Savage Pursuit

by Michelle Marquis

  “What was your question?”

  “Is he going to live?” Sulla said.

  “I’ll do everything I can,” she replied. “I need some water and towels or cloth or whatever you have access to.”

  Sulla’s face darkened in rage. “Is he going to live?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, trying not to seal her fate too quickly.

  “If he dies, so will you,” he growled at her.

  Harlan had had enough of his threats. “Look, either you are going to help me or be in the way. Which is it? Because standing here threatening me is being in the way and does not help your brother’s situation. Now if you want me to try and save him then get me what I’ve asked for!”

  Sulla left only to return with some tattered towels, and a wooden bucket of water. He placed them next to the bed. “What else?”

  Harlan rolled up her sleeves and rummaged through her bag, finally pulling out a bottle of disinfectant. “I need you to hold him down,” she said as she poured some of the contents of the bottle into the water and washed her hands. “This is going to hurt like hell and he just might get violent.”

  It took Harlan over two hours to clean out the wound with Sulla going out every few minutes to fetch her clean water. The worst sign of all was that, despite her fear that his brother might get violent, he didn’t so much as utter a groan. The poor man was already in a coma but Harlan kept up the illusion of hope. She fashioned a makeshift drain for the wound and shot him up with some antibiotics. He really needed intravenous fluids but these morons weren’t smart enough to steal any medical supplies when they took her. All they brought was her bag.

  She stepped back and wiped some sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. “Now the only thing I can do is wait and see if he responds to the medication.”

  Sulla didn’t utter a word. All he did was stare at her. And Harlan prayed for this guy to live long enough for Gavin to find her.

  Chapter 16

  It was late into the night when they finally stopped to make camp. A light mist drifted from the sky and the moons could barely be made out through the thick cloud cover. The mercenaries were docile compared to their normally boisterous selves, and Scarlet guessed they knew they were catching up to the kidnappers. She watched with building anxiety as some of the mercenaries put up Gavin’s tent. Soon the general would need his medication and she would have to be alone with him, a prospect that made her cringe.

  She came over to where Desmond had set up their tent and ran her fingers down the side seam. Glancing around, she didn’t spot anyone nearby. Everyone was busy getting themselves comfortable for the night. “I need to tell you something,” she whispered.

  Desmond looked up at her, his mouth twisting into a tense frown. “What’s wrong now?”

  “Gavin is convinced the mercenaries are preparing for a rebellion. He’s going to cause a fight with you to give them an opening to try,” she said. “While you are both occupied, Gypsy is supposed to eliminate one of troublemakers.”

  “What kind of distraction does he have in mind?”

  “He’s going to stage raping me,” she said, hoping the fear she felt didn’t come through in her voice.

  Desmond shook his head, obviously furious. He glared off into the woods as if a hidden enemy lay in wait there. She’d never seen him so openly upset.

  “You think I’m in any danger of him really doing it?” she asked afraid of the answer.

  “You’ve said yourself he’s probably not in any condition. But that doesn’t mean he won’t terrorize you.” He stared at the mercenaries who seemed to be paying a lot of attention to Gavin’s tent. Gavin had been withdrawn lately and hadn’t emerged from the tent since they’d erected it. Scarlet knew he was desperately waiting inside for his next dose of narcotics. She wished she’d never agreed to come here.

  “Are you mad?” she asked.

  “Does it make a difference? He’s going to do what he wants anyway,” Desmond replied.

  “I can refuse to go along,” she offered.

  Desmond coughed out a bitter laugh. “He doesn’t take no for an answer. If you refuse, he’ll really rape you to get the reaction he wants.”

  Scarlet glanced around nervously. “I really don’t think he can.”

  “Then he’ll find some other way to get you to react. Either way it won’t be pleasant,” he said without missing a beat. The fact that Gavin’s penis might not be working did little to calm Desmond’s fears.

  Scarlet grabbed her bag. “I’d better get in there,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Desmond said, unsheathing his saber as he sat down. He laid the blade across his lap. “Be careful, Scarlet.”

