by Owner
The furnace blast of his anger staggered her.
Bess tried to get to the door, her right arm pressed tightly against her side, her left hand held uselessly in front of her.
She had to get away from the smell of burned flesh. Her flesh. Bess made her way down the steps until she was able to sit on the edge of the porch. Breathing was taking all of her concentration right now.
Var followed her outside and stood over her. The anger that boiled out of him scorched her. “Explain.”
Bess sat still and silent. There was so much pressure. She needed a deep breath, but did not want to feel the pain again. If she got sick now, she was sure she would die.
He stomped into the yard to stand in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. “You leave me no choice but to tie you.” Var paced now, his agitation obvious in his movements. There was something about seeing him like that. He was such a big man, all muscle and barely-leashed violence. Anger flowed out of his every action. It was fierce and hot and it hurt her.
“I would hear an answer. Why.” His voice was a harsh whisper as he moved closer and fisted his hand in her hair to tilt her face up. Bess cried out. The sound was pitiful.
She felt his confusion, knew that was why he let her go. His eyes pierced her as he leaned over her to discern the problem. “You are damaged and you did not tell me.”
He squatted before her. Bess felt his tight coil and all his emotions disappeared within him. How did he do that? He cautiously moved her hand to feel her right side.
She whimpered and immediately hated herself for showing any weakness.
“You have a broken rib. You must have fallen on the corner of the table.”
Bess was in so much agony, she did not even try to answer him. She was busy fighting her nausea and trying not to pass out.
“Mack.” Var called through the door. “I need tape and bandages. She has broken ribs.”
Mack returned with the supplies. “I will wrap her.”
“No. I will care for her.” Var’s sharp retort startled Bess and she felt Mack’s surprise.
“Not a problem,” Mack said after he set the supplies down.
“Stand up.” Var helped her stand and ripped the blouse so that it fell to the ground leaving her standing in her pants and ripped top.
She covered herself as best she could with her arms.
“Hold onto the column with both hands. Be still.”
Bess turned slowly, the stabbing pain taking her breath away. He didn’t have to be so harsh with her. She covered her breasts with her right arm and realized she could not hold onto the column with her injured left hand.
Mack was still watching from the porch.
“I have this.” Var’s voice was a bark.
Mack raised his hands in surrender before he turned to go back inside.
“Do not pass out.” Var pulled her right arm away from her ribcage. She took a moment to think about his easy touch. He’d gone from raging beast to gentle caretaker. The speed of that change made her dizzy. Her emotions roared through her like a flash flood.
His hands felt hot on her bare skin, his touch careful and tentative searching for the damage. When he found it, he pulled her forearms up and against his chest. His vest open, her bare forearms touched his bare chest. He pulled the tape around her midsection with great care.
She glanced up into his hard, cold, eyes. They confirmed what her empathy senses told her, he was as unyielding as arctic ice. She hoped he did not notice how hard her nipples were.
Bess looked down and breathed in Var’s scent. It calmed her. She was surprised that these same hands that wielded the sword and whip so efficiently could manage a soft touch against her skin. She relaxed as much as she could while he worked the tape around her. She breathed lightly to guard against more pain and tried to ignore the heat of his body against her skin.
When he finished taping her, he helped her sit on the porch. His hands appeared too large and scarred for the delicate work he had done.
Finished with the wrapping, his anger ramped up again.
She was helpless to do anything to calm his agitation. First Myra attacked her and now he was angry with her. His rage was still palpable. Since he was not hiding his anger, she didn’t hide her disappointment.
Bess considered trying to explain to Var that Myra was the cause of her injuries, but every breath she drew hurt. If she tried to tell him, she might cry. Besides that, she needed to process all the information she received when Myra grabbed her hand. Yes, it would be better to wait and talk to Var when he was calmer and she could breathe.
How had she missed all of that anger and deceit in Myra? Bess was not a strong empath. She was a dangerous empath, but not a strong one and she had made the mistake of blocking Myra’s feelings because Myra made her feel uncomfortable. That mistake had almost cost her life.
Var’s emotions intruded on her thoughts. As viciously as he used his whip, he whipped her soul with his fury.
Daggers stabbed her with each breath, and Var’s fury hurt her feelings. Besides the big warlord being upset with her, Amage and Myra hated her. A wave of sorrow washed over her. She had never hurt anyone until she came here. Perhaps the Facility had known how terrible she was, how volatile her gift.
Looking into Var’s fury, she was surprised that his strongest emotion after displeasure was confusion. Bess refused to look at him again. Let him think what he would.
Var got the balm and held out his hand.
She placed her injured hand in his larger one.
He barely touched her when he took her hand in his to put the soothing balm on her cut and cauterized hand.
The pain lessened immediately, but Bess let him see her anger.
“I will do nothing now, little mouse, but when you have healed, we will speak of this episode again and I will likely express my displeasure with my hand on your backside.”
