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The Last Tritan Ch. 02

By: WaterBurn



Author's note: In the last chapter I failed to mention there were going to be elements of BDSM. It has been brought to my attention that this is offensive to some people, and for that I am sorry! So fair warning, there are some elements of BDSM in The Last Tritan, but they do not overwhelm the main theme of Nonconsent.

That being said, I hope you enjoy the second installment as much as you enjoyed the first! (Sweating nervously here!) Please feel free to comment, vote, or send me an email, and a huge thank you to everyone who has done so already! It makes my needy little world go right round!

WaterBurn Xx

*

At first, the chill of the concrete floor was soothing on my back, but as the night wore on I began shaking uncontrollably. It started with tossing and turning until the cold had a strangle hold on my internal organs, and I stumbled around the room trying to keep warm. It was impossible to know how long I'd been left alone, but eventually a soldier entered the room followed closely by a woman carrying bread and a glass of water.

I was blinded by the light, and cried out in pain. She dropped her bounty by the door and hastily retreated, leaving me alone with the soldier. It seemed my reputation had preceded me.

"Eat," he said in a deep voice. When I remained pressed against the wall, he kicked the plate in my direction. "Don't make me ask twice, slave." If he was under the impression I was being stubborn merely for the sake of it, he was mistaken - I was having trouble making my freezing limbs do as they were told, let alone summoning the dexterity needed to put food to mouth.

Never the less he advanced on me, the intent to do harm clear on his face. I scrambled for the small loaf of bread that had rolled from the plate. The effort was herculean on my part, but I managed to fill my mouth with the stale, flavorless stuff of army rations. He paused, grunting his approval when I continued to chew, though the loaf was so dry I couldn't swallow without taking a mouthful of water to aid in digestion. By the time I was halfway through my jaw was aching, but the activity had succeeded in warming me up a little.

When I'd finished, he seized my arm in an iron fist. I cringed away from him, keenly aware how vulnerable my nudity made me. "Come," he said, and ignored my struggling as he dragged me from the dark little room. I tried to pull my arm out of his tight grip, until we got to the front hall which was swarming with soldiers. The room went deadly quiet for a moment before the men erupted in laughter and started cheering. I pressed close to my escort, terrified to be left without some form of protection.

"Holy shit Cal! Is this the wild thing from last night?" Asked a burly soldier, touching my shoulder. I jerked away from him, only to be steadied by Cal as the other man inspected my naked body with interest. I tried my best to remain impassive about my nudity, though I was terrified.

"Yeah. The captain cleaned her up last night. Said she attacked Beau." I frowned - Beau had struck me first. I'd only defended myself. "Don't worry Gabe, he'll put the fight out of her in no time."

"I hope not! I like a little spirit now and then," Gabe said, and touched my face. My lip curled, almost against my will, and his face lit up with interest. "What's your name slave?" I stared back at him with the most acidic glare I could muster, and he laughed.

"The captain's still training her," said Cal, frowning in my direction. "He asked you a question slave!" I yelped as he gave me a violent shake, forcing me to my bruised and bloodied knees.

"Easy Cal. You know the captain doesn't like it when you fuck with a slave he's training," Gabe cautioned. Cal ignored him fisting a hand in my hair, and forcing my head back.

"Nonsense Gabe," said the cool voice of the Captain from behind me. At his arrival the entire company stood and saluted. "You asked her a question," he soothed. "We've already gone over this, haven't we dear?" He asked, fingers gingerly turning my head toward him. The sight of his regrettably handsome face sent chills down my spine. Would he involve these men in my punishment if I was difficult?

In an intentionally hoarse whisper, I said, "I don't know my name. Sir." I knew when to pick my battles - receiving lesson two in front of twenty armed men, while I was on my knees, naked and sleep deprived were odds I had no intention of testing.

"Good girl," he praised, stroking my hair back. It was becoming an oddly familiar gesture, and I wasn't thrilled about it.

"Well in that case, how about she apologises with a blow job?" Said Gabe, grabbing at his groin. I twisted my head away from the captain, and gave him my biggest, toothiest grin, thinking it probably wouldn't hurt if they thought I was teetering on the edge of madness. His eyes bulged in surprise before his face cracked in an answering smile. "I like this one captain! I might be inclined to make an offer when you're finished training her."

"We'll see." He laughed, and hauled me to my feet. "Dismissed," he said to his men. As they departed he marched me toward his office, a hard hand on the back of my neck. During my time here, the captain had seen every part of me, and had yet to touch me in a sexual way. The lack of contact was surprising - shouldn't he have already had his way with me, and tossed me to his men?

I frowned at the erratic path my thoughts were taking. I knew the consequences of being discovered would not end with my being a public sex slave. I would be bound to the monster who'd literally beaten an answer out of me, as the bruises on my back and my scabbed knees could attest. My time in the dark had done nothing to soften my opinion of him, and better yet had given me the chance to strengthen my resolve. I just needed to hold out a little longer - he was bound to make a mistake sooner or later, and I would be waiting.

"How did you sleep?" He asked, jerking me out of my thoughts. Now was not the time for rebellion.

"I didn't," I said, hiding my body from his scrutiny. It was the first time my hands hadn't been bound in his presence.

"You didn't what?" He said walking around me. I turned with him, uncomfortable exposing my back if I could help it.

"Sleep." His proximity was unsettling in the extreme, and I was more focused on his movements than our rather dull conversation.

"A perfect segway for lesson two," he said with a victorious smile.

"Sir!" I added desperately, though I knew it was too late. I bared my teeth when he glanced toward the whips still decorating his desk.

"I can see your time in the hole wasn't an effective punishment," he said turning my face to the light. "My mistake, I should have realized you'd be happier alone. We'll just have to start over," he said, sighing deeply. "Yesterday was a waste," he added as an afterthought.

"I'm sorry sir,' I said raising my hands in a defensive gesture. I was too tired to go through another round of punishment. I took a step toward his desk.

"Hob, if you touch one of those weapons I'll introduce you to a whole new meaning of sorry." I froze - the thought had barely formed in my mind, and as far as I could tell I hadn't given any indication I was thinking of striking him. "Come here," he said, his voice hard. My feet refused to move, and I couldn't stop an involuntary whimper when he stalked toward me.

"No!" I cried as he seized my arm and pulled me toward the chains dangling from the ceiling. The thought of starting yesterday over was too much to bare. I began to fight him, though my movements were sluggish; I punched him with my free hand and he did little more than grunt.

"Now, now Hob. We went over hitting yesterday. It's childish, and I won't tolerate it." I must have been more tired than I thought, because I couldn't help thinking his stance on violence was the funniest thing I'd ever heard in my life; so much so that a girlish little giggle broke through my fear of Captain Rawlings. He eyed me in surprise as I started to laugh, cracking up like a lunatic under the circumstances. "Dare I ask what you find so amusing?" He drawled, clearly not as distracted as I was.

"You're a soldier!" I exclaimed, gasping for breath. "Your profession is violence!" He frowned then, and I realized I had not bothered to mask my accent. "By that logic, you're the childish one," I continued in my best impression of Eloran speech.

"You're full of surprises this morning, aren't you?" He said in a quiet voice, and I quickly sobered. The sleep deprivation had me feeling off balance, which was probably his reason for putting me in the 'hole' in the first place. "Who would have guessed there's a logical brain inside that pretty little head of yours? So you like to be alone, do you?" He said in a condescending tone - I stilled, aware of a drastic change in his attitude. "I believe that was a question."

"I would think that's rather obvious," I replied, holding eye contact.

"Have you forgotten lesson two already?" He drawled, watching expectantly when it became was clear I would withhold his ridiculous title.

"I didn't forget, sir. But to be honest, I care very little what name you insist I call you by. The respect will be absent from my voice either way," I said. Knowing that keeping my silence was of utmost importance, and doing it were two very different things. The captain's arrogance sparked a desire to put him in his place, which was nearly all consuming.

"I am going to enjoy breaking you very much," he whispered, stroking the vulnerable skin of my throat before snapping an iron collar around my neck.

"Good luck," I said, mimicking his cruel smile, though I'm sure something was lost in translation. The fear I'd been feeling while faced with the captain's soldiers had faded, and I was being reckless in its absence. He regarded me cooly for a moment, until a smile slowly spread across his face.

"I've never trained a slave quite like you, Hob," he said. For a moment I glowed with a peculiar sense of pride, happy to know I was making his life at least a little difficult. "A unique slave requires creative training, wouldn't you think?" I stared back at him, trying to guess what form this next torture would take.

"I don't know, sir. I've never trained a slave," I said sarcastically. He continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"But the question remains Hob, what should I do with you?" He leaned against the door, crossing thickly muscled arms over his chest.

