Ruined Kingdom

by Michelle Marquis

  They rushed along the first landing until he stopped at a door that was the ugliest shade of yellow she'd ever seen. The topcoat was peeling and flaking off, revealing an even worse shade of pink. With an impatient hand, Falken jammed the key in the lock, rattling it back and forth a few times until a snap and a creak sounded as the door swung inward.

  Gypsy felt his arm snake around her waist, guiding her in front of him. Using his body, he pushed her through the threshold and pulled the door closed. He locked it behind them. The dark blue room was as unremarkable as most brothel rooms. There was a bed in the center with body indentations forever set in the mattress. It was covered by a well-worn but surprisingly stain-free, green quilt. A headboard in the next room was steadily thumping against the wall with loud moans heard over it. A few jokes came to mind but it was strangely erotic.

  Falken had already stripped off his uniform tunic. His masculine beauty caught her breath. Though not nearly as tall or broad as Kharon, she had no doubt he would be some day. A muscle twitched in his wide jaw as his silver eyes blazed their lust over her. Sliding her gaze over his wide shoulders, it lingered on his chest, thick from wielding a sword daily. His hard, muscular waist tapered in ever so slightly showcasing tight, narrow hips. Everywhere she looked there were solid, well-defined muscles. He was the epitome of a male in his prime, achingly handsome and ferociously dangerous.

  As she feasted her eyes over his body, it was impossible not to want him. Licking her lips, she peeled off her own uniform jacket and tunic without thinking twice. Her hands ached to touch and feel him. Gypsy walked toward him slowly but in two long strides he met her. Hot, excited kisses rained all over her face and neck. The heat of his breath could've scalded her skin. She dared to reach out and touch his powerful arms. They felt like steel. His flesh was hot and lusty and every part of him was tense with desire.

  Weakness numbed her legs and she swooned from the intensity of her emotions. Unlike the molten fire of Kharon’s lovemaking, or the bittersweet delight of Caraculla, this was something new and entirely different. This was lust in its purest form, driven only by itself. Her hands glided up his arms to the shifting muscles of his shoulders. His kisses were wilder now; feasting everywhere there was exposed skin. He unfastened her bra, dropping it to the floor.

  Engulfed in Falken’s hunger, she was ablaze in her own desire. Too quickly he tried to kick off both of his boots at once, causing his spurs to entangle in the leather straps. He almost fell.

  Laughing, she pushed him back onto the bed and freed his spurs. She yanked off both of his boots, flinging them away. Hastily he slid his pants off, revealing a good-sized cock that stood proud, ready to pleasure her. He leaned forward, letting his mouth maul kisses along her breasts and belly as his hands impatiently worked the buttons of her uniform pants. Still chuckling, she slapped them away, stripping herself naked faster than he ever could.

  Hesitation stole half a breath from him before he wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulling her to straddle him, he pressed his flesh against hers as he buried his face down into the nape of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Gypsy,” he groaned into her skin.

  An avalanche of things she couldn’t put to words crashed over her as he rolled her back on the bed, parting her thighs with his knees. Her body ached, wet with the desperate need for him. As Gypsy opened her legs to satisfy her hunger, she became aware of how easy it was to drown in these emotions. She fought to stay focused and only enjoy the act. Soon her mind surrendered to her flesh. Falken explored and teased, heightening her excitement. Then, with a delicate kiss on her lips, he pushed inside her. Gypsy wrapped her arms and legs around him, not wanting any of him to escape.

  She lifted her hips and gasped as he plunged deep. His strokes were long, fierce, and punishing. They enthralled her and mixed like witchcraft with his touch and kisses. Her skin danced and her thoughts sang. Making love to him carried the weight of so many sins and the added delight of the forbidden. As her release edged closer, Falken experimented a few times by stopping in the middle. She’d snarl a few swear words at him and he’d start up again. It was beyond annoying and kind of hurt as her loins tightened up, expecting more contact. At first she thought it was some kind of cruel tease to make her beg for him. But then something unexpected happened. An angry spike of pleasure flooded her entire nervous system as her orgasm peaked. It was so intense she froze for what seemed like a full minute. Finally it faded and left her gulping air.