  * * * *

  Any man who’d been in prison always carried the demon of that place within him. He might have served ten years ago or a day, it was always the same. The demon inside was a fractured mixture of fear and rage. It wasn’t on the surface of their personality but buried under layers of fragile self-control that they showed the world in the hopes that they would be allowed to stay free just one more day. Then, when something upset them or their world turned on them, it broke loose and collided with their humanity until there was nothing left of the man but a frothing wild animal without any restraints.

  General Gavin Theron reminded Scarlet of such a man. Under the best of circumstance, he masqueraded as a charming, civilized military professional but when things went wrong, his true savage nature came bursting to the surface. Tonight he was in horrific pain from the long day’s ride. The push to make up for lost time had taken its toll. He sat on a mat in his tent, his legs crossed underneath him, visibly trembling from the pain. He was naked to the waist and every muscle in his torso bulged and twitched with his silent agony.

  This was when she hated him the most, when he was like a loaded gun pointed at her temple.

  As cautiously as she could, she came in and placed the medical kit on the ground next to him. She crept around behind him and stared at the swollen mess that was his back. I can’t believe how much worse this is getting. Grabbing several cold compresses she broke them, activating the cooling agent, and secured them to his back by wrapping a bandage around his chest. “This should reduce the swelling so I can do the injections,” she said, her voice shaking.

  Gavin didn’t move and didn’t speak. After twenty minutes, some of the more serious swelling had gone down enough so she could administer the pain medication. Scarlet injected a double dose into his back and was relieved to see him relax a little. She was about to pack the kit up again when he grabbed her hand to stop her.

  “Two more,” he croaked.

  Scarlet stared at him. She wanted to tell him how dangerous that was but all she could think of was the slap he’d given her the last time they’d had a disagreement. “That’s not advisable, General,” she said.

  “I don’t give a fuck!” he roared. “Do it now!”

  Scarlet loaded up two more syringes and injected him, fully expecting him to collapse from an overdose. To her amazement, he got up and put his armor back on.

  “What are you doing?” she asked confused.

  “I’m sorry about this, Doctor, but it must be done.”

  His face was a mask of grim purpose and Scarlet felt a bolt of fright hit the inside her chest. She backed up and held her hands up to ward him of. “Oh no, no, no,” she said. What if this fake rape turned out to be the real thing? The prospect made her queasy.

  Gavin grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her against his colossal chest. Scarlet screamed and struggled but, even with a wounded back, he was impossibly strong. Grabbing her under the jaw, he forced her face up to his and planted a ferocious kiss on her mouth. It was a mean, dominating kiss that forecast the trauma of an impending rape. Her immediate reaction was blind terror. Twisting her face to the side, she clenched her teeth and screamed, “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  But the general wasn’t done with her yet. Tearing the front of her shirt open to expose the
top of her breasts, he mauled painful kisses up and down her throat. Scarlet fought with every ounce of fury she could muster. Then the impossible happened.

  Gavin let her go.

  Not bothering to grab the medical kit, Scarlet scrambled for the tent entrance and burst out through the flap running.

  Chapter 17

  Scarlet ran from Gavin’s tent like her feet were on fire. The look on her lovely face was pure terror and the front of her shirt was torn revealing the generous mounds of her breasts. Her pale skin revealed some red blotches that marked the trail of Gavin’s savage kisses. Desmond clenched his jaw as a furious rage consumed him. This time his father had gone too far.

  Unsheathing his weapon, he advanced on Gavin’s tent only to have the treacherous bastard emerge. But something was definitely wrong with him. Even though he wore the smug expression of a beast that had eaten its fill, he didn’t have the murderous edge he was famous for. Desmond couldn’t stand that evil, satisfied grin. All he could think of was carving that glee off Gavin’s face. Operating on instinct alone, Desmond launched himself at Gavin, striking blow after blow with his saber searching for an opening. Gavin deflected them, but Desmond could tell right away he wasn’t at the top of his game. The injury to his back coupled with the enormous amount of narcotics he was taking had made his reactions too slow, and for the first time in his life, Desmond realized he had him.