Bess stood with her mouth open in surprise. Myra had pushed her down and kicked her and Var was mad at her?!
He took a clean white bandage and wrapped her hand.
“If you can heal yourself, do it,” he said.
She sucked in air and gasped at the pain. Stiff, she shook her head. Her anger flared up and she thought it might match his.
He frowned.
“I cannot!” She whispered harshly. Rather than let him make her cry, she projected her anger and hurt to him.
He frowned. “I would understand.”
She moved as if to run from him. That was a mistake. She could barely breathe. He held his hands at the ready to catch her. Bess wanted to scream, she couldn’t get enough air.
Her voice came out in a harsh whisper. “Never ask me that. I will not. I cannot. Leave me alone.” She staggered. It hurt to get air. Var had opened her soul and all the pain had to come out.
He pulled her against his hard body and held her still until she stopped struggling. Var made circles on her back with his large hand.
“Breathe. With me. A slow breath. You can still breathe. Be still. I do not want you to cause more damage. Shh.”
She obeyed him and she wondered why her body trusted him when she did not. Bess thought it must be because she was hurt and could do nothing until she healed from this injury.
Oh, she had confused him now. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know all the horrors she’d endured. She could not heal herself, the thought of it made her want to lash out. Bess let the pain wash over her, through her. Did she project that pain to him?
Var held her away from him to see her face. He was frowning.
She shook her head. “Never. Never ask that of me.”
“I will not ask it again. Be still little mouse.”
She relaxed against him until she was calm. As hurt and upset as she was, on some level, she knew she was safe in his arms.
Myra and Amage were nowhere in sight when he helped her into the cabin and onto the bed in their room. Mack must have left the bag for them. Var pulled out a
thin piece of fabric. She heard a breaking sound and he put the pack on the bandage over her ribs. The cold felt good and she wondered how he managed to get an ice pack. Var had magic. He held something to her lips and urged her to drink. Soon after, she fell into a soft, floating, cloud. Her last thought was what to do with the ugly information she had learned about Myra.
***
“You should recover full use of your hand,” Var said as he wrapped a new bandage over Bess’s palm. It had been three days. Three days in which she seldom spoke and refused to look him in the eye. She stayed in her room most of the time only leaving when he urged her to get outside. She avoided Myra and Amage.
Females were impossible to understand. Var suspected jealousy or some other tiff. Myra made no secret she was interested in him, but he did not think Bess liked him much. Still, he noticed Myra worked hard to flirt with him and she put forth extra effort when Bess was around to notice.
That first night, he had started to leave her and she asked him to stay in the room with her. Var pushed an overstuffed chair in front of the door and stayed with her. He wondered why she felt more comfortable with him in the room. The projections he’d received from her were not positive emotions.
The men who had attacked them at their campsite had not been STS. They were a band of skas who decided to hunt MX because the bounty was so high. Mack had questioned one of them, but he was only following the leader of the gang and had no idea who told their leader where to find them. What bothered Var was that whoever started the stampede was still following them. Were they part of the same group? Mack had circled back and seen the signs, yet they still did not know who pursued them or why.
Every day he walked Bess outside for fresh air. There was a small clearing that received sunshine. Var enjoyed the way her red hair flowed around her like an aura.
She was healing fast. He walked over to her and squatted down close to where she sat. The girl had her eyes closed and her face tilted up to the sun. She surprised him when she spoke. “What is it that warlords do exactly?”
“You know that we make war,” he said.
“I mean, who decides who you fight?”
“As I have said before, we have a Warlord Leader.”
“War seems like a bad occupation. What if you run out of people to fight?”
Var tilted his head forward to suppress a smile. “Running out of people to fight has never been a concern.”
“But what happens if there is no one to fight?”
What had gotten into this female? “We are mercenary barbarian warlords and very good at our jobs. We fight for who pays us and sometimes we fight for ourselves. If there is no one to fight, we rest and train for the next battle.”
Bess picked a tall purple wildflower and brought it to her nose. “Still, making war seems like a bad occupation.” She paused. “What if the people who hire you are bad people?”
Var frowned. “I would know why your sudden interest in what we do.”
“I just wondered.” There was a long silence. “Do you kill a lot of people?”
“In war, people die, yes.”
“Does it bother you to kill people?”
He didn’t answer.
“What if - I mean - if you killed a good person. Would it bother you to kill a good person?”
“I would have you explain your curiosity about my occupation.” Var did not discuss things of this nature with civilians. Bess’s insistence made him scowl. Usually, his frown was enough to make people reconsider bothering him. It was not working on her.
Bess sighed. “Does it make you feel bad to kill people?”
“That is none of your concern. I will not kill you. That is all you need to know.”
She looked away. “What if it was an accident? Would you regret accidentally killing an innocent person?”
Why wouldn’t she let this go? He did not answer. Maybe if he didn’t talk to her, she would give up.