  The night wore on and they made love over and over again. The world, with its poverty and fear, melted away. She gasped and struggled with Falken, each trying to rob more and more pleasure from the other. He had awakened something she had long ignored; he had awakened the vibrancy of her youth. She was alive this night, alive like she hadn't been since her training had begun. Every kiss he traced across her skin, every thrust of his cock was a journey into pure delight. That night he exhausted her completely and blissfully, sending her into a beautiful numbness. His need for her seemed to have no end.

  Too soon the first rays of the twin suns broke free of the horizon, casting their light and heat through an open window. Gypsy lay facing the wall, still panting with Falken’s arms wrapped around her.

  “I hope you’re not too tired for your match tonight,” he joked.

  Caressing her hand along his forearm she said, “I’ll take a nap at home.” When she turned to face him, she was swallowed by the unexpected warmth of his gaze. Their lips met and lingered.

  Pulling back slightly she said, “I'd better go.”

  “Don't. Stay here with me and sleep. We have the room for as long I say.”

  “I never would have thought you to be the cuddly type,” she teased.

  Responding with a long, soft kiss, Falken mumbled, “I love your scent, the feel of your skin. Sleep. I’ll wake you in plenty of time to go home and get your battle gear.”

  A shred of worry invaded her contentment. “Do you know anything about this Tye Wynter guy?”

  Falken sat up, keeping one arm around her as she rested her head on his chest. “He’s not as good a fighter as you are. I’m sure you guessed that by how many times he’s postponed the bout.”

  “I thought that but wasn’t sure.”

  The whorehouse quieted as the sky brightened. A blade of sorrow twisted inside her. She didn't want this night to end because then she would have no choice but to face the pain of her ruined relationship with Kharon.

  “Falken?”

  “Yes, Gypsy,” he said twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.

  “This was a lot of fun.”

  With a genuine smile he said, “Yeah. It was better than I ever imagined it would be.”

  “Really? How long have you been imagining it?”

  “Since the first day your father ordered Makkai and I to kick your ass. Makkai was stupid enough to get a hard-on in front of your father and I laughed all the way home.”

  Gypsy grinned, closed her eyes, and fell into a fitful sleep.

  A few hours later stress woke her. Untwisting herself from his grasp, she forced herself out of bed and hunted for her clothes. While dressing, she was suddenly aware of Falken watching her. There were so many things she wanted to say but didn’t dare. She didn’t want to spoil what they had just shared.

  After fastening the last button of her jacket she held her arms out. “How do I look?”

  His gaze was smoky and sexual. “You look like you need to come back to bed.”

  “Shut up, asshole. Wish me luck instead.”

  “I would but you don't need it, you have that in spades. Luck and skill. Put that fucker down, Gypsy.”

  Chapter 4

  “Sorry I'm late,” Desmond grumbled as he trotted down the last few steps to join Gypsy and Gavin in the arena ready room. “I was trying to decide where to hide my wife's body after I've murdered her.”

  Gavin had the nerve to look amused. “Is she doing alright?”

  “No. She is no
t doing alright,” he snapped. “If she gets any paler we're going to be able to see her internal organs. That pregnant pain in my ass insisted on coming to the match, despite my demands that she stay home and rest. I was going to send you a message that I couldn’t make it, but she said she would just come here without me.” Desmond inhaled a deep breath before he got any madder, and looked around.

  The drab, windowless ready room usually had its long granite benches filled with warriors dressing out and whetting their weapons. Usually abuzz with the activity of the fighters, servants, and assistants during the ranking matches, it was a sharp contrast to the honor matches. The only ones permitted to attend those matches were the nobility, the military, and their families. Not the common citizenry. It wouldn't do if word spread too fast that one of the Imperial champions had failed. With only the three of them present, the normally cramped room was cavernous. All three of their voices bounced off the stony walls and the often hot, stagnant prep area was pleasantly drafty and cool.

