by Anna Carven
And then suddenly, there was only one.
One Bartharran left.
He squeezed his hand around the pirate’s neck, not caring that his fingers were blackened and disfigured. Torin could no longer tell where his exo-armor ended and his charred flesh began. “Where is she?” he demanded, his voice escaping as a low hiss. He couldn’t summon anything more. His throat was burned out. “Where is my human?”
“She go to stars,” the Bartharran whispered in crude Universal, a smile curving his wide lips before his black-and-red eyes rolled back into his head. The big alien fell back, going limp, crashing to the floor.
Dead.
The pirate’s dying words sent a spear of ice right through Torin’s heart. What did he mean? He fell to his knees, and if he still had tear ducts right now, he would have cried tears of pure frustration.
He didn’t know where his mate was being kept!
The Bartharrans were about to do something terrible to her; he could feel it in his bones.
Run! Keep moving!
Torin had tried to keep her safe the only way he knew how—with blade and gun and claw. Never in his wildest nightmares had he imagined the situation would spiral so far out of his control.
He was all alone here, without communication, without tech support, and without backup.
He was weak, slow, his body damaged beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. He glanced down at the dead Bartharrans. As the coppery stench of their blood filled his nostrils, he knew what he had to do.
It was a custom that had its roots on the flat, icy battlefields of the Vaal. They said that the Lost Tribes consumed the hearts of their vanquished foes in the hope that they would imbibe their fierce fighting spirit.
Torin knew for a fact that it was also the fastest way to ingest high quality protein, the kind that his nanites thrived on.
Disgust coursed through him. Most of his brothers wouldn’t have had any qualms about it, but the intellectual in Torin had always shied away from these base, visceral things.
Ah, perhaps he was a snob, or an idiot, or just a little bit confused.
It didn’t matter now, because he needed to regain his strength as quickly as possible. For Seph, he would do the most vile, unspeakable things if he had to.
Torin grabbed the nearest dead Bartharran by the shoulder and flipped the alien over. With his claws drawn and sharp and already bloodied, he took a deep breath, reached down, and tore into the poor bastard’s chest.
It was like flicking a switch. The rest came easily, because his true instincts kicked in, and the last shreds of his civilized facade melted away.
Because like all Kordolians, he was really just a savage at heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What are you doing?” Seph demanded as the Bartharrans surrounded her. The boss—the only one amongst them who seemed to speak decent Universal—bent down to lift her out of the chair.
“It is time, Blessed One.”
Arms as thick as small tree trunks slid behind her back and under her legs. Gripped with panic, Seph tried to kick him in the chest, but it was like kicking against a solid brick wall. Her booted feet smashed into hard, immovable armor-plated muscle.
“I know this is difficult, oh divine Salu, but you must release the stars and remember the place from where you came. You have been in the worldly dimension for too long.”
Release the stars? What the hell is he talking about?
The time for playing along was finished. It was clear that these Bartharrans weren’t going to listen to her, even if they believed she was this so-called Salu.
“Do not fight me.”
“Get your hands off me,” she snarled as he lifted her out of the chair. She squirmed and kicked and tried to punch him, but it was no use.
Suddenly, the Bartharran placed her on her feet, holding her arms down by her sides. “Shh, shh, shh,” he whispered. “We must hurry now, Salu.” He turned to his crew and said something in harsh Bartharran.
Suddenly, Seph was dwarfed by big Bartharran males. They started to chant, their voices low and guttural as they lifted her up. Seph couldn’t even fight back, because they clamped down on her arms and legs, completely restraining her.
There was nothing she could do against such raw power. Deciding that resistance was futile, she relaxed. Even if she broke free for a split-second, these tough, leather-skinned aliens would just grab her again. There were just too many of them.
Better to conserve her energy.
You’d better fucking hurry, Torin.
The only thing keeping her remotely sane right now was the belief that Torin was going to burst through that goddamn door at any moment and save her ass.