“Do you regret killing innocent people?” She peered up at him through her lashes.
“Guilt is a destructive and useless emotion,” he said.
“I would feel guilty if I killed innocent people,” she said thoughtfully. “Most of the empaths are good people. Most of us have never harmed anyone.”
“Most.”
She bit her lip. “Some of us have had to do things. Bad things. Does that make us bad people?”
Var caught her eyes and held her with his stare. “We are more than what we have to do to survive.”
Bess looked away and was silent for a long time.
“Why did you become a warlord?”
Var thought before he answered. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she had given up, he would hear more of this later. “I was bred and born to be a warlord. Long ago my society was progressive. We had cities and modern conveniences and resources. The Conglomerate wanted what we had. We refused to give it. When they found out that our DNA was different from theirs, they labeled us animals to help justify taking what they wanted from us. They banned us as legitimate trade partners which forced us to trade on the black market. Then they came and took what they wanted, including most of our females and children. Our society was almost destroyed. We discovered that others needed mercenaries and paid well for them. Those of us best suited became warlords. We protect and serve our race.”
When Bess turned her gaze to him, her green eyes reminded him of a deep lagoon in the shadow of a forest.
“How long have you rented your services to the Conglomerate?”
Var narrowed his eyes at her. “We sell our swords to the highest bidder, little mouse.”
“Even if that highest bidder wants you to do something bad?”
Var lifted an eyebrow. “I would know the source of these ideas, girl.”
“Myra and Amage spoke of you.” Bess faltered. “They said you and Mack were hired by the Conglomerate to track down — people.”
“MX,” Var said. Myra and Amage had been filling her head with rumors. He should have known. Females always talked. “We were engaged to hunt the empaths. Telling the Conglomerate we would round up MX helped us to know where to find them.”
“So you lied.”
Var held back a smile. “Subterfuge was required.”
“And will you turn me over to the Conglomerate.” Her voice was even.
He shook his head. “No. We have not and we will not return any empaths to the Conglomerate. My people offer sanctuary to many who are different from us. We offer a safe home to the empaths as we have offered freedom to many who are slaves.”
The girl looked up at him. “At what cost?”
Var scanned the surrounding area. He was pretty sure her questions were endless.
Bess sighed. “You have purchased Myra and Amage. They are slaves. And you said you purchased females before. Being taken into slavery does not sound like an upgrade to me.”
Var wiped the back of his hand across his chin. “We buy female slaves. Then we give them a choice. We pay for transportation to whatever society they choose and they leave as free people. Or, if they want to return to our society with us, we help them after we get them to our home. They are always freed. We provide them a place to live and help them to get on with their lives. We sell no female slaves and we keep no slaves.”
Bess tilted her head as she considered this. “I think you are leaving something out. How do they get on with their lives?”
“Some of them want to be independent and perform services or have businesses. They bake, sew, cook and often mate with our males.”
“Oh... So, they’re not really independent. Your philanthropy sounds expensive.” Her sarcasm was sharp. She was not a trusting female.
“We are well funded.”
She frowned.
“And you have trust issues.” He sighed. “We have krystiles. Clean energy is in demand.”
She appeared confused. “Even so, that is a lot of effort spent out of the goodness of your heart.”
Var na
rrowed his eyes. “You do not believe people would help others just because it is the right thing to do.”
Bess shook her head. The emotions that blazed out of her eyes were intense. He felt her projected anger and distrust and something else he was not able to pin down. Then she spoke softly, just the one word. “Mercenaries.”
“You projected emotions to me just now and yet you claim not to be a strong empath.”
She looked away and he felt nothing else from her.
“You healed the wound from the arrow in my arm. It seems to me that only a strong empath would be able to do that.” Perhaps he could get some of his questions answered since she was being so talkative.
“We are empaths. That means that we feel the pain of others around us. I touched your wound and I let myself feel everything that you felt. I took on your wound in order to heal you and then myself. It is a strong link with another person that allows us to heal.”
“Healing is a gift.”
“No!” Her voice was sharp and much louder than she had been speaking. Her posture was rigid, her shoulders tense. “Healing is not a gift.” When she looked in the forest, he worried she might try to run.
“I would know why speaking of healing disturbs you.”
She hung her head. “It is not my gift. That is simply being an empath.”
“I would have you speak of your extra ability.”
Bess considered him and smiled with her mouth, not her eyes. “I will not speak of it. My gift is useless. I am a weak empath with a useless extra ability.” The smile faded from her face. “And one who will likely be given to the Conglomerate to die a bloody death in the arena for the amusement of the wealthy.”
“You aggravate me. Even now, you do not trust me.” He moved closer to her. “Touch me, read my emotions and know my truth. You have no need to fear me.”
Surprise flashed across her face before she turned away from him and bit her lower lip. The scent of her fear assaulted him. She was still afraid of him.