  The old man’s life was his for the taking.

  He stopped his attack and took a few paces back to regroup as the realization came over him. Gavin was vulnerable. Desmond never thought he’d see the day. He could kill him, he was certain of it. A cauldron of old pain came to a boil inside him but no matter how much Gavin deserved to die, Desmond couldn’t bring himself to be the one to destroy him. It would be too much like Northe’s death: senseless and painful. Besides, Gavin was right about the mercenaries, they were watching him like a pride of lions waiting for their turn at the kill. They couldn’t wait for Gavin and Desmond to turn on each other. Then in the chaos, they could assassinate both of them, rape the women, and escape with whatever was left in the camp to steal. When they returned to the empire, they would just make up some story to account for the deaths and go on to the next assignment.

  Then Gavin moved in, taking full advantage of his hesitation and battered him with several punishing saber strikes. Desmond focused his mind and let his experience take over. Once again, he was playing Gavin’s game by Gavin’s rules, and he hated every minute of it.

  * * * *

  Gypsy watched her father fighting her brother with a dark and mounting anticipation. She could read Gavin’s pain in every saber strike he launched. Compared to his usual combat style, he was slow and clumsy, and she grew worried he wouldn’t even be able to finish the contest between himself and Desmond. She also wondered if her brother would seize the opportunity to kill him. The thought made her insides twist with many painful realizations.

  Gavin’s condition was a shock to her. They were in more trouble with these mercenaries than she had realized. Gypsy knew she had to act fast. Desmond had told her of Gavin’s plan, and it was up to her to find the boldest of the mercenary rebels and take him out. The kill should scare the others back in line, but there was no guarantee.

  Ignoring the fight, she moved up behind the group of mercenaries watching them. As she suspected, Nero, the ringleader, was signaling one of the larger males to stab Desmond the next time he circled near them.

  The plan was clever enough. Kill Desmond and Gavin would be easy to destroy, worn out from his enemy and his injury. She didn’t know what they had planned for her but, as good as she was, she was no match for the whole pack of them at once.

  Gypsy pulled a dagger from her boot and crept up behind the large male. Everyone was so intent upon the fight that they didn’t even notice her. The rebel was tense, jumping forward every few seconds in anticipation of his attack. Desmond came around with his back to the group, pounding his saber against Gavin’s, and the rebel took several quick steps forward, his knife at the ready. He pulled his arm back to strike her brother in the lower back and Gypsy made her move. Jumping up on his back like a wildcat, she wrapped her arm around his throat and drove her blade up through the base of his skull, twisting it. Blood splashed back onto her and the man went to his knees. A moment later he fell on his face.

  Pulling her saber, she turned to face the other mercenaries who were making some threatening moves toward her. Gavin and Desmond stopped their fight and moved up behind her. The mercenaries cast their eyes to the ground and shuffled off, Nero being the first one to depart.

  Gavin looked down at Gypsy. “Good job.” He nudged the body with his boot. “Make sure none of the mercenaries get rations tonight. Except the scout. Give him and your brother double.”

  “Yes, sir,” Gypsy said. There were so many things she wanted to say to him but this was not the place. She sure hoped he could hold together long enough to save her mother.

  Gavin glanced at Desmond. “Come with me,” he said. The two of them disappeared into his tent.

  * * * *

  Desmond stood by the entrance of Gavin’s tent and folded his arms. His anger at his father had faded but not disappeared completely. “What?”

  Gavin sank down on the floor and sat with his legs crossed under him. He gestured at his armor. “Help me with this, will you?”

  Desmond hesitated. His father had never allowed himself to sit lower than his son. It was strange to see Gavin on the ground. Desmond stepped forward and unbuckled the chest plate, lifting it off Gavin. He tossed it on the ground in front of him. For a fleeting moment, he imagined pulling his blade and taking off this bastard’s head. The image made him grin.

