Red: A Dystopian World Alien Romance

by S. J. Sanders

  Warol leaned into his side. “Do you suppose he was taking it back to her village?”

  Kyx considered this. “Yes, I believe so. Arie suspected that the huntsman had come after her on order of the village. Given what the male said, my guess is that he must have been returning with the bag.”

  “Our mate will be happy to have it returned to her,” Rager observed as he looked down into the fire. His eyes turned to meet theirs. “We will find her.”

  Rager kicked dirt over the fire, extinguishing it, and all three brothers solemnly left the camp without looking back, their purpose focused on the Citadel alone. The mystery before them seemed as impenetrable as thick fog.

  Who had their mate, and to what purpose?

  It took them another two days to traverse the mountains before they set foot on the wide grassy stretch of the planes. Pale spring grass filled in the landscape, and everywhere delicate flowers added flashes of color. In the distance, Kyx could easily make out the towering buildings of the Citadel. With his peripheral vision, he didn’t miss the wariness descend over his brothers as they stared ahead at either side of him.

  Warol’s ears pressed flat with noticeable agitation. “It is an entire hive of humans. I never imagined there would be so many that they would create such a vast colony. How will we ever find our mate in that?”

  Kyx flicked a disinterested ear. While he was worried about locating their mate, he was less interested in their structures. All he saw upon looking at the high walls was the terrible prison that his mother had escaped.

  The very same walls that had attempted to keep her confined were now holding their stolen female.

  They would not relinquish her easily.

  “Mother told me that the citadels are the old cities left after the great wars tore apart their world long before the Ragoru came. There used to be countless humans all over the entire planet, but their species is dying out as much as ours. She says that is why Earth was chosen—so our species could save each other. The citadels cling to their human past, and remnants of the past that haven’t yet broken beyond use. All of these things will work against us in finding Arie,” Kyx said.

  Rager stiffened beside him, his dark head coming up with focused attention. For a moment, Kyx could see why superstitious Ragoru considered their black kin as fearsome and ill luck. Right now he appeared to him as a wraith, a spirit of the dead. Unlike humans and their ghosts from his mother’s tales, the Ragoru saw their dead as dark shades that moved within the shadows until they went to the halls of the fathers. Among the more superstitious, they believed Ragoru born with black fur were those spirits re-entering the world to cause mischief and woes after rejecting the bliss offered by the rulers of the next world. Everything in Rager’s posture declared his enmity toward the walls of the Citadel and the humans housed within.

  Rager always considered himself a reasonable male, not bent toward any disposition of hatred or vengeance, but in that moment, looking at those tall gray walls, he hated them. They seemed to mock him even from that distance, taunting him that Arie had been swallowed within and concealed from her triad. Warol’s words preyed on his mind as they vigilantly made their way into the plains. He felt something harden within him as he watched the Citadel loom larger at their approached.

  He didn’t care if he had to pull down every stone and run blood through the streets. He would find Arie.

  28

  Arie stood before the great hearth in the parlor. A fire crackled merrily, but she had never felt more like a prisoner. She missed her mates and still grieved privately for the loss of Kyx every night. Her eyes cut to the guards just feet away at their place at the door, their faces expressionless. The room itself was elegant, with dark purple and blue velvet décor and deep varnished wooden furniture. A large grandfather clock ticked loudly from where it sat as a giant sentinel in the corner of the room.

  It was everything Arie had imagined as the epitome of elegance. Even her lavender dress with its snug bodice and ankle-length skirts was of the finest quality. It was like her childhood dreams in many ways.

  What wasn’t part of her fantasies was the way her scalp itched horribly under the wig. That morning, her grandmother had burst in and taken a pair of sheers to her hair, chopping ruthlessly at it until there was nothing but stubble. All the while, Lady Vera assured her with a cool voice that any lady of breeding born with a misfortune of coloring corrected it. For boys, it was easy; they merely kept their head shaved bare. But women who had the means went through further measures while poor women were left as bald as the men.

  She’d continued to speak of an acquaintance who had a granddaughter born with the brightest of blond hair who suffered to have it shorn and wear wigs as soon as she came of age to outgrow the simple bonnets worn by girls. None of that made Arie feel any comfort as she watched the red curls float around her as they drifted to the floor. Staring at those lengths, she could only think of how much her mates had loved touching her hair.

  The black wig she’d been given to replace her hair was stylish, with long silky lengths. Looking in the mirror, she had been shocked at the elegant lady staring back at her. No one back at the village would have recognized her. She didn’t even recognize herself. Her heart sank. She doubted her mates would even recognize her on sight. She’d held back her tears as the maids tightened her corset and spritzed her with a fine floral perfume distilled from roses.

  For days, she’d been locked in her room seeing no one other than the maids with her regular meal trays, except when her grandmother deigned to pay her a visit. It seemed rather peculiar. Even the maids were gossiping and giggling with some uncharacteristic excitement.

  The guards stepped aside as the door opened. Her grandmother’s willowy figure immediately filled the entryway as she walked in, the doors sliding shut behind her. A tight smile graced her painted lips as she approached.

  “I am certain you have many questions,” Vera observed.

