Ruined Kingdom

by Michelle Marquis

  Gavin was everything to her, and as often as he had left for war, she had always felt that if he died, she would want to die to. It reminded her of Molitov's tale of his mother's suicide after his father had died. It was sad, but she understood more than she cared to admit. There was no doubt that if Caraculla hadn't been there to offer his counsel and a shoulder to cry on, she and Gavin would have gone their separate ways a long time ago. Now, after twenty-five years of marriage, she couldn't imagine living the rest of her life without him.

  Unfortunately Gavin was a despicable mate, but his one redeeming quality was he loved her. Caraculla had told her once she made Gavin a better man, a better father, and even a better soldier. She didn’t believe him at first, but now she did. Looking at Caraculla, she was reminded of how much his guidance had gotten her through some tough times. No matter what, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him.

  Not long ago she would have trusted him with her life, the life of her husband and the lives of her children. But the man standing in her cell, a mere few feet from her, was a complete stranger. Although polluted with drugs, she knew his issues ran much deeper than his addiction.

  Was Gypsy's rejection and marriage to Kharon the catalyst for this decline? Would this have happened even if Caraculla wasn't a drug addict? Harlan didn't know anymore. Having lived among the AEssyrians for half her Earthly lifespan, she still didn’t completely understand them. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t know what the man before her was capable of. The leer in his narrowed eyes insinuated a possible assault.

  “Don’t you dare touch me, Caraculla!” The fury in her voice surprised even her.

  Caraculla stopped and studied her face for a long time. The menace in his eyes melted. “Is that what you think I want?” The laugh that followed was heavy and dark, like black licorice. “I’m not going to fuck you, Harlan. But I am going to punish you for what you did to me.”

  Throwing herself off the side of the cot, she fell but regained her footing and bolted toward the cell door. But he was too close. Easily catching her by the arm, he put his other hand over her mouth before she could make a sound and yanked her back against his chest. Leaning in close, his lips brushed the shell of her ear. It was an intimate gesture reserved for lovers, but here it just spewed perversity.

  The warm, moist feel of his breath brought up the hairs on her neck. “I will have revenge for what you did to me.”

  Harlan threw punches and slaps as hard as she could, even sinking her teeth into his hand, but he ignored all of it. While continuing her attack in a frenzy of blows, she felt one of his arms snake around her waist. He lifted her up, wrestling her over his lap like she was a misbehaving toddler. With a trembling hand he unfastened her pants and pulled them down, exposing her buttocks, his other arm holding her securely over his thighs. Harlan was sure he meant to rape her. Having been threatened by him in the past it was not such a ludicrous assumption. In another explosion of fury she bucked and twisted, trying to struggle free until he brought down the first blow against her exposed backside.

  That was when she went still, ceasing the fight and allowing the tension to loose from her muscles. Harlan knew from her many years of marriage to Gavin that struggling could actually have the opposite effect of what she wanted. His large calloused hand struck her soft, plump flesh again and again. Using a heavy, hard stroke, she could feel his erection swell against her belly. Being compliant and submissive was the only thing that might diffuse his excitement. A rape would neither devastate nor destroy her, but if Gavin found out, his need for revenge would consume them all.

  Unlike Scarlet, Harlan had researched AEssyria for many years before finally deciding to make the journey here. The males of this race were aggressive and territorial to an extreme. Most of her colleagues on Earth thought that she was insane to come here. Even before she stepped off the shuttle, she'd known that being raped or claimed was a credible risk. Being married to the Senior General over the entire Imperial army hadn't guaranteed her safety either. Through the wars, kidnappings, and ventures outside the Imperial City, she'd always believed it was only luck that kept her from being sexually assaulted. Even her strong, intelligent daughter, Gypsy, hadn't escaped that despicable violation. So Harlan lay there submissively. Pushing down all her discomfort and fear, she lay calm and still across his lap.

  The smacks became harder and faster making her ass feel like it had been perched on a campfire, but Harlan didn’t make a sound or movement. She made no effort to resist, even when he stopped hitting her and massaged his hand along her butt.