"Set me free," I said, keeping my voice hoarse. "You'd be out fifty dollars. Hardly worth mentioning."

"A valiant attempt, darling," he said and laughed. "But you've earned quite a reputation for causing trouble. We can't have you running around freeing slaves anymore, now can we?" He paused to button his shirt, as if we weren't having a conversation that could determine my fate. "And I've never failed to train a slave before."

"First time for everything," I replied with a shrug. He advanced on me, a hungry look in his eyes, as he fixed a chain to the loop in the front of my collar.

"Come along slave. I've just figured out what your punishment will be."

"Wonderful," I said bitterly. "Might I ask what horror I have to endure today?"

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, now would we? Let's just say you won't be getting any private time."

***

He led me back to the bathing house, but the room we entered was filled with women in all levels of undress. Each wore delicate bracelets and collars, and the air was heavy with perfume. Pleasure slaves.

Upon our entry, several of the women squealed and rushed to the captain.

"My Lord Rawlings! How can this slave please you, sir?" Asked a beautiful brunette, falling to her knees at his feet.

"I've missed you so much, sir! Allow me the honor of tending to your needs, I beg of you!" Said another with waist length black hair. Women continued to throw themselves at his feet, until we reached the center of the room and had gathered a cluster of simpering, fawning women.

This next punishment was indeed cruel.

The noise of their subservience, joined by the smell of their perfumes and dazzling array of colored silks created a complete sensory overload. I cried out, and desperately tried to push through the scantily clad bodies to find an exit. Strong arms circled my waist, and I was pulled against the hard length of the captain's chest, unable to seek relief.

"Now girls, you know the rules. I'm not here for me." His hand circled my throat, and he pushed my head against his shoulder. "This is Hob. She doesn't like people very much, and I need you ladies to break her of this habit."

"She's very pretty, my lord," said the brunette as she approached slowly and touched my face with soft, dainty fingers. The captain's grip on my neck forced me to remain still, otherwise I would have jerked away. "What other kind of training can we do, my lord?" She asked, her touch drifting past the iron collar to stroke the side of my breast. I whined in distress, and the captain chuckled in my ear.

"Always eager, Alicia. If you can get her to relax enough for more amorous attentions, then by all means, otherwise don't worry about it." He led me to an ornate column in the center of the room, to which he fixed the lead on my collar. "If you raise a hand to anyone here, I will toss you to my men and wash my hands of you. Understood?" The thought of spending alone time with the men I'd met earlier was extremely unappealing.

"Yes sir," I hissed. He stood back forcing me to make eye contact then turned to speak quietly to Alicia. He left without a backward glance.

"Where are you from?" Said the black-haired woman. I ignored her, staring off into space. "My name is Tala, and I've been with Captain Rawling's company for over a year now. You'll like it here." I rolled my eyes.

"The Captain's an amazing lover, isn't he?" Asked a mousy girl I hadn't noticed. I flushed, surprised anyone could be so forthcoming about sex.

"He hasn't touched her yet, Rabbit. She's the little wild thing they brought in yesterday. Camille, how long did it take you to get her cleaned up?" Asked Alicia, pushing her way to the front.

"Three hours, but she didn't have these yesterday," said Camille from behind me, touching the tender lash marks on my back - I spun to face her. The girls were forming a tight circle around me, and I was beginning to panic. "What did you do to deserve a whipping?" She asked with wide eyes.

"She's an insolent brat, and deserves anything the captain decided to do to her," said the cold voice of Beau, just as I was beginning to think the effort to put names to faces was beyond me. There was a collective gasp as the bruised and swollen face of Beau came into view. I admired my work - I did have an impressive right cross.

"Beau what happened!" Exclaimed Alicia, whom I was beginning to recognise as the ringleader of this little group.

"Keep your distance girls, she's a vicious animal," said Beau, and the women had an abrupt change of heart in regards to making me feel at home in their midst. I smiled. Beau had given me a gift without realizing it - privacy.

"Nonsense ladies," said Alicia, ruining my chances at a peaceful day. "The captain has requested our help in rehabilitating Hob, and we won't disappoint him, will we?" The girls regretfully agreed, forming a tight knot around me once again. They each started talking at once, asking questions about every aspect of my life, and were unfazed when I didn't respond - they merely continued speaking. I was so overwhelmed I started sweating, my eyes snapping from one face to the next, faster than my brain could tell me who I was looking at.

Alicia reached out, after making some benign comment about the color of my hair, and began to stroke it. I jerked away, only to find myself in the hands of the black haired girl - Tala? - who began to run her hands along the bruised skin of my back.

"Let me make this feel better," she whispered against my neck, and pressed her lips to my skin. I wrenched out of her arms, panic completely flooding my senses. I stumbled into a wall of women, feeling their hands all over me; my hips, thighs, breasts, face, neck and back.

"Stop! I'll do anything, just stop touching me!" I shouted in a broken voice, realizing I was trembling from head to foot. The sound of laughter met my ears, but I didn't need to lift my head to see who it was coming from.

"Let's take this to the water, shall we?" Said Alicia. I heard the click of the lock, and was dragged behind her. Despite my pleas, I was not given an ounce of freedom, and suffered the wrath of their hands the whole walk to the baths. "Hob, bathing daily is a luxury pleasure slaves alone are permitted," she said, pulling me into the water. Fear bubbled deep in my chest - I was unsure how much longer the dye would hold.

"Especially considering how many men are in Captain Rawlings' company!" Said Tala, and they all laughed. A broken sob escaped my lips at the thought of servicing his men, as if I were of no more use than an appliance.

"Come now Hob! We have a good life, some better now, than before the war. What more can we ask for?" Alicia reasoned.

"Freedom," I whispered. She laughed.

"You sound like a petulant child! Life happens Hob. Deal with it." At Beau's insistence, my hands were bound, and the chain attached to my collar was fixed to a hook on the wall of the pool. The women began washing me then, and I assumed this experience could be no less humiliating than my bath only yesterday, in this very same pool. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Tala's fingers had found their way to my freshly bared womanhood, gently probing with the obvious intent to arouse. I found her ministrations repulsive, and focused on my anger.

"My God! She's a virgin!" Said Tala, withdrawing her hand from between my legs. Her exclamation, however, was not proof enough for the other curious women, who decided they also needed a closer inspection of my maidenhead.

"Please, stop," I whispered, knowing it would do no good. This was worse than the whipping from the captain, worse than losing the war, and worse than being a slave. Their hands on me was violating in a way I had never considered possible.

"I was a virgin when I first got here," said Rabbit. "The captain will be very gentle for your first time. He wants his pleasure slaves to enjoy their work." A glassy look entered her eyes as she remembered. My blood boiled in rage as I considered this simple idiot mooning over the captain. Could she truly love a man who had aided in the downfall of her country and trained her to become a sex slave?

I was rudely shaken from my thoughts when Beau doused my head with a bucket of cold water. Gasping in shock, I lifted my head to glare at the older woman.

"Oops," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. My anger quickly turned to dread as she slathered the pink soap in her hands. Her ministrations were rough, but I was beyond caring. In fact, I was hoping she would pull all of my hair out in her anger.

"How could there possibly be more filth in that hair of yours?" Asked Camille, stepping back from the dark cloudy water surrounding me.

"She's a filthy animal, I've no idea why the master is wasting his time," said Beau, rinsing my hair, and preparing another round of soap.

"Isn't my hair clean enough?" I begged. Though it was darkened by the water, I could already tell it was several shades lighter. A third shampooing would be my undoing.

"You're not fit for the privilege of Captain Rawlings' company," she replied acidly, and slapped another handful of suds on top of my head.

"It's only soap, Hob. It can't hurt you," said Rabbit, no doubt assuming my fear was of cleanliness. She lifted my head, and smiled softly when she saw the tears streaking down my face. "You'll like it here, I promise. We'll be like family in no time, you'll see." She pressed a chaste kiss to my temple, and retreated as Beau poured the final bucket of water over my head.


The Last Tritan Ch. 02



"Alicia dear, hand me the dryer," said Beau, guiding me to sit on the edge of the pool. She began the task of brushing my hair while applying a gentle heat. I had to admit - with a slipping sense of reality - it felt rather nice.

"What do you think of red silks, with her pale skin tone?" Someone asked, though I couldn't be bothered to pin voice to face. Beau had learned my secret - I knew the instant it happened. Her hand stilled in my hair and I heard a muffled gasp from her direction.

"Beau, please," I said, making no effort to mask my Tritan accent. "You hate me don't you? Now is your chance to be rid of me forever. Help me escape." I could see the indecision on her face, so I pressed forward. "Please, I can't be a slave." The other girls were staring at us with wide, uncomprehending eyes, but I paid them no mind. Beau was my only salvation, being the only one who appeared to have any real authority here.

