduced her to complete helplessness. She couldn’t breathe as his long legs carried him to her. Again, she screamed out her anger.

  A final jerk on the whip handle yanked her against his legs. Strong hands on her arms pulled her up to stand.

  Bess pushed her fists against the hard muscles of his chest. She could raise her hands no higher. She might as well have been pushing against a large tree.

  He wrapped his hand in her hair and pulled back, tilting her face up to his.

  Her heart beat like a trapped bird.

  He bent her further back and leaned over her.

  Her senses overloaded. Things were happening too fast. She could not read him. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t want to read him. Bess
refused to see more horror today.

  But he touched her and left her no choice.

  He bent her so far back she stayed on her feet only because he supported her with his arm. Dominated. She read that from him. He wanted her to understand that he held all her power. Wanted her to feel his strength and know that she was helpless against it. Helpless against him. The stranger sought to force her to accept his power and accept her only choice. She must yield to him.

  “I would know your name,” he said.

  Her name. What could that possibly matter?

  She stared at his face. There was a white ring around the outside of his aquamarine-blue irises. Most unusual, those eyes. The jagged scar ran down the left side of his handsome face and made him a frightening sight, but enhanced his otherwise perfect features. He needed no help to appear scary. The scar was overkill.

  The big stranger smelled good. He pulled her hair to tilt her face higher, his body touching hers as he bent over her arched form. His breath felt warm on her face. He smelled of evergreen forest and earth.

  “Answer me, girl.” His voice was low and gravelly, but there was no mistaking the confidence with which he spoke.

  She could not form words.

  He raked his gaze over her and she thought the intensity of it must burn her skin. She cried out when he jerked the remains of the scarf from her head. “Khaki clothes, green eyes. Unusual hair. An MX,” he said. He asked his friend a question in that language she did not understand.