  Then a moment came when she sensed some hesitation in him. Knowing he wanted to force the issue and take more, she waited. This decision would be all his. But instead, he pulled her up from his lap and eased her onto the bed, letting her pull up her pants.

  “Do you feel better now?” she asked without the slightest hint of anger. “Did you get what you came for?”

  He stood and secured the mask back on the lower part of his face. Suddenly she missed Caraculla terribly. Not this unpredictable maniac, but the old him, the real him. She searched his dark, worn face for something, anything, but couldn’t read him.

  “This is over between us. We are even,” he said.

  Feeling his confusion, she dared to hope that perhaps her old friend was still in there somewhere. The ball of tension in her stomach eased as he drew back from her.

  Harlan listened to the jingle of his spurs and the scrape of his boots as he made his way toward the cell door. Placing his hand on the keypad, the beeps came and the steel door slid back open.

  He paused before passing through the threshold but didn’t turn to face her. “Do you forgive me?”

  The tender throbbing in her butt hurt but it was nothing compared to the pain coursing through her heart's memories. “I do. I love you, Caraculla. I just wish I knew how to help you.”

  “I’m beyond anyone’s help now,” he said. Then he slipped out, closed the door and was gone.

  Chapter 18

  Scarlet was bleeding again. Desmond had stopped his hyperia and touched the dressing over his wife’s abdomen. His hand came away damp and crimson. Even from behind her he could see how ghostly pale her neck was. The excessive heat radiating from her fever was making him sweat. Krull rode up next to him, aware that something was wrong. There was no other reason for Desmond to have stopped. The Kirillian doctor shifted in his saddle, leaning over to examine Scarlet’s blood-soaked bandage.

  “We need to break so I can repair and redress this.”

  It had been three days since they had met up with the others. Desmond was thankful that Bethara had been sharp enough to enlist the help of her brother, Trajan. When Gypsy's mother had been abducted across the Imperial border a couple of years ago, it was Trajan who had made finding her possible.

  Scarlet had been stable the first two days but one could only expect so much. They were still at least a day from the Queendom. Under normal circumstances it would have been a day and half ride at the most, even with someone sickly, but they had decided to stay off the main route and come in through the mountains on the western border.

  Gypsy walked up, leading her mount. Her gait was short and tense. The worry on her face seemed to reflect his. “I can only assume we have to stop again,” she said looking up at him. “We’re kind of out in the open here. Maybe Trajan and I should go scout out a place with more cover.”

  Desmond’s jaw tightened. He shook his head, not wanting her to leave just in case something happened. His sister's strength was one of the few things holding him together. If she got caught and didn't come back, he didn't know if he could keep going. Sometimes he wished he was better grounded. Forever in awe of her courage, he really hoped that someday their father would truly appreciate her.

  “Don’t go anywhere yet. Just wait.”

  They were in the worst possible position they could be in. The fact remained; Scarlet was too sick to travel. Managing to rally her strength for the last
two days, he knew her health and energy were spent. Everyone had limits and his wife had reached hers. If they pushed forward right after Krull treated her, she could die. But they couldn’t camp here and wait for her to get stronger either. Megolyth had put a bunch of bounty hunters on their scent. If they held here too long the hunters would catch up, even with Trajan’s tricks to confuse them. In order to make camp and sleep they would first have to lose the hunters.

  Both Desmond and Gypsy had the same price, dead or alive. Dead would be more convenient for the hunters, and their deaths wouldn't upset anyone important.

  Desmond dismounted carefully with Scarlet cradled in his arms. He carried her to a shaded clearing and laid her out on a blanket Krull had put down. Once she was down, the doctor peeled away her dressing, scowling at the broken sutures running horizontally across her lower abdomen. The lower half of her incision had split open again and every movement forced blood to spill through the opening.

  When Bethara dismounted with Hazen in her arms he started crying. She cuddled and bounced him trying her best to soothe the hungry child.