She stared at me for a moment longer, and I saw her features harden. She pushed me into the water, making me gasp in surprise. When I emerged, hair soaking and water-darkened again, she was gone.

Had I managed to sway her to come to my aid? In my desperate state, I dared to hope this was indeed the case, else why would she disguise my true identity by pushing me back into the water? A little bubble of hope flared in my chest, while the other girls pestered me with incredulous questions.

"Beau, what's gotten into you?" Asked the deep, angry voice of the captain. The slap of defeat chilled me more than the cold bucket of water ever could, and I turned slowly to watch his approach. "I was in the middle of a meeting with General Tilcot. This had better be important." I watched as Beau dragged her master by the wrist to our location, her face flushed with excitement, eyes gleaming in victory.

"I wanted the discovery to be yours, my lord," she said with a bow, and handed him the blow dryer. Confusion clouded his eyes, as he regarded his errant slave for a moment.

"Come," he said to me, gesturing to the edge of the pool. My feet wouldn't obey such was my terror, and his pulling me gently to his side was an unfortunate necessity. He turned the dryer on, and began to run a brush through my sodden tresses.

Shaking with anticipation, I closed my eyes, feeling the heat slowly unveil me. There were gasps of surprise from the girls, but not a sound from the captain, who continued to dry my hair until it floated around me, gleaming with the proof of my heritage.

"What is your name, Tritan?" He asked, gently running his fingers through my hair. I opened my eyes, puffy from silent tears, and he brushed his fingers over my lips.

"Mila," I whispered because all hope was lost.

"Mila," he said, pressing his face into my hair and taking a deep breath. "Such a beautiful, Tritan name."

"Please let me go," I whispered, tears making my voice nearly unrecognizable.

"Let you go?" He laughed. "That's not very likely, is it priestess?" I stilled, trying to steady my frayed nerves before meeting his eyes. I had yet to admit I was cursed with a priestess' power - perhaps I could convince him I would be more valuable as a pleasure slave, which unfortunately was the preferable option.

"I'm not -"

"There's a fail-proof way to see if I'm right, darling. Beau, fetch me a set of Tritan chains, and be discrete about it. We wouldn't want another Elite getting wind of this."

"Yes my lord!" Beau said enthusiastically, and turned to leave.

"And Beau? Well done," he said, still running fingers through my hair. She beamed with a radiance that made her look years younger, and promptly disappeared.

"Please don't do this," I begged.

"I should have known," he mused. "It's rather obvious in hindsight, isn't it? Slender, fair skin, and a strange accent, which you don't hide very well, I might add. And then there's the teeth. An obvious priestess modification, wouldn't you say?" He asked, cupping my face with a large, calloused hand. I shook my head slightly in denial, but I knew it was a wasted effort. When I had modified my canines I knew it could be the key to my downfall. "Now correct me if I'm wrong here Mila, but my understanding is this; only the most powerful priestesses can manipulate energy like an Elite." My eyes widened - somehow I had never put those dots together. I had no training in my craft, and only a basic understanding of how it all worked. Considering that it had taken me the better part of a winter to grow my teeth, I had assumed my power was mediocre at best. What if I had been wrong? Adding another powerful Priestess to the Caledonian ranks could be the end of the war and Elora's downfall, and through my own ignorance I would be at fault.

Beau chose that moment to return, clutching a small box to her chest.

"The chains, my lord. I was not seen," she said, handing him her bounty. He opened the box, and withdrew a masculine looking gold cuff. It was unadorned by jewels, but otherwise a perfect match to the one I had seen General Tilcot wearing. He set it aside gently, and removed two small golden wristbands. The last thing in the box was a collar with a small glass vial embedded in the gold, which appeared to be empty.

"Here's how this works Mila. If I snap these bracelets on your wrists and you're absent priestess blood, they are nothing more than golden circlets," he said, maintaining eye contact. "If, however, you are what I think you are, they will bind us together forever." He jerked his coat sleeve back from his wrist, and drew a knife. "The bond requires a blood exchange, you see. My Elite blood will activate the chains, and yours will seal them."

With that, he drew the blade across the exposed skin and filled the glass vial with the blood that welled there. All three pieces of jewelry glowed brightly for a moment before returning to their original color.

"I understand the bond is quite painful at first, and for that I'm sorry. It can't be helped." He stroked the delicate column of my throat, and I whimpered in terror. "Moment of truth," he said with a smile, snapping the collar around my neck, followed by the wrist cuffs. I braced for the pain he'd mentioned, squeezing my eyes shut.

Nothing happened. My eyes flew open in triumph and I grinned at him, holding out my wrists.

"It didn't work," I said in a cheerful voice.

"Beautiful Mila. Didn't I tell you the bond needs a blood exchange?" I felt the color drain from my face as the meaning of his words became clear. He pressed the tip of his blade into the skin on my wrist, making a small cut, and proceeded to fill the vial in the masculine cuff with my blood. It lit up like the others had, and he snapped it closed on his own wrist.

Fire erupted where the gold touched my skin and I screamed in agony. The metal was burning through my flesh and bones, and in a matter of moments I would certainly be dead.

In my next breath the pain ceased, leaving me shaking on the cold tiles of the floor, unaware how I had gotten there. The air stilled in my lungs as I became aware of my proximity to a magnificent pillar of strength. The energy radiating from the captain was significantly greater than what I had been able to sense from the general, which could only mean one thing.

Captain Rawlings, the Elite, was now bound to a priestess of considerable power. Me.

I sobbed, rubbing at the lingering pain in my wrists and throat, unable to make eye contact with him.

"Shh, Mila, shh," he whispered, scooping me up and stroking my hair. "It's over."

"I hate you," I said before succumbing to the sweet release of darkness.

*

*

*

Whew! I'm awful, aren't I? :) Thanks for reading - feel free to tell me what you think. Chapter three is already written, and will be posted next monday!

WaterBurn Xx



The Last Tritan Ch. 03



Welcome back beautiful people! Chapter four is well underway, and by the time this chapter posts, it will likely be finished! Thank you so much for all the feedback and comments! Some of you have mentioned reading TLT is like getting your weekly 'fix' - trust me when I say, each new comment or email I get is MY fix. So thank you for feeding my addiction. :)

Enjoy,

WaterBurn Xx

When I next woke, I was laying on a couch fully dressed. How I had come to be this way, I did not know. My body was clad in a black knee length wrap, knotted behind my neck, leaving my back bare all the way to the top of my bottom. As I reached around to test the reliability of my clothing, a flash of gold caught my attention. My new manacles.

I took the opportunity to inspect the golden circlets, and cried out in horror. There would be no chafing, no getting snagged on clothing and no itching beneath the gold - the cuffs were completely fused with my skin. I tried desperately to get my fingers under the warm gold, only to recoil in pain.

"They're quite permanent my dear," said the voice of the captain from across the room. I spun to face him, fists raised. Upon taking him in, I gasped. He was naked from the waist up, hair still damp from the bathhouse, his lower half encased in dark slacks.

"Where am I?" I asked to distract him, and myself.

"We are in the master bedroom of the house I occupy, in what used to be Elora," he replied, crossing the distance between us in two large steps.

"Don't touch me!" I hissed, stumbling back.

"I own you Mila and I'll do whatever I damn well please," he said, invading my personal space and pressing forward until the backs of my knees touched the couch. "Sit," he said and gave me a gentle push.

"You don't own me," I said scrambling as far away from him as I could.

"That sounds like a challenge."

"It shouldn't," I said, hopping onto the back of the couch.

"Such a saucy mouth, wild cat! I can think of plenty of things to keep those pretty lips of yours busy," he said, towering over me, though I was crouching several feet off the ground. I bared my teeth, silently daring him to put anything delicate in my mouth. He laughed, and lunged for my arm, but I was ready for him. I threw my body weight in the opposite direction and made a beeline for the door. "Mila," he said in a calm voice, and all my muscle seized up against my will. "Would you like to learn why your cuffs are called Tritan chains, when there are no chains in sight?" With my back to the captain, I stood trembling in the center of his bedroom, my body no longer responding to my thoughts. "Look at your wrists for me darling." My head bowed and my gaze dropped, though I tried with all my might to stop it.

The delicate golden cuffs were glowing brightly in the dim room, though there was no heat. The strangest part, however, was not my inability to move, nor his absolute control, but the way my veins stood out against my skin, pulsing with molten gold.