Maybe she could buy herself some time and delay whatever it was that these Bartharrans wanted to prepare for.
The chanting intensified.
Someone produced a set of drums and started beating a slow, pounding rhythm.
Drums? On a fucking pirate ship? I must be hallucinating.
At last, the Bartharrans lowered her, and Seph’s back pressed against something impossibly soft.
Soft?
A nest of velvety blue cushions surrounded her. She was on a long, narrow table, or altar, or whatever.
Now! Before the Bartharrans could do anything else to her, she rolled to one side, and…
Thud! She dropped to the floor, pain shooting through her side. Seph scrambled to her knees and crawled between the legs of a surprised Bartharran, heading for the exit.
Just draw this out as long as you possibly can. That’s all you can do.
Seriously, what the hell was she even doing? She didn’t know anymore. The behavior of these Bartharrans was too confusing, too chilling. All she knew was that she wanted to escape; she wanted to find Torin.
He was the only person in the Universe who could make her feel safe.
Predictably, one of the Bartharrans grabbed her around her waist and hauled her up. “Obog!” He growled, lifting her up and slamming her back down on the table. Seph was grateful for the soft cushions that broke her fall, but they didn’t stop the jarring sensation that hit her in the spine.
The Bartharran’s rough treatment earned him a scolding from the boss, who stroked her hair. “I am sorry, Blessed One. Our time is running out.”
Seph shuddered.
Quickly, the Bartharrans got to work, tying her hands together above her head with a strip of red fabric. They did the same with her ankles. Wide straps crossed over her legs, stomach, and arms, binding her to the table.
“Why are you doing this?” Seph asked again, blinking the tears from her eyes. She would not break down here.
Torin is coming.
Torin is coming!
“Poor Salu. You have been away from the astral plane for too long. You have forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“That Amanhiel follows you wherever you go, and now he has drawn them here.”
“Who?”
“The Plutharans. Our distant cousins. Our most hated enemies. Amanhiel is the god of war and chaos, and he has brought destruction to our people and our planet for far too long. Once you return to the stars, he will follow you, and we will have peace.”
“The Kordolians brought war to your planet,” Seph said gently. “Not this god of chaos.” Which was ironic, because Torin was a Kordolian, and as far as she knew, he’d spent time on Bartharra, doing… bad things. So technically, he had brought war to their planet.
“Oh, but he has. When he walks among us, death always follows. See how he has drawn these Plutharan scum and killed hundreds of our brothers on this ship. You need to go back, Blessed One.” There was that look in his eyes again; they glazed over, becoming scarily blank. “That is the only way we will get rid of him.”
“No it isn’t,” she protested. “He’ll kill all of you if anything happens to me.”
A sinking feeling entered the pit of her stomach as her words fell on deaf ears. The drumming
started up again. The Bartharrans started walking in a circle around her, chanting and making strange gestures with their hands. Someone handed a green robe to the leader. He draped it across his shoulders and pulled the hood over his eyes, casting his battered face in shadow.
Now he looked really scary.
The Bartharran was handed a long, curved dagger with an ornately jeweled hilt. Another Bartharran produced a golden bowl of liquid. Fragrant steam—reminding her of a mixture of jasmine and mint—rose from the bowl. The boss dipped the dagger in it, uttering a phrase in deep, resonant tones.
She heard the names Salu and Amanhiel many times. Clearly, the two were inextricably linked. The Goddess of the Stars and the God of Chaos. It had a nice ring to it.
Seph fought the urge to laugh and cry uncontrollably. The irony of it all! She was named after a goddess, and now she’d been mistaken for one.
The Bartharran rested the edge of his blade against her throat. Seph winced as the hot metal kissed her bare skin.
After a moment of disbelief, the terrible realization came crashing down upon her.
They’re going to sacrifice me!