  Within a few minutes, Krull got the bleeding to abate. After cleaning the wound, he began to replace the torn sutures. Scarlet’s eyes fluttered open. Desmond leaned down over her, blocking her from seeing what Krull was doing.

  She lifted her hand weakly and cupped his cheek. “Hi.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  The pain etched on her beautiful face wrenched his heart. Taking her hand, he kissed the palm then caressed it with his thumb. “I know how much this hurts, but he should be done soon. He gave you something to make you more comfortable.”

  She licked her cracked lips. “I’m very thirsty.”

  Desmond lifted his canteen to her mouth. She sipped the water as a thin stream escaped the side of her lips. He replaced the cap then dropped the canteen next to him. Running his fingertips into her hairline, he smoothed the wavy locks away from her face.

  Scarlet looked from side to side and smiled. “I’m okay. How's our little guy?”

  Desmond nodded stiffly and forced a brief smile. It was all he could do not to break down. “He’s doing better than you.”

  Scarlet arched her back and groaned, crushing her eyes shut. Desmond shot a look down at Krull but was relieved to see he was already finished and replacing the bandage.

  “Sorry. She should be more comfortable now,” Krull said, packing up his supplies.

  Desmond must have sat there close to an hour. The desperation in him had become overwhelming. He was stalling to give Scarlet time, but it was no use. He was putting everyone in danger. Scarlet needed days, not hours, to stabilize. Continuing to stroke her hair while she fitfully dozed, he felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life, and he’d been stationed on the moon, Loss, for over twenty years.

  At one point he suggested he double back and turn himself over to the hunters to buy the rest of them more time. Gypsy exterminated that idea by insisting she would go back with him whether he liked it or not. She was as stubborn as their father.

  His silent brooding was interrupted when Bethara came over. She held the baby close to her chest as it fussed and struggled.

  Looking from him to Krull she said, “The baby needs to eat.”

  The doctor opened up his saddle bag removing a bottle and a large cream colored capsule. As he held his hand out to Desmond for his canteen Scarlet suddenly awoke, attempting to sit up.

  “No,” she called out weakly. “I want to feed him myself.”

  Desmond glared at Krull as he came over to his wife. Damn it! Why didn’t he give her a stronger sedative? This was yet another battle he would lose, but he had to try.

  “You’re too sick. There is nothing wrong with the infant nutrition tabs.”

  “I don't care. This is the first and only child that I will be giving birth to and I am not going to miss out on bonding with him. At any rate he needs as much of my immunity as he can get,” she panted out. The pain she was feeling made her grind her teeth as she spoke.

  That was it. He’d had enough. “You don't have any fucking immunity left! All you’re going to do is make yourself sicker. These five minutes of bonding isn't going to mean shit to our son if his mother is dead. Then he gets to miss out on bonding with you for the rest of his life!”

  Even as the words left his mouth, Desmond's frustration deflated as he watched tears soak his wife's eyes. As he predicted he folded immediately. He held up a hand as if to ward off her sorrow. “Shhh. No, no. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,” he whispered. “The last thing I want is to upset you. I’m just so scared I'm going to lose you.”

  Desmond took a step back and surrendered. He let Bethara place the child at Scarlet’s breast. The baby latched on, sucking furiously. Desmond knew Scarlet’s milk was drying up because of her poor health. At least this conflict would soon become a moot point. Her milk would dry up and then they could switch to the synthetic nourishment without Scarlet's interference. Gods, what he wouldn’t give for a good, stiff drink.

  More than once Desmond had wished his son hadn't survived the pregnancy. As despicable as the thought was, he had resented his son the moment he was cut from his wife's womb. The baby demanded so much from her at a time when she lingered between life and death. He knew he had these feelings because he needed someone to blame.