He stepped around me, walking calmly into my line of vision. "Beautiful isn't it?" He asked stroking my cheek. He held up his own wrist with the matching cuff also fused to his skin. "They allow me to control you. I can stop you from running with nothing more than a thought," he murmured, pushing me backward with one finger on my chest. "I can have you drop to your knees and worship my cock like a seasoned whore," he continued, herding me toward the couch against my will. "And I can make you like it, though that comes from experience, not the chains." My heart fluttered in panic, as I realized just how much trouble I was in.

"Please don't," I begged in barely more than a whisper. He laughed deep in his chest as he settled his massive frame over me.

"Oh believe me, pet, you'll be begging for my cock in no time," he replied, sliding one hand up to cup the sensitive flesh of my bottom as he settled between my spread thighs. He pressed a hefty bulge against me, and I cried out in fear. It was a terrible time to realize I hadn't been provided with undergarments.

"Not fucking likely," I spat.

"Do you think the pleasure slaves throw themselves at my feet, because I abuse them?" He whispered against my ear, causing a shiver to race through my body.

"You're right. A good whipping really is the best way to a woman's heart," I retorted sarcastically, trying to heft his bulk off me.

"I don't want your heart, slave," he said, and ground his pelvis against me, making a tendril of arousal heat my face, despite his reminder of my new rank. "And I already have what I need from you. Using you as a pleasure slave is just icing on the cake."

"I'd rather die than service you or your men!" I shouted, pushing at him with all my might. It would have been easier to move the building.

"Oh no pet, you belong to me now. And I don't share."

"Says the man with a harem of public sex slaves." I snapped.

"Purchased for the men I command."

"That's the very definition of sharing!" I cried. He laughed, and pressed his lips to mine. The suddenness of the act took me completely off guard.

"What I mean to say, is that I shall not be sharing you." The desire to ask him why was foremost in my mind, but I restrained myself. I didn't want him thinking I'd prefer rather be the camp whore. Being his personal slave was the more desirable option, distasteful as it was to admit. "Come," he said. "We'll be late for supper." He pushed off me and held out his hand. I scrambled off the couch, ignoring him. He shrugged and retreated to the ensuite bathroom, presumably to continue dressing.

"I'm not hungry," I said in a shaky voice, even though my stomach had begun to consume my spine in it's search for sustenance.

"I wasn't asking, pet." He reappeared, wearing a dark suit that hugged his muscular frame. I extended my middle finger in his general direction and turned away, trying to recover my sense of dignity. "Don't spoil my good mood, Mila. You won't like the consequences."

"What more can you do to me?" I replied angrily. "You can't kill me! I'm the source of your newfound power. And let's face it, I'm probably the last free Tritan, and a powerful Priestess no less. You'll never have another chance like this," I said, stalking toward him in my rage. "I can heal any damage you do to my body, because I no longer have anything to hide, and you prefer your sex slaves willing. So unless you resort to violence and rape, we are at an impasse, sir." He regarded me cooly for a moment, and it seemed I had indeed managed to ruin his good mood.

"Tempting as it might be to teach you the errors in your thinking, I'm due at General Tilcot's manse. As my possession, you shall accompany me." He gestured at me impatiently, and I followed along obediently though I wanted to scratch his eyes out. "However, now that we've got you speaking, I find your attitude tiresome," he said, withdrawing to his closet.

"Oh I'm sorry, are slaves not supposed to voice their opinions?" I sneered. He smiled at me over his shoulder, deciding not to answer my rhetorical question.

"Now," he said holding up a rubber ball, with a leather collar. "You can either keep your mouth shut and behave like a good little slave, or I can gag you. Which is it?"

"I choose to stay here," I said stubbornly, glaring at him.

"I'd hoped you'd be smart," he said with a sigh.

"I'll be quiet," I said hastily, bending before he forced the gag into my mouth. If I had to sit at a dinner table with these horrible people, I would prefer to do it with at least a modicum of dignity.

"Good girl," he murmured, stroking my new collar. I flinched under his hand and he chuckled, letting his touch trail down to my breasts. "Soon, pet," he whispered and pinched a nipple through the silk of my dress. I bared my teeth in outrage, but was prevented from retreating by his power over me.

He led me through the halls of his temporary home, keeping me a step behind him in what I'd imagine was proper slave behaviour. I rolled my eyes at the thought. It was arrogant for him to expose his back to me. Though he was controlling my every movement, and I couldn't act on my murderous thoughts.

I filled my lungs with the refreshing evening air, happy to be outdoors again. The pavement was cold on my bare feet, and I allowed myself a moment to pine for my durable tree bark boots.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to sound brave.

"Have you changed your mind about the ball gag?" He asked in a brisk voice, without turning to me.

"No, but I-"

"Then this is the perfect time for lesson three. Slaves should be seen not heard -"

"I'll keep that in mind the next time you ask me a question, sir," I said interrupting him with a reference to lesson one.

"Keep it up Mila. I don't mind putting off dinner," he growled. I glared back at him for a moment, then lowered my head. The last thing I'd eaten had been the stale loaf of bread - I was hungry and desperately thirsty. He nodded, and put his hand on my lower back. "A slave should be seen not heard, and speak only when spoken to. Understood?"

"Yes." He turned his attention back to me, with an eyebrow raised. "Sir," I continued in a surly tone.

"Your arrival here has caused quite a stir, as you can imagine. General Tilcot has decided to throw a feast in my honor," he said, with a smug smile.

"Oh great and powerful Lord Rawlings! Would that I could see anything but the brilliance of your magnificence, sir. I shall be blinded by your radiant glow," I said sarcastically, bowing with a theatrical flourish.

"There's hope for you yet," he said laughing. "I am very much going to enjoy bending you to my will, Mila."

"You no longer wish to break me, sir?" I asked, keeping my voice meek, but we had arrived at our destination, and he did not answer.

"Asher!" Said a statuesque, pregnant woman, kissing the captain on the cheek daintily. "So good to see you darling!"

"Let the poor man get in the door before you throw yourself at him Tyra!" Said the general in his deep voice. "My God Asher! Is this our little wild cat?" He asked, tipping my head to the light.

"My little wild cat, general," said the captain with a smile. "This is Mila, my Tritan Priestess. Say hello pet," he said squeezing my shoulder. I hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out how to be disrespectful without getting into trouble.

"Hello sir," I said with a sigh, for I couldn't come up with anything.

"You look lovely in Caledonian colors, Mila," he said, and I glanced at my clothing in disgust. The table was similarly adorned in black and gold. "You're very lucky Captain Rawlings snatched you up so quickly, dear. I would have liked to be the first to own two Priestesses," he said, turning to lead us down the hall.

"Am I supposed to thank him, Asher?" I asked under my breath. He stiffened at the sound of his name on my lips, and sent me a look that promised retribution. Thankfully, he was prevented from reacting as we were lead into the dining hall.

Power radiated from the forty or so people gathered in the room, and I faltered with the sudden onslaught. Panic surged through me when I realized virtually every male present was an Elite. A warm hand settled on the naked skin of my lower back, propelling me forward.

"Where's your bravado now, Mila?" He whispered against my ear, making a shiver race through my blood. He pressed the length of his body against me briefly, no doubt trying to intimidate me with his presence. I was easily distracted however, by the woman tied to a cross at the far end of the room.

"Sasha!" I cried in horror. She had been gagged, and was covered in angry looking welts from an obvious whipping.

"I thought so," came the satisfied voice of the general. "My priestess is being punished for withholding your identity," he explained stroking her sensitive back. She whimpered in pain. "You lied to me Sasha," he whispered to her. "A few more lashes should cure you of that nasty habit, I think." She began to cry, her eyes begging him for mercy. I could feel the fear pouring off her in waves.

"I'll take her punishment!" I cried. The room was silent as I staggered forward, desperate to repay her earlier kindness by shielding her from further pain. "Please sir, allow me to suffer in her stead. If it weren't for my presence here, she wouldn't have lied in the first place."

"How dare you address my husband as if you stood on equal ground!" Tyra shrieked, wrenching my arm in an attempt to drag me away from him.

"Tyra," said the general in a sharp voice. "Think of the baby." He summoned a waiting slave, who escorted the irate woman from the room.

"I'm very sorry sir, I don't mean to be rude," I began in my humblest tone.

"And yet here we are," said the captain, placing his hand on my arm.

"You've got a long way to go in the training of this one, don't you Asher?" The general asked, though his face held none of the amusement present in his voice. "Sasha knows the rules, and if she'd been forthcoming, you would be mine now. For that, she will be severely punished," he said addressing me directly.

"It's not her fault!" I cried, and Asher's grip tightened on my shoulder. I slapped his hand away. Gasps of outrage met my actions, but I was too upset to care.

"Still wild, I see!" The general said with a deep laugh.