  “Are you planning to kill me?” Gavin asked.

  “Then I would run the risk of someone worse taking over the military. If there is someone worse,” Desmond replied. It was nice having this kind of power over his father.

  “You know you have every right,” Gavin said. “I terrorized your girlfriend and murdered you’re brother. You’ll never have an opportunity like now, Desmond. If I was in your position, I would.”

  “That’s the fundamental difference between us,” he said, crouching a few feet from Gavin, shifting his scabbard. Lowering his voice, he said, “I will tell you this: if you ever exile me again you had better leave me there because the next time you ship me off to some fucking hellhole and then bring me back to help your rotten ass, I will kill you the first chance I get.”

  “I really don’t care what you do to me, just promise me one thing,” Gavin said, his voice slurred from the pain meds.

  “What’s that?”

  “If I should die on this campaign, promise me you and Gypsy will find my wife and bring her home.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find Harlan with or without you,” Desmond said, suddenly very tired. Then he stood up and stepped outside the tent.

  Chapter 18

  Gavin was no stranger to pain and hardship. As a young officer, he’d volunteered for some of the worst battles of his time. A career in the military was hardship. It was the most grueling profession an AEssyrian male could undertake and the one most likely to end his life early. But Gavin had beaten the odds. He had survived wars, famine, assassins, rebellions and life-threatening injuries. He had risen through the ranks despite his tainted background and close calls with death. But never in all those years had his body betrayed him like it was doing now. At the peak of AEssyrian middle age—an impressive eight hundred and twenty-two—he was falling apart fast. His back was more than painful; it was a reminder that he was no longer able to push himself beyond his limits as he once did. But, through all his agony, he couldn’t allow himself to rest. Every second that they stopped meant Harlan must endure another second in captivity, and that was unbearable to him. She had begged him for years to have the injury to his back surgically repaired but he didn’t want to go off-world and had ignored her pleas. Now as if the gods were slapp
ing him down for his obstinance, his back was the very thing preventing him from saving her life.

  He rode at the head of the group, fighting with every step not to show how uncomfortable he was. Even with the medication Scarlet gave him the soreness in his spine persisted, tearing at his thoughts like an unforgiving sin. Sickness welled up from his gut and he dismounted, crouching in the bushes like a hopeless drunkard vomiting out his breakfast. He rubbed the back of his black gloved hand across his lips.

  Gypsy was next to him in an instant, blocking the mercenaries’ view of him as best she could. She crouched down to talk to him. “Excellency?”

  “I’m alright,” he reassured her. “I just had too much to drink this morning.”

  Gypsy knew he was lying but what else could he tell her? Everyone close to him knew it was the high dosage of pain medication making him ill. Scarlet rushed to join them and Gavin saw Desmond and Trajan turn their mounts to keep an eye on the men. He had to get up or he’d bring destruction on them all. This was just the thing the mercenaries were watching for.

  “We need to get you to your feet, sir,” Gypsy whispered. She placed her arm under his to give him some leverage but it was no use. Gavin tried to get up but he was in just too much pain. Then the nausea came and his stomach twisted and tried to empty again.

  Scarlet secretly flashed Gavin an injection of a powerful stimulant, as if to say do you need this now? The doctor had only a few of them and she and Gavin had agreed to save them for just such an emergency.

  Without waiting for Gavin to say anything, Gypsy reached down and pulled the hem of his tunic up so Scarlet could inject him in the belly without anyone seeing.

  Another crushing wave of illness rushed over him as Scarlet swabbed the area clean and jabbed the needle into his flesh.

  The effects of the stimulant were welcome and immediate. Liquid rage burned through his blood pushing the misery of his back to some forgotten place in his brain. His muscles filled with youthful power and his heart pounded so fast it felt like it was going to tear out of his chest. In a second he was on his feet, his hands balled into tight fists.