  Hazen, like all infants, cried, fussed, and was constantly hungry. Privately, Desmond was glad Scarlet couldn't birth anymore children. Shortly after she’d woken up from surgery she had told him that her uterus was too damaged to have any more children. Thank the gods. Even if it hadn’t been, there was no way in hell that he could survive another pregnancy. The stress alone would kill him. It was a good thing Krull, Bethara, and even Trajan, had some knowledge of caring for infants because he, Gypsy, and Dragon were probably even more useless than Missy in that capacity.

  To Desmond's relief, Missy, who was under two years old, was relatively low maintenance. Seamlessly she had bonded with both Dragon and Trajan, satisfied with whichever one she rode with. Now, he had never been a believer in the ancient concept of rebirth, but one of the temple priests had called Missy an “elder soul brought into the world through the kiss of an assassin's steel.” Most of it sounded like the ramblings of a demented old man, but if such a thing existed he was inclined to believe her spirit was old. The little girl was stoic in situations where most children would be going berserk. Not only was her father probably dead and mother missing, but she had also witnessed her caretaker being butchered by Megolyth’s guards. And now after all that, the poor kid was being dragged through the wilderness toward a strange kingdom. Children didn't usually adapt well to change and uncertainty. But Missy silently endured to the point it sometimes gave him the creeps.

  Last night, an unremarkable sequence of events had given Desmond some much needed clarity regarding his own child. On one of their frequent rest breaks, Bethara had been rocking his son in her arms as he wailed. Desmond thought it a miracle that the entire Imperial army and every bounty hunter in the region hadn't heard him. The baby was so fussy and noisy that he was sure Trajan's sister was fraying.

  Then, out of nowhere, Missy crept up to the infant. She gently poked and prodded at Hazen’s cheeks, arms, and belly. Whatever she did seemed to work. In less than a minute the baby's screaming had slowed to a mournful mewling, interrupted by some hiccups. Missy continued soothing him by exploring his son’s tiny hands with her own. She traced his palms, then touched and squeezed each finger. Desmond watched in fascination as Missy peeled back the bottom of the blanket and did the same with each of the infant’s toes. His son seemed enthralled with the little girl’s game, and the silence it brought was a welcome relief. The calming quiet went on until Bethara broke it.

  “Missy, dear, can you hold the baby on your lap while I see to Dragon? It is time for his medicine.”

  Missy shook her head with firm defiance. Then his treacherous little sister pointed directly at him. Having only held Hazen
for a moment in the hospital, he really wasn't comfortable doing it again. But before Desmond could offer an excuse, Bethara turned toward him and held the bundled child out. Reluctantly he took the baby, nestled it against his chest and searched for someone else to take it. Everyone avoided eye contact with him. Bastards!

  Sometime during his search for assistance, his son’s whimpering quieted and stopped altogether. When he looked down, Hazen was sleeping. He waited for Bethara to finish with Dragon and happened to glance up to catch Scarlet groggily watching them.

  Even in her frail state she looked happier than he had ever seen her before. It filled him with a warm euphoria that he desperately needed. It was then he realized how important their son was to her—hell, to both of them. If Scarlet didn’t survive, Hazen would be the only thing left that they had shared except for his memories. All he wanted was to make Scarlet happy. But sadly, Desmond knew if she died and he held their son responsible, it would forever mar those memories. Deep down he knew that any animosity toward his son would devastate Scarlet and it shamed him. Desmond had to release those negative emotions. Like all good mothers, the health and well-being of her child came first. It was one of the million things he loved about her without even realizing it. So he stopped being angry and accepted that Hazen's life was just as important to him as Scarlet's.

  In the sullen silence of his fear he heard Gypsy gasp. Desmond turned just in time to see her swoon but not fall. Bracing her hand against her hyperia, a smile spread across her face. “Kharon is close by.”

  Within seconds they heard the distant thudding of hoof beats approaching. Desmond gave the baby to Bethara. He and Trajan unsheathed their swords and stood ready. After all, it might not be Commander Kharon that found them first. Krull and Dragon stood by Scarlet with Missy peeking out from between them. Gypsy confidently trotted past them all, making no move to draw her own weapon. She was that sure.