"I find her temperament fitting for a man of ambition," said the captain smoothly, and the crowd applauded. The men gathered around us, congratulating the captain and inspecting his newest acquisition.

"You lucky son of a bitch!" Said a thickly muscled Elite, punching the captain's arm in jest. "My Priestess cost me almost half a million. How much did you pay Asher? I've heard the rumors, but I don't want to believe them."

"The opening bid was a hundred," said the captain, a small smile on his lips.

"You paid a hundred dollars for a Tritan Priestess?" Asked Jealous man weakly.

"No. I paid fifty," the captain replied, and the men surrounding us cried out in shock.

"I feel sick," said Jealous man, leaning heavily on the captain as we were escorted to our seats at the large table. Or rather, the captain was shown to his seat.

"Kneel," he said in a seductive voice, daring me to defy him. It was at that moment I noticed the dozens of Tritan women kneeling at the feet of their captors. They kept their eyes downcast, but I could feel their fear - it permeated the room, and made my heart beat faster in sympathy. Tritan's Priestesses.

"Like a dog?" I hissed, outraged.

"No Mila. Like a slave," he said, and used his influence to force me to my knees.

***

Dinner started with drinks and the Elites spoke of the war as if they didn't have the people of a conquered nation at their feet. I knelt there, shaking with rage, though the captain was no longer forcing me to obey his will.

"What happened to your unit Asher? I heard you lost ground." The general asked, tossing back the remnants of his glass.

"We did," he replied with an indulgent sigh. "The rebels managed to hit us with a few sticks of TNT at shift change. Nothing but a few injured men, though if I hadn't been able to charge my weapon, it would have been much worse." He stroked my hair gently. "That's why I was determined to purchase my filthy little slave, here. Nothing inspires a man to work harder than access to high quality pussy, which incidentally, is something my men had forgotten."

"I'd heard she was a dreadful sight when you got her!" Said an elegant woman across the table from us. "Was she really so bad, her appearance could inspire such drastic change?"

"Mila, how long did you live in the forest?" The captain asked, swilling the amber liquid in his glass.

"I don't know," I said sullenly.

"Honestly, Asher, I don't understand your tolerance for such disrespect. A man of your up-and-coming station deserves much better," she purred, making it impossible for anyone to mistake her intentions toward Captain Rawlings.

"Nonsense, Carina," he said with a smile. "Mila's testing her limits, that's all. All new slaves need to figure out what they can, and can't get away with," he said soothingly and poured her a fresh glass. I glared at him - that's exactly what I'd been doing. "Now, Mila darling. How old were you when you fled the Empire?"

"Eighteen," I said, shaking off his hand.

"How old are you now?" His tone was condescending, and his hand continued stubbornly stroking my hair.

"I. Don't. Know," I said enunciating every word.

"You little liar!" Carina hissed. "We're supposed to believe this filth?"

"Let's try something different. When did you leave Elora?" He asked, and I frowned.

"I didn't," I replied, thoroughly perplexed. "I'm a Tritan. Remember?" I asked holding up my chains. He sat forward in his chair, and cupped my chin in strong fingers.

"You left Tritan," he said, genuine surprise etched on his features. "Mila, we conquered Tritan five years ago. Have you been in the forest all that time?" I shrugged. Five years was a long time, but he didn't need see my surprise.

"Five years of filth would indeed be adequate motivation for you men!" Said the general, and the table laughed. "Ah, dinner is served," he said, changing the subject. Slaves emerged from the kitchen with trays of steaming food, and my stomach growled in appreciation - it'd been five years since my last home cooked meal, after all. But my heart plummeted in disappointment when the lids were removed.

"I haven't had a good steak in months," said the captain.

"I was getting rather tired of rations myself," said Jealous man, who was seated down the table from us.

"Don't fast on my account! Dig in," said the general, cutting into his steak. The captain followed suit, and I watched in disgust as blood pooled on his plate, mixing with the otherwise appetizing vegetables. Silence reigned while everyone enjoyed their food and I resigned myself to yet another hungry, sleepless night.

"I really shouldn't be rewarding your behaviour with steak pet, but you'll need the energy later on. Eat," he said picking up a slice of steak with his fingers and holding it out to me.

"No thank you, sir," I said as politely as I could. My mouth was beginning to water with the onset of nausea.

"Must you fight me at every turn?" He asked in a bored voice, pushing the cooked flesh closer to my lips.

"Sir, I'd really rather not," I whispered, a tremor slipping into my voice.

"I don't care what you'd rather do, Mila. Eat, or I'll strap you up beside Sasha."

"I'll take the whipping!" I shrieked, panic making me irrational. The room was silent for the second time that evening as I cringed away from the offensive offering.

"What issue could you possibly have with steak?" The captain asked, baffled by me yet again.

"I don't eat meat," I said stiffly. I didn't care what he did to me - there was no way I'd let him force steak down my throat.

"You mean to tell me you're a vegetarian with teeth like that?" He asked, openly surprised. I touched his ankle, keenly aware I would need to appeal to his dominant nature to get my way.

"Please sir, don't make me eat it," I whispered, staring at him with reverence. Tears pooled in my eyes, threatening to spill over my lashes. As far as I could tell, I was the picture of submission.

"You beg beautifully when you mean it, darling," he said softly stroking the side of my face. "Unfortunately, your diet is my concern now, not yours. We can talk about your dietary privileges when you learn to behave." He moved his hand closer to my face, thinking the conversation over, and my compliance a given.

"Over my dead body," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. It was clear he had easily seen through my illusion.




The Last Tritan Ch. 03



"Asher, you have my permission to use Sasha as you please for the remainder of the evening," said the general, frowning in my direction.

"Thank you sir," he said graciously. "Eat Mila, or your little friend will take your punishment." I stared up at him with wide eyes, disgust preventing me from speaking. There was no a way out - I couldn't possibly let Sasha take more punishment because I was unwilling to eat a simple piece of steak. I'd eaten plenty before the war, what could it hurt to choke down a few mouthfuls now?

I snatched the steak from his fingers and popped it into my mouth before I could change my mind. My teeth sunk into the warm flesh, and I gagged immediately. The connective tissues were chewy, bloody and entirely too raw - I thought of the rabbit I had been unable to kill, and had to swallow, or risk purging on the captain's boots. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to quell the nausea and get it over with.

"Oh come on Mila! It's not that bad!" He said laughing with the rest of the table as I gasped for breath.

"I hate you," I said for the captain's ears only, conscious of risking Sasha's health. He smiled and delicately placed another slice of steak in his mouth, closing his eyes in pleasure. I gagged again, the taste still lingering on my tongue, my eyes filling with angry tears. Forcing me to eat meat after five years of abstinence was the most violating thing I could imagine.

"Mila." His voice snapped me out of my misery, and I frowned when he placed another piece in front of my lips. With a trembling hand, I reached for his heinous offering. "No, pet. Slaves take nourishment from their master's hand." My incredulous gaze met his - I shivered when I saw the hungry look in his eyes.

With utmost care, I plucked the meat from his fingers, trying not to touch his skin with my lips. I chewed as quickly as possible, nearly swallowing it whole in my haste, choking when it stuck in my throat.

"Lick," he said, when my tongue lolled out in distress. I shook my head, silently begging him to leave me with some dignity. He smiled, a cruel light in his eyes, and touched my lips. With a choked sob, I took his fingers into my mouth, and sucked until they were clean. "Good girl," he whispered with burning eyes before turning back to his meal.

As the meal continued, he fed me several more strips of meat, insisting I lick his fingers clean between bites. I tried valiantly not to sink my teeth into the skin of his hand. The dinner conversation faded to the background as I sat on the floor trying to behave myself, though something was going terribly wrong inside me. My ears were ringing, my cheeks were flushed and a fist of pain blossomed in my stomach as I tried to keep my dinner down.

"Drink," said the captain, frowning in my direction. I accepted the glass, draining it in one long draft while the slaves removed the dinner plates.

"Are all your slaves this much work?" Carina asked, shooting me a hefty glare.

"No," he replied with a laugh. "Mila requires a significant amount of attention, but then, she isn't one of my regular slaves, is she?"

"I've never understood the appeal of owning a pleasure slave," she said, licking her lips seductively. A cold sweat broke out on my brow, signaling imminent disaster, and I tapped the captain's thigh weakly.

"No?" He answered with a smile, brushing my hand away.

"A man of a conquered nation couldn't possibly compare to a full blooded Caledonian," she purred as slaves brought around plates of dessert. I watched her slim ankle slowly caress the inside of his thigh. The situation had become more than I could handle, and with the captain completely engaged in Carina's attentions, my distress went unnoticed. The nausea I was feeling boiled over, splashing Carina's dainty shoes with my steak dinner.