“Don’t,” she uttered, feeling more helpless than ever before, even as anger welled up inside her. “He’s not your Amanhiel. He’s something much, much worse—for you. He’ll kill all of you, and all of this will have been for nothing.”
The Bartharran ignored her, his chanting becoming louder as he pressed the blade more firmly against her skin. Razor-sharp pain bit her neck right over the bulge of her trachea. She didn’t dare move; didn’t even dare to breathe.
Her own warm blood trickled down the sides of her neck in tiny rivulets.
This is it!
Torin! She closed her eyes, still believing he would make everything okay. She conjured an image of his face in her mind, remembering that expression; the intense-but-sweet one he got when he watched her, thinking she wasn’t aware.
Well, if she was going to go out at the hands of this fucking zealot pirate, at least she could do it while visualizing the only man she’d ever loved.
The only man who made her feel secure.
The only man who made her feel comfortable in her own skin, with no pretensions, no bullshit, no judgment, no expectations.
Just her, and him, and everything was perfect.
“Don’t kill me,” she whispered, no longer caring that the knife bit into her skin. “You’ll be sorry if you do. Sacrificing me won’t change your cruel existence. Only you can do that.”
But her words were lost on the Bartharrans, who had fallen into some kind of trance. As soon as this stupid prayer was over, she was going to be…
Suddenly, the pressure on her neck was gone.
What?
Seph’s eyes snapped open, only to catch the glint of the blade as he lifted it high into the air and brought it down.
The killing stroke.
But it never came.
That was because something was sticking out of the Bartharran’s eye. A knife! Not a Callidum one, though. It was made from silver Bartharran metal.
The chanting stopped. The boss Bartharran reeled back, clutching at his eye. He pulled the knife out, and a river of crimson poured down his cheek.
You’re here!
The naive Seph of two weeks ago would have been disgusted, horrified. The Seph of now—who had seen so much duplicity and strangeness and death since then—was exultant.
She turned to the side, craning her neck. The Bartharrans scattered as a dark shadow swept into the room. To her surprise, several of those furry nak nak ran before him, fierce and howling, as if they were his very own version of Cerberus, the many-headed hound of the Underworld.
What followed was the most surreal thing she’d ever witnessed.
Seph had seen Torin impale people with his blades. She’d seen him shoot and maim and dismember so many times that she was almost used to it by now. No, that was a lie. Reeally, how could one ever become used to that?
But he’d never seen him fight with only his claws. She’d never seen him so angry, so uncontrolled, so desperate. He moved between the Bartharrans like a shark, becoming a dark blur.
And in his wake, he left blood. The air became heavy with the metallic scent. Bartharrans fell left, right, and centre.
None of them could withstand Torin’s wrath.
So fast! A black blur.
If Seph didn’t know him so well, she would seriously have thought he was some sort of supernatural creature—a phantom, a specter, a demon.
An abomination.
That’s what Torin had called himself.
Maybe it was true, but she couldn’t think of him that way. Never. He was her Torin; sweet, kind, her protector.
Surrounded by a storm of death, her heart swelled with warmth.
As quickly as it had started, the storm stopped. Torin dropped to his knees, his chest heaving, his face full of anguish.
“Torin!” she gasped. “Are you okay? Get me out of this damn thing.” So I can help you! Although what exactly she might do, she didn’t quite know. It was just an instinct—rising so powerfully that she strained and kicked against her bonds, desperate to break free.
Torin turned to her, and for the first time, Seph realized he looked terrible.
His usually seamless exo-armor was patchy and shot out in places, the nanites writhing all over his skin, tendrils of obsidian mixing with streaks and rivulets of his black blood. A large wound had appeared in his left side, just below his prominent ribs. His face was haggard, desperate, and relieved, all at the same time, imbued with just a hint of burning anger. His expression was truly formidable, even though his features had taken on that lean, hungry look again.
Too lean, actually. He looked like he was in terrible need of sustenance.