  Desmond didn't compete anymore. Choosing to be no one's champion, and satisfied with his rank of Master Sergeant, he had retired from the arena, undefeated, over a century ago. It was one of the many things that had strained his relationship with Gavin. When Desmond had revealed that he was not interested in advancing his rank or attaining any higher arena honors, such as Grand Master, his father was incensed. Never missing an opportunity to throw his lack of ambition in his face, Gavin constantly accused him of being lazy. It was one of the larger cornerstones of his endless battles with his father.

  Now, with the exception of a few barbs launched at him here and there, his father seemed to have accepted him for who he wanted to be. Since his ordeal with Titan, Gavin finally treated him somewhat like a son. It was a nice change, but he would never drop his guard.

  When Desmond arrived, Gypsy was almost armored up and ready for her fight. She viciously stuffed one hand into the side gap of her chest plate and tugged angrily at the bunched up tunic beneath.

  He felt a twinge of guilt for his late arrival, so he stepped forward and pulled her chest plate up so she could smooth down the tunic. As expected, Gypsy didn’t seem to be mad at him. But she was definitely mad at someone. Her demeanor was a combination of pain and fury.

  She normally didn’t become hyper-aggressive over small equipment frustrations. That wasn’t her way. But tonight everything seemed to send her into a frenzy. She had some trouble threading an arm strap through the second slot in her armor. That promoted an angry yank to free it and a few loud, vile curses. Desmond could sense her mind wasn’t on the fight. The smooth muscles in her face were taut and the corners of her mouth dipped down slightly. Every few minutes she lost direction, pausing to refocus. It was frightening him and he could only guess the reason for her distress. One would have to be oblivious not to notice Kharon’s absence.

  As his sister had grown into an adult woman, he was often taken aback over how alluring she was. With feminine features both soft and harsh, she appeared as an angry goddess about to strike down her people for their sins. She didn't stir anything sexual in him, but she was ever the curiosity. The usual long, thick swirls of her chocolate colored hair had been tamed back into a severe braid. It hung down between the steel plates covering her shoulder blades, swinging with each movement. The black and gold armor gleamed in the overhead lights, sporting more than its share of dents and scrapes down to bare metal. Looking up at him with their father’s golden eyes, her lips twitched up into a cocky, confident smile.

  For a fleeting moment Desmond was reminded of their dead brother, Northe, and how much he too had looked like their father. Luckily, Gypsy was not as hostile toward Gavin as their brother had been. With no competition between her and Gavin, all she had to do was obey and learn from the old bastard. Ever since she had started training to be a warrior, she and their father had enjoyed a close bond. Gavin had invested more in her than he had any of his other children, and Desmond knew it was because of her sex. Being female changed everything. It wasn't in their father's nature to compete with a girl. Not because he was a misogynist, which he certainly was, but because that type of rivalry wasn't ingrained in him. He never recognized the truth. And that left him free to train Gypsy without the burden of competition that all males had with each other. This was doubly true of their sons.

  General Gavin Theron ran his gaze down Gypsy’s frame with the somber scrutiny of experience. “Will you double check her, Desmond?”

  Desmond came over and inspected all of her straps and fastenings. “Everything looks good.” He was about to step away and paused. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a short hug. “Are you alright?”

  Gypsy gave him a curt nod and stepped back but didn't look at him.

  Desmond really wished they could call this off. “Be careful out there and stay focused.”

  Gypsy picked up her sword and slid it into the scabbard on her hip. “I will.” Then she trotted up the steps, out into the roar of the crowd.

  Desmond and Gavin were alone, which was the last thing Desmond wanted. When he turned to leave, Gavin touched his shoulder. “Do you really think Scarlet is that bad off?”

  Desmond stared past his father at the arched doorway. He didn't want to talk about it. All he wanted to do was watch Gypsy’s match then take Scarlet home to rest.