She shrieked in outrage, stumbling to her feet in her haste to get away from me. I, on the other hand, was feeling much better. My system was flushed with adrenaline and purged of the heavy, offensive steak that had been making me feel so ill.

"You disgusting little bitch!" She screamed, her face flushed with passion. I stared back at her warily, wiping my mouth.

"Are you fucking serious?" Asked Jealous man.

"I did tell you I don't eat meat, sir," I said, not making eye contact as Carina took several deep breaths, wiping the hateful grimace off her face. The change in her appearance was immediate, and stunning.

"Yes, you did," the captain replied with a sigh, handing me a glass of water.

"I think it's time to call it a night," the general said with a deep chuckle. He motioned for a waiting slave to clean up the mess I'd made, and asked another to bring me a toothbrush.

"Asher I believe you owe me dinner," Carina said in a sultry voice, resting a delicate hand on his chest. How she could manage to look elegant with vomit spattering her shoes, was a feminine mystery I would never understand. "It was your slave who ruined supper, after all."

"I think that could be arranged," he replied smiling. She leaned in to kiss his cheek, lingering for just a moment too long. Witnessing this strange mating ritual was enough to turn my fragile stomach, and I watched as the other Elites gathered their slaves, making preparations to leave. A slender young man handed me a toothbrush, which I gratefully accepted, scrubbing the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

"There's a promising military career ahead of you, my boy," said the general, clapping Asher on the shoulder. "Just get Mila under control, will you? Slaves are a reflection of their owners, after all. Wouldn't want our wild cat to give you a reputation."

"My wild cat, General Tilcot," he said laughing.

"Yes, about that," the general said with a frown. "Sasha! I'm not finished with you!" He shouted, heading toward Sasha without a backward glance.

"Mila," said the captain before I could open my mouth to protest any ill treatment of Sasha.

"What?" I snapped, forgetting for a moment where I was, and with whom.

"Would you like to try again?" He growled, his expression dark.

"Not particularly," I challenged, tired of playing his stupid games.

"Feeling brave again, Priestess?" He asked, guiding me from the dining hall with a firm hand on my back.

"You've lost your leverage, Asher," I said, spinning angrily. "I take solace in knowing the general won't kill Sasha, because you parasites need us alive!" A tingling in my wrists and throat signaled the captain's use of my chains. I had enough time to notice my veins pulsing with gold before he spoke again.

"You seem to be under the impression I need leverage to bend you to my will, Mila," he murmured, pressing my pliant body against the nearest wall.

"What makes you think I'll be a willing pleasure slave?" I hissed as his fingers trailed along the skin just above my bottom. My back arched reflexively in an attempt to avoid his touch, and our hips bumped together. A dark smile lit his features.

"Because you're a little ball of fire Mila." He pressed his thickly muscled thigh between my legs, continuing to use his influence to subdue my violent reaction. "All passion and fury, just begging to be tamed," he said, stroking the delicate skin of my throat.

"I don't want to fuck you, you arrogant bastard. I want to kill you," I said as he dipped his head to lick my collar bone. I shivered, hating that he could elicit any sort of reaction in me.

"Mm yes, you hate me," he said in a voice that rumbled through my chest.

"With every fiber of my being," I replied with conviction.

"That's the most passionate emotion of them all," he whispered against my ear as his hand cupped my bottom. He pulled my core against his thigh, making a fist in my hair with his free hand. I trembled with the effort to resist his compulsion.

"Don't touch me," I whispered with shaking voice.

"Frightened?" He murmured, his lips against my neck.

"Disgusted," I replied. "In fact, I'm feeling rather sick again." He chuckled, straightening his clothes as he pulled away from me.

"Come along slave. I'd like to continue this conversation in private." He adjusted a sizeable bulge in the front of his slacks. I blushed when his meaning became clear. "My God, Mila," he said laughing when he noticed my discomfort. "Don't tell me my little warrior Priestess isn't as fearless as she appears!"

"Forgive me, sir," I said acidly. "I'm not looking forward to getting raped."

"Rape implies one has consent to give. You're my slave Mila. I don't have to ask."

"You really know how to turn a girl on," I said sarcastically and he laughed, motioning for me to follow him. My feet moved against my will, following his command.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be, Mila," he said, escorting me through the darkened streets to his residence.

"You have an entire harem of willing sex slaves. Why don't you make this easier on yourself Asher, and go bother one of them," I retorted.

"I don't use the pleasure slaves Mila. I train them."

"How do you train a sex slave Asher?" I asked with a snort of derision, though my body was tight with tension. We had arrived at his temporary home.

"I'll show you," he replied, trailing his fingers across my bare shoulders.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," I said, trying to edge away from him. He stopped me easily with a firm hand on my waist.

"Maybe," he acknowledged, pulling me close. "But I know what you need." He pressed a kiss to my neck, and chuckled when I hissed in anger.

"Oh really, Asher? Like I need a good steak?" I replied, trying to wriggle free of his grip.

"I don't recall giving you permission to use my name," he said in a deadly whisper, kicking the front door closed.

"So it's another whipping then?" I asked in a haughty voice, though to my ears, it sounded broken and terrified.

"No my beautiful, wild pet. I'm going to fuck you on every piece of furniture in this house," he said, making my heart stutter in fear. "And you're going to like it." He kissed the shell of my ear, exhaling noisily. Gooseflesh erupted all over my skin, and I whimpered helplessly in his grip.

"That's rather hard to believe, considering I hate everything about you," I said desperately, and gasped in surprise as he bent me over a stand in the dark hallway, my hands flying out instinctively to catch my fall. I knocked over a vase filled with fake flowers, the glass shattering in the quiet of the night. He covered me with his own muscular body, rubbing a thick bulge against my backside.

"That was my favorite vase, Mila," he said, voice husky.

"And I suppose this is your favorite painting?" I asked, grabbing the frame of the aforementioned art, and pulling it off the wall. It crashed to the ground, splintering into several pieces, ruined beyond repair. I watched happily, the destruction soothing my anger.

"Nothing more than a cheap copy my dear," he said chuckling, and my veins pulsed with his influence, preventing me from causing any more mayhem. His grip on my hips was almost hard enough to bruise as he pressed himself against me, the sound of his deep groan causing me to break out in a cold sweat, heart racing.

Racking my brain for any means of escape, I said, "I have diseases!" My voice cracking under pressure.

"What kind of diseases, pet?" He drawled, stroking a lazy finger down the length of my spine.

"The sexual kind," I whispered, silently berating myself for a stupid answer.

"Give me a name Mila. I'd like to know what I'll be contracting," he said in a conversational tone, sliding his hands along my ribs and slipping them past the loose fabric of my dress. His rough, calloused hands gripped the delicate skin of my breasts, kneading and pinching flesh that had never experienced such contact before. "I'm waiting pet."

"Please stop," I whispered, too flustered to bother with my frail lie any longer.

He chuckled and said, "This is the fun part, baby." He bent forward to plant a kiss between my shoulder blades.

"I'm not having fun Asher," I said in a broken whisper. His hips jerked forward at my words, a groan resonating deep in his chest. He ran his hand over the trembling flesh of my bottom, letting his fingers play with the hem of my dress and the exposed flesh at the top of my thighs.

"You are not to use my name, Mila," he said, slipping his hand under the dress and gently caressing my skin. "If I have to tell you again, there are going to be consequences. And you won't like them." He flipped the dress up, exposing my most intimate parts to the chill of the evening and his heated gaze. "Such beauty, Mila. It's a wonder you managed to evade us for so long."

I heard the ominous sound of his zipper, and moaned in defeat. I couldn't stop him from taking me, no matter the strength of my logic, how hard I tried, or how much I struggled. All he had to do was think about my submission, and I was his.

"This isn't fair!" I said sobbing, the situation finally too much to bare.

"Not fair? Mila, you're a Priestess. You were born to serve an Elite." He said, and placed the tip of his manhood at my untried entrance. I sunk my teeth into my lip, bracing for the pain of forced intimacy, and tasted blood.

The front door banged open and we both jumped in surprise. I was prevented from looking at the intruder by the captain's influence, and continued to stare at the wall.

"Holy shit! Sorry captain!" Said the voice of Marco.

"What are you doing here solider, and why can't it wait for morning?" The captain growled, our bodies on the cusp of deeper contact.

"The rebels are attacking, sir. And they've got something new," said Marco, breathing heavily.

With a deep, frustrated sigh the captain let my dress fall, covering my nudity. I heard the sound of his zipper before he released me from his compulsion, and I sank to the ground trembling with relief.

"Come along Priestess," he said, holding out his hand. "Let's test out my new power."