  “I do.”

  A thin hand rose into the air. “All in good time. Today is a rather momentous occasion. We are having a distinguished visitor who has been looking forward to meeting you for some time while the huntsmen searched for you, and during your recovery. First Elite Edwar is coming to examine your suitability for himself. He is bringing his personal physician with him as well.”

  Her grandmother clapped her hands together in a poor parody of youthful jubilation, her thin ruby lips widening in a grotesque grin. After so long around her Ragoru, she’d long ago become accustomed to their more subtle expressions. The baring of teeth was at once both alarming and jarring to Arie.

  No less frightening was the weight of her grandmother’s expectations. Lady Vera expected Arie to join with Edwar, a complete stranger. The very idea of letting a man touch her made her physically ill. Taking in what was no doubt a mutinous expression on Arie’s face, the delight on her grandmother’s face slowly knitted into a dour scowl.

  “Do not look so unhappy about this. Many young ladies would love to be so honored.”

  “So why doesn’t he go call on them then?” Arie muttered.

  “Nonsense. Our family is one of the oldest in the Citadel. While you have plenty of cousins who have attempted to attract Edwar’s attention, it is you who are a direct descendant of Lady Felicity Anwar, first priestess and oracle of the Holy Mother during the time of the great revival. A joining with you will cement the legitimacy of the Order in the mind of the populace, not only in the Citadel, but in surrounding territories and sister citadels. The people will take to whatever you align yourself with and vocally support. This would have happened earlier if your mother had not been so selfish in her choices.”

  Arie bit back a laugh. “Are you telling me that the people are going to see me as some sort of mystic connected to a distant ancestor I have never heard of before today?”

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes. “Indeed.”

  “I do hate to disappoint them, but I am hardly a sibyl.”

&n
bsp; Lady Vera snorted and waved a hand with a dramatic flourish. “Don’t be absurd. No one is expecting you to deliver oracles. Just a bit of ‘divine inspiration’ in the right direction.”

  “If this was so important to you, why didn’t you marry into the Order?”

  A sneer twisted her grandmother’s face. “Had it been possible, I would have. Unfortunately, you do not inherit the line through me, but through my deceased husband Charles. He was his mother’s only child, but because he was born male he was born outside of the line. His mother was the last Lady Descent. My daughter Elizabet was adored throughout the whole Citadel. Instead of embracing it, she joined with your wastrel father and ran away to hide beyond the great woods.”

  She saw her grandmother’s knuckles whiten on her cane, her face hardening. She understood then what a formidable force her mother had faced when she’d sought her own life, starting new so far away from the reach of her mother and the Citadel. Her mother was a calm, modest soul, and would never have felt comfortable with Lady Vera’s ambition.

  She finally knew why her mother had never returned to the Citadel after the death of her husband.

  Arie’s train of thought was interrupted when the door opened wide. Her grandmother’s personal butler, Phillip, stepped in with his spotless dark jacket, waistcoat, and perfectly starched shirt. His hair was greased so thoroughly that Arie doubted a stiff wind would stir it. He stepped to the side to make room for the two gentlemen trailing after him.

  “Lady Vera, First Elite Edwar and Master Physician Wallace have arrived.”

  Her grandmother’s face lit up as a man stepped forward, his body noticeably thick with muscle and defined as it strained against his pressed clothing. His hair was midnight black except where it was graying at the temples and in the middle of his carefully manicured goatee. He handed his dark blue huntsman cloak over to Phillip and strode into the room like he owned it. Who knew? Perhaps he reckoned that he would upon Lady Vera’s death, should he successfully join with her.

  Edwar bent low over Vera’s hand, gushing some polite nonsense, but his eyes landed unerringly on Arie, the inky depths cold and calculating. Arie attempted to sidestep him as he turned to approach her, but he shifted his trajectory to corner her next to the hearth. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip with frustration, and she tried to not breath as his head dipped close to hers. He inhaled deeply with a lustful rumble. Her stomach pitched, and a clammy sweat broke out over her body as he edged closer. The smell of cigars, liquor, and the sweat of a man who didn’t bathe more than once a week overwhelmed her.

  His eyes hooded as he looked down at her, his fingers rising to toy with the end of one of the dark locks of her wig. “So, this is Elizabet’s daughter. Absolutely exquisite,” he murmured. He frowned as he shifted his hand through the hair of the wig.

  “A wig, Vera?”

  “Ah, yes, Lord Elite Edwar. She was born with an unfortunate coloring, but I spared no expense on this fine wig. I can have several others ready within the fortnight so she is ready for all occasions.”

  “That is unfortunate,” he said. Hope kindled in Arie’s breast that perhaps he’d reject her, but that spark died when he suddenly smiled. “It is of no matter. Unfortunate colorations can be bred out. I have no doubt that our children will not be cursed with such a calamity. Wouldn’t you say that is correct, Master Physician?”

  The grizzled doctor nodded his head in reluctant agreement. “Yes, my lord. The golds and reds are recessive. No doubt your children will inherit your fine dark coloration, given that Elizabet herself was an acclaimed beauty with her raven-wing hair.”