  Knowing that his father never accepted silence as an answer, he replied, “I think she's worse than she's letting on.” Then he ascended the steps to watch the match.

  * * * *

  Desmond found his wife sitting in the bleachers a few rows from the bottom and slid in next to her. They usually sat higher up, but he knew the last thing she wanted to do was climb a bunch of steps. Still, he was furious that she had come to watch this match in the first place, but decided it was easier to keep his mouth shut. Scarlet looked paler than she had this morning, or maybe he was just imagining it. Everything about her worried him, but her skin was so fair that even her hands looked abnormally white. Placing his own hand on her hugely pregnant belly, he frowned.

  This pregnancy was supposed to have been over last month, but an image exam of the fetus showed it wasn't viable yet. So his wife, along with the two other doctors, Krull, and Harlan, had decided to wait. Desmond had been uneasy at the time but didn't give it much thought. That was until his wife's health took some major hits. Oh, Scarlet did everything to hide her frailty from him, but he wasn't an idiot. He didn’t need a medical chart to tell him what his own eyes did. Most of the time she had trouble keeping down a meal and instead settled on protein drinks. She also slept often, desperate to end her endless exhaustion. Apart from her stomach, the normal curves of her legs and arms had receded to loose flesh over bone. Scarlet was radiant at the start of her pregnancy. So much so that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She would always be beautiful to him, but now she was so sick he was afraid to touch her for fear he would injure her.

  Over time he had learned how to interpret the laboratory tests documented in her record. Not only was she anemic, with all kinds of vitamin and mineral deficiencies, but she had barely staved off a few opportunistic infections that she hadn't bothered to tell him about. This past month had left him anxious all the time, interfering with his own ability to eat, sleep and concentrate. The only concession she grudgingly made was that she had stopped working, and she only did that because Harlan threatened to fire her. It should have made him feel better, but she was always looking for excuses to leave the comforts of home, like today.

  Jolted from his thoughts by loud cheers, he watched as Gypsy walked around the arena with the sword held high. She was the obvious favorite today.

  “Have you eaten today?” he yelled into Scarlet's ear, trying to be heard over the squall.

  She scowled in distaste, shaking her head. “I can’t eat anything that doesn't make me want to puke. Maybe later.”

  “Any word on when they’re going to take that thing out of you?” The rancorous noise of the crowd had
finally quieted down.

  When her lips twisted into an angry frown and she shot him a hard look. He immediately regretted his choice of words.

  “It’s not a thing, Desmond, it’s our son. Harlan, Krull and I have another meeting later tonight.”

  “What time?”

  “You can't come,” she said too quickly for his liking.

  “Why the fuck not? Doesn't my opinion count for anything?”

  “I already know what your opinion is. You will only aggravate me and try to influence the other doctors.”

  “That's a bunch of shit. Why am I not allowed to be concerned about your health? Answer me that!”

  Scarlet held up her hand and pointed down to the arena.

  Tye Wynter lumbered out across the black sand with the flat side of his blade resting on his shoulder. Standing at about six and half feet, he was a mature Draconian warrior with long, stringy red hair that hung loose past his shoulders. His dark tan face was thick and lumpy, brandishing the bright, white scars left from years of combat. Most of his three hundred pound frame was covered in leather and armor, which probably hid even more scars. For a humanoid, he was as ugly as a raptor's innards. By the looks of him he probably had a personality to match.

  Draconia was his least favorite planet in their tiny solar system. Like the AEssyrians, they rejected all but the most essential technology. While AEssyria had an overabundance of natural resources they could export and trade, Draconia was a cold, barren rock whose only export was fighters for hire. There were no kingdoms on that forsaken hellhole, only clans; some nomadic, some settled. Regardless of their group, they were all legendary for the amount of punishment and injuries they could take and still fight on. They sucked as soldiers and mercenaries because they were poorly disciplined and housed unstable aggression. But they made exceptional cage fighters on Kirillia and great personal champions here. Those two environments didn't require the civility of following orders. All they had to do was fight and win.