"No," I said defiantly.

"It wasn't a question Mila," he replied, as Marco handed him a jacket.

"I could stay with her," Marco said, leering at me. "Finish what you started." I got to my feet, wearily.

"See Mila," the captain said laughing as Marco clutched his chest dramatically. "You don't hate me."

*

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Thanks for reading this week! As always, feel free to email, comment or vote! It makes my whole little world go round, and your insights into plot, character development, pace and everything else 'Tritan' really goes a long way to letting me know if what I'm doing works.

Thanks for reading!!

WaterBurn Xx



The Last Tritan Ch. 04



Hello again beautiful readers! SO sorry for the wait, I was having a lot of trouble with this chapter, but my editor is brilliant, and slapped me into shape. I hope you enjoy this as much as you've enjoyed the previous chapters!

Please feel free to vote, comment or send me an email! I usually respond to everything, even if it takes me some time (and provided you leave me a return address.)

Enjoy!!

WaterBurn Xx





The front lines. It was the absolute last place on Earth I wanted to be, but thanks to Captain Rawlings, I was going to experience first-hand what it was like to watch an Elite in action. And he was going to use me to do it.

We arrived at the command post after a frightful car ride with Marco behind the wheel. He'd been busy lighting a cigarette and narrowly missed both other cars and a few buildings, I wondered if he'd been taught to drive by a blind man. The captain stepped out of the vehicle looking as green as I felt, grabbed my hand, and dragged me with him as he jogged up the steps.

"What's the situation Gabe?" He asked in an authoritative voice.

"They've built some kind of shield sir. Our guns don't have enough firepower to punch through them."

At the mention of the regular soldiers using guns, I snapped to attention. I'd been told they couldn't use an Elite's weapon, but if my information had been wrong, the Elorans were in far more trouble than I'd originally thought - and I'd assumed they'd already lost the war. On the other hand, if they could use energy weapons, perhaps I could too?

Without saying a word, the captain walked across the office, opened a large glass case in the center of the room and withdrew a massive, cruel looking gun. The instant his fingers touched the smooth metal of the handle, it came to life, beeping shrilly in the heavy silence. My manacles began to burn, and his men cheered.

"Shit captain," said Marco, slapping his commanding officer on the back. "The little wild cat packs a helluva punch!"

"Yes. She does," replied the captain, catching my eye, while I tried to rub the heat out of my wrists and throat.

"I've never seen a weapon charge so quickly," said Gabe, a distinct note of awe in his voice.

"Having a Priestess has its advantages," the captain said, stroking the side of my face with his free hand. "Now, let's see what we can do about these rebels, shall we?" He placed a hand on my back, guiding me from the building and into the cool evening air. I could feel his excitement bubbling subtly beneath the surface, and I was quite suddenly desperate to go back to his residence - consequences be damned.

"What are you going to do?" I said, and tripped over my feet - going without proper nourishment for so long was starting to take a toll.

"Whatever needs to be done," he replied, steadying me easily.

"Their shields seem to absorb the energy from our weapons, sir," said Gabe, interrupting our conversation. "We ran out of charge cells half an hour ago, and they've been advancing ever since."

"Clever bastards," said the captain under his breath. "Marco, order a new shipment of cells, and inform General Tilcot of this development."

"Already done, sir," said Marco with a smug smile. "And the general is enroute. Said he'd like to see this for himself."

"I'll bet he does. It's hard to imagine they could've come up with a viable defense," replied the captain, absently checking over his weapon. "In the meantime, allow me to charge your guns, gentlemen," he said. Both men handed him what looked like a battery, and his features took on the appearance of extreme concentration. My manacles began to burn anew.

The battery in his hand instantly lit up, glowing an intense green. The captain's bark of laughter surprised me, but when he spun on his heel, scooped me up in his arms and kissed me square on the mouth, I was nothing short of stupefied.

"My God Mila, your power!" He said and released me. He charged Marco's battery with equal efficiency, and said, "Jasper is going to be livid when he sees what I can do with you." My blood ran cold at the mention of the slaver, and his promise of retribution. Asher continued walking, an obvious bounce to his step. "The rebels aren't going to know what's hit them."

The captain's eagerness did nothing to temper the panic flowing through my veins - knowing he was going to use me against the rebels had sweat beading on my forehead, and my pulse pounding in my throat. I would feel directly responsible if he killed someone with my power.

"We'd better stop here, sir," Gabe said when we reached a park. "Don't want to give them the advantage in this half-light."

"How close are they?" Asked the captain in an undertone, scanning the area.

"On the far side of the park, sir. Just past that statue," Gabe responded quietly, motioning with his weapon. "The rest of the unit is waiting behind these buildings, in case they push forward," he said, nodding to the abandoned houses behind us. The captain smiled, evidently pleased with his unit's efficiency.

I took a moment to try and analyse Asher's newfound strength, and found it was enough to distract from the situation brewing around us. His power felt absolute, and while it terrified me, I was determined to find a way to balance the scales between us.

"Good evening gentlemen," said General Tilcot in a quiet voice. I spun, surprised the captain's brilliant power had been enough to stop me from feeling the general approach. Sasha followed quietly behind him, her head bowed. My throat tightened at the sight - she looked completely broken.

"Are you ok?" I whispered as the men began discussing strategies to subdue the rebels. Sasha flinched at the sound of my voice, but otherwise didn't respond. "I'm sorry," I continued, my heart aching for her. I thought of Kyra, and the wordless support she'd given me at the auction, and rested my hand on Sasha's arm.

"Quit your stalling Asher!" Said the general in a loud whisper. "Let's see what you can do with our wild cat."

"She's my wild cat, sir," the captain replied, a smug smile gracing his lips, and the general chuckled. "Marco, take the Priestesses to cover," the captain continued, pointing at a nearby abandoned shop.

"With pleasure sir," Marco replied, placing a hand on my shoulder, which I angrily slapped away.

"I won't let you do this," I said, placing my hands on my hips. The captain turned slowly, a savage glint in his eye.

"And how do you plan to stop me Mila?" He asked, and my manacles burned as he forced me to my knees. I glared at him until he forced my head down too, and found myself at a complete loss for words, his point clearly made. "I thought so," he said, and hauled me up by the arm. "Nothing happens to her Marco. Understood?" He asked, eyes burning into mine.

"God himself couldn't have been clearer, sir," Marco said as he engaged his weapon.

"Just go," the captain replied in an exasperated voice. Marco settled a warm hand on my arm and escorted Sasha and I to the abandoned shop.

"Babysitting duty, eh?" I said, trying to recover some of my bravado when we were safely inside. "You mustn't be a very effective soldier."

"You can think that way if you'd like, wild cat. Doesn't bother me," he rested his hip against a counter, and regarded me with an amused expression. "Or, you could consider the possibility that I'm Captain Rawling's right hand man, and he wouldn't trust your safety to anyone else."

"He doesn't seem terribly concerned with my safety," I said, and I was rewarded with a tiny, fragile smile from Sasha. I squeezed her hand in support. "What's he going to do?" I said, abruptly changing the subject. "To the rebels, I mean."

"We're going to have a pretty good view. Be patient," he replied, nodding toward the large window overlooking the park. Upon seeing the strain on my face, he sighed, and said, "I imagine he'll try to take any survivors as slaves."

"That's horrible," I whispered, throat tightening at the thought.

"They get to keep their lives," he replied.

"There are worse things than death," I retorted.

"And being a slave is one of them?" He asked.

"Have you tried it?"

"I'm a Caledonian."

"Yes, and we're Tritans," I replied, touching Sasha's hand. "Do you think being Caledonian makes you better than us?" I hissed, rattled by his flawed logic.

"Of course! For starters, we've never lost a war," he said, counting his point with a raised finger. I cried out, interrupting his tirade when my wrists began to burn intensely, reminding me of the agony I'd suffered when they'd been bound to my skin. Molten gold was coursing through my veins all the way up to my forearm. I could only imagine what my face - with similar golden streaks - must look like.

"Such power," Marco whispered, before turning to watch the window. "Here we go," he said, his excitement palpable. I turned my attention toward the darkened park, waiting for the captain to wreak havoc on the rebels. Before I had the chance to steady myself, I collapsed, a massive energy drain forcing me to my knees.

The ground shook with the force of a mighty explosion, but the feeling was secondary to the pain ripping through my body. White-hot flames circled my wrists and throat, the agony silencing my screams before they were heard. 

"Holy shit! That was incredible!" I heard Marco shout, before my vision blurred, and my world went dark.