Oh, Torin. What have you done?
He’d pushed himself to the very limit, for her!
With one hand clapped over his eye, the Bartharran captain swayed, bending over to pick up the ceremonial dagger.
“Don’t even think about it,” Torin hissed. He lurched to his feet, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace. “You dare lay a hand on my mate?” The crimson of his eyes darkened, becoming the very same color as the Bartharran blood he’d just spilled. “We had an agreement, Clannath. If you had just left me alone, I would not have caused you any trouble.” He bared his fangs. “Now look what has happened.”
“You drew the Plutharans here,” the captain spat. “You caused this mess.”
“Me?” Torin paused, his expression unreadable.
“They seem to think you’re this Amanhiel character,” Seph said dryly, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was racing at a million beats per second. She’d just evaded death, and its shadow still lingered over her. “He’s the God of Chaos, apparently.”
A bitter, disbelieving laugh dropped from Torin’s lips.
“It is written in the Prophecy,” the captain declared. “When Salu releases the stars into the sky and returns to her kingdom, the Chaos God will follow her and the thousand-orbits war will finally come to an end.” He staggered toward Seph, arm outstretched, his jewel-encrusted dagger glinting in the harsh light.
The huge alien lurched to one side, losing his balance as he tripped over a body. He yelled something in Bartharran and the knife came down for a second time, right over her belly…
Thud!
“Don’t,” Torin growled. He’d moved so fast, throwing himself between Seph and her attacker. He lifted one leg and kicked the Bartharran in the stomach, sending him flying.
“Ooof!” The big alien crashed into a console at the far end of the room. Several holos—depicting starmaps and navigation routes—flickered and went blank. The Bartharran raised his head once, glared at Torin as if to say how dare you, and promptly slumped to the floor, unconscious.
“Aargh!” Torin grunted in pain as he pulled the knife out of his palm, which was covered in patchy armor. A small trickle of blood was all he
had to show for the deed. Instantly, the skin started to knit together. “Crazy Bartharrans.”
He glared at the captain, reversed the dagger and took aim.
“Torin.” Seph lifted her head a fraction, trying to break him out of his fury.
“What is it, Seph?” When he said her name like that—in tones of liquid velvet—everything was all right again.
“You shouldn’t kill him.” Strangely, she wasn’t even angry at the Bartharrans. Maybe that was shock. Maybe it would all hit her later, but right now, she felt a little bit sorry for them. They all believed in a prophecy that was going to free them from some endless, pointless war.
“He would have killed you without a second thought.” Torin’s voice trembled with barely suppressed anger. “Of course I should kill him.”
“But…”
“Yes, my love?”
“If he’s dead, who’s going to pilot the ship?”
“Ah.” A fierce battle played out across his ravaged features. The urge to kill fought with Seph’s cool logic. She had no idea how she managed to think of such things at a time like this. Realizing she was moments away from death, she’d entered a surreal, detached place in her mind.
Slowly, Torin lowered the knife. The fire in his eyes died down as he rushed to her side. “Persephone.” His voice cracked. “I am sorry.”
“Sorry? You saved me… again.” She said the latter with a wry smile as waves of immense relief and washed over her. “This is starting to become a recurring theme for us.”
The old Seph would have resented this damsel in distress shit with a passion. The Seph who had hidden away on a pirate ship for the past two weeks was of a different mind. She looked up at Torin and saw his battle-ravaged face. Actually, one of his cheekbones was shot out. Little black things swarmed around the gruesome wound, doing things that defied all logic as they repaired his beautiful silver features.
A flicker of pain tugged at the corners of his mouth, and her heart went out to him.
He endured all this silently, without complaint, for her. The extent of his injuries… he must be in agony right now.
Torin dropped the dagger in disgust and tore at her bonds with his claws, freeing her in a heartbeat. Seph sat up, swung her legs over the side of the makeshift altar, and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder as she momentarily closed her eyes.