  The confident smile grew on Edwar’s face, much to Arie’s discomfort. The idea of becoming breeding chattel to this man made her skin crawl. She wanted nothing more than to break for the entrance at that moment. The only thing that kept her in place was the chilling proximity of Edwar, and full knowledge that the guards would not permit her to pass them. To attempt to escape at that moment would only cause her injury and swift punishment. That would not only be unfortunate for Arie, but no doubt her mates would not look upon such efforts kindly if they put her in direct danger. What had Warol lectured all winter? When cornered, she must never fight. Keep her safety in mind and wait for the most opportune moment to strike.

  Despite wanting to ram the nearby fire poker into Edwar’s belly, Arie sucked in her lips and managed a tight smile. Edwar, interpreting it as compliance, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her back to the upholstered couch by the large velvet-draped windows. The physician followed behind, adjusting his ocular frames. Edwar eased her onto the couch, perching at her side with a blatant show of ownership as he kept hold of her hand.

  “Now, this will be perfectly painless. The good doctor is going to do an examination to make sure you are well after your little ordeal with the monsters.”

  “The Ragoru are not monsters,” Arie said, her face flushing with anger. “They are feeling beings who want what most humans want… peace, happiness, love… family. What the huntsmen are doing to them is wrong.”

  Her grandmother gasped. “I am so sorry, Lord Edwar. Honestly, I don’t know what has gotten into her…”

  He raised a hand and her words dropped off, his muddy green eyes narrowing on her speculatively. Arie could see tiny gold flecks burning within the depths of his eyes that gave the orbs a hellish light. His hand caressed hers, but she didn’t miss the way his fingers tightened around hers, demanding compliance.

  “Poor girl. Clearly those brutes brainwashed you.”

  Arie bristled but held her tongue at the clear warning. Her eyes darted over to the elderly doctor as he seated himself at her other side and opened his reinforced medical bag. He gently extracted her hand from Edwar with a disapproving frown and took his wrist between her fingers. He pulled his pocket watch out and glanced down through his bifocals at it as he took her pulse. He leaned down toward her and Arie caught the faint scent of mint, tobacco and whiskey. He glanced up at her, his faded blue eyes filled with sympathy.

  “Pulse is good,” he said in a raspy voice as he continued to take her vitals, stopping only so often to make a notation. “When was your last cycle, my dear?”

  Arie frowned, counting back in her mind. She’d had her menses less than a week before the Withering Days had commenced, and then again after the next full moon in Janua. She blinked slowly, a fire lighting in her belly as excitement stirred through her before it was doused with dread. Her hands clasped around her belly protectively and met the doctor’s eyes.

  “Around the full moon of Janua,” she murmured, fear skating up her spine.

  The doctor sighed and scribbled in his notebook. “According to my calculations, you are about two months along. Unfortunately, Ragoru gestation is unknown still. I am assuming that is the sire?” He arched a thick white eyebrow at her and Arie nodded.

  She could feel the weight on the couch beside her shift as Edwar leaned forward to speak. “Ragoru gestation? Do you mean to say that my intended has been impregnated by those creatures?”

  “That would be a fair guess given that she was with them for several months and, from what I understand, by her own admission was mated to their triad,” he replied as he looked over his spectacles at the First Elite.

  “Terminate it!”

  Arie’s arms tightened around herself and she looked wide-eyed between Edwar and the physician. “No! I won’t allow you to kill my baby!”

  “It is not a baby,” Edwar attempted to convince her with a more soothing tone, but she would hear none of it.

  “It is! And it is mine!”

  “If I may,” the doctor interjected, “we don’t know anything about how Ragoru young implant or what effects termination would have on her system. I recommend allowing it to grow to term and deliver naturally.”

  Edwar scowled, but then his expression shifted as he tapped a long finger on his chin thoughtfully. “That could work to our advantage. Once it is born, we could dissect it.
The Order may gain some useful information from this abomination. How long before she could be successfully bred after delivery, Doctor?”

  Arie’s jaw dropped in horror. He was speaking callously of killing and dissecting her baby. The doctor beside her turned away to pack his bag but not before she caught his wince. Clearly that had not been what he’d intended, but Edwar was now set on course and Arie knew that fighting would only speed up her child’s demise.

  “Usually I recommend at least a year between pregnancies to ensure the mother’s health,” the physician answered quietly.

  “That is not what I asked, Master Physician,” Edwar ground out impatiently.

  Wallace stuck his stethoscope forcibly into his bag and snapped it shut. “Six weeks is required to heal post-delivery from a vaginal birth. More if we need to surgically remove the young.”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary. I do not care if it survives delivery. So, six weeks. She could be bred in as little as three months.

  “Hypothetically, yes,” the doctor agreed irritably.

  Edwar’s fingers curled around her hand and he spoke to her grandmother. “This little matter of inconvenience changes nothing. We will have to keep her secluded once she begins showing until she has recovered post-delivery. We will continue plans for the joining ceremony as discussed.”

  Arie bit back another refusal, knowing that she had no choice but to go along with it. She had no way to know how long she’d have until her rog was ready to come into the world, or before she would become too swollen to make her escape.