"Mila!" Sasha cried, but it sounded as if she was a long way off, and I couldn't find the strength to answer her. Gentle hands stroked my face, and the warm glow of a healer entered my body. "I can't fix this," Sasha sobbed. "You have to stop him! He's killing her!" The sound of rapidly retreating footsteps penetrated the heavy fog swirling in my head, and a moment later I took a deep gasping breath.

The pain had dissipated somewhat, and I was able to muster the will to open my eyes, albeit slowly. My head was cradled in Sasha's lap, her tear stained face looking down at me fearfully.

"That was," I paused to take a deep, steadying breath. "Fucking horrible," I said, unable to find more elegant words. My voice was thready and weak, and I was covered in sweat as if I'd been running for hours.

"Oh," Sasha said, as a fresh wave or tears poured down her face.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to sit up. She held me down with ease, speaking volumes about my weakened state.

"Where is she?" The captain shouted, nearly tearing the door from its hinges in his haste, making quite a spectacle of himself. "Mila, are you OK?" Anxiety was stamped all over his handsome face as he dropped to his knees by my side, touching my cheek tenderly. I jerked back, positive he was not concerned for me, but for his Priestess.

"It's rather obvious I'm still alive, but beyond that I cannot fathom why you should care," I replied in a hoarse whisper, pushing away his soothing hands. He lifted me from Sasha's lap, holding me against his chest. When I tried to pull away his grip tightened, the masculine scent of his body an unexpected distraction from his strange, protective behavior.

"Don't move," he said in an authoritative voice.

"Don't tell me what to do," I snapped, baring my teeth in warning. His hand snaked into my hair, fingers compulsively stroking my scalp.

"Glad to see your mouth's intact," he said laughing, and closed his eyes for a moment. "You scared me to death Priestess."

"I'm not a Priestess," I said, wondering if ignorance of my craft had caused the problem.

"Of course you are," he replied.

"No. She isn't," said Sasha, with a surprising amount of vigor in her voice. "She hasn't been trained," she continued, confirming my suspicions.

The captain's hand tightened in my hair, and his body stilled.

"What does that mean, girl?" The general asked, standing by the door. At the sound of his voice Sasha flushed, and looked away.

"Mila's an Empath, sir."

"What's that?" The captain demanded, arms still wrapped around me.

"An untrained Priestess whose life force is directly connected to the Earth's energy, sir. She's never learned to separate herself from it," she said in a soft voice. "When you fire your weapon, it will drain her long before you can exhaust the Earth's energy. You'll kill her."

Silence reigned for a moment after Sasha had finished speaking, and the sounds of battle could be heard in the distance. That is, until I started to laugh, shaking with mirth in the captain's arms. The irony of the situation nearly too much for me to bear.

"I told you so," I said in a singsong voice. "You can't use your new toy without breaking it!" I gasped clutching my sides, exhaustion making me giddy. The captain's dark eyes met mine for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

"Can she be trained?" He asked, ignoring me. Sasha paused, staring at her hands as if they held the answers she was searching for.

"It's not impossible, sir. But it won't be easy."

"I imagine I'd need to try, which I won't be doing," I said defiantly, trying to wriggle out of his lap and failing. "Why would I train if it means I'd be putting a weapon in your hands?" I asked. Sasha's head snapped up, the look in her eyes grabbing my attention like nothing else could.

"Mila, an untrained Priestess is dangerous. Volatile," Sasha said quietly, holding eye contact. If the head Priestess wanted to train me - and she was making that abundantly clear - perhaps she had an ulterior motive? It was certainly worth the chance to speak with her privately.

"Can we talk about this another time?" Asked Marco, standing slightly behind the general, and interrupting my train of thought. "Battle in progress and all that," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "On second thought, it's really more of a clean-up at this point. You've made quite a mess out here Captain," he continued, holstering his gun.

"Yes, our wild cat's quite spectacular, isn't she?" Asked the general, motioning to Sasha. "Just needs a little training."

"My wild cat, sir," the captain reminded, habitually running his hand through my hair. He hauled me to my feet, shepherding me from the shop, and kept a hand on the back of my neck as I swayed. The desire to slap his hand away flared inside me briefly, but gathering the required strength proved too much for my exhausted mind and body. I relaxed into his touch, surprised to find myself grateful for the support as we approached Gabe and the battlefield.

My jaw slackened when I saw the carnage he'd wrought with his energy gun in so short a time. The entire area was lit up with what appeared to be permanent lightening dancing across the ground, as if there were too much energy concentrated in one location. I could see what must have been the rebel's shield overturned beside an enormous hole in the ground, and it appeared the captain had focused his shot in front of their defense. It looked like the resulting explosion had pushed their shield out of the way.

Incredibly, there was movement in the rubble. A young man, probably no older than myself, was stumbling aimlessly amidst the burning wreckage of the park.

"Gabe," said the captain as we approached, nodding at the young rebel. "We can always use a free set of hands."

"Sir," Gabe replied with a salute. Given my history of freeing slaves, the thought of watching him being forced into a life of servitude to the Caledonians was abhorrent. I couldn't let it happen.

I feigned a stumble, landing harder than I'd planned on my bruised knees, my cry of pain genuine. The captain was immediately by my side, running a hand over my exposed back.

"Come on, Mila. Let's get you home," he said soothingly. I waited, however, until Marco stood beside us. When I accepted the captain's hand, he helped me stand on shaking legs. I thanked him by yanking Marco's gun from the holster - and pointed it directly at the captain's face.

Taking two large steps away from the red-faced Marco, I said, "Call him off, Asher." Thankfully my voice was steady and the slight waver in my grip was masked by my body trembling with exertion - I wasn't entirely sure if I was bluffing or not. Shock flickered across the captain's features, before his eyes landed on the gun in my hands. A sexy, confident little smile began to form on his lips, and I hesitated, instantly feeling off balance.

"Go ahead, darling," he said, stroking the wrist cuff that matched my chains. "Shoot." The reminder of his power over me was chilling, and I was now positive I'd overplayed my hand. No one could be that cocky with a gun in their face - even if he could my every movement.

My eyes flicked to Gabe, who had stopped to watch the unfolding action, shock scrawled across his features, his mouth hanging open. From my peripherals, I was able to watch as uninjured Eloran rebels picked up their wounded, and guided the disoriented man away from the park. Thankfully, it appeared no one had been killed, so I returned the captain's arrogant smile - the rebels would live to fight another day.

"You're missing a few key pieces of that weapon, Mila," the captain said, taking a step toward me. Marco pulled his sleeve back, exposing a black wrist cuff embedded in his skin. "It won't fire for anyone except the owner. Which you are not."

I stood my ground as he continued leisurely walking toward me, not flinching when he frowned, his eyes darkening. I pulled the trigger.

"Bang," I whispered when nothing happened. His bark of laughter echoed around the park.

"Passion and fury, Mila," he said, reminding me of his theory on my volatile nature. My cheeks flushed hot, and he grinned, plucking the weapon from my fingers and tossing it back to Marco. "I trust you can handle the situation from here?" The captain asked, giving Marco a look that said he wasn't sure.

"Of course, sir," Marco replied.

"Come along Sasha," the general said, and she placed her hand in his without hesitation. "I'd like Mila's training to begin immediately, Asher," he continued, walking with us as we headed away from the scene of destruction.

"Naturally, sir," replied the captain, squeezing the back of my neck as we started walking. They began discussing a time for Sasha and I to meet, but my attention had begun to wander and I didn't catch the details. I was well and truly worn out, and wanted nothing more than to find some dark corner, curl up, and fall asleep.

"Do you feel emotions?" Sasha asked in an undertone.

"Of course," I answered, perplexed by the strange question.

"No," she said shaking her head. "I meant to ask if you can feel the emotions of those around you," she whispered, and her eyes darted toward our Elites as she spoke. I nodded, trying not to draw their attention to us. She closed her eyes, twisting her hands fretfully.

"Can't you?" I asked, prompting her to explain.

"It's what makes you an Empath, Mila. What makes you different," she said, speaking quickly. "It's only going to get worse the longer you're around people."

"So? Knowing why my enemies behave in certain ways has been incredibly useful so far," I replied, thinking of the insights I'd gleaned at dinner.

"It's going to get you killed," she said, touching my arm. "If you're sharing the emotions or the energy of someone who's dying..." she trailed off, biting at her lip.

"I'll die too," I said, finishing for her. She nodded, tears pooling in her luminous blue eyes.

"I can help you," she said, wrapping her arms around me.

"I hate to break up this tender moment," said the general, making Sasha jump. "But we've got places to be, girl. Let's go."

"Yes sir," she replied, hurrying after him without looking back. The captain continued walking and settled a warm hand on my lower back - but I was too caught up in what Sasha had said to bother swatting his hand away. I wondered what other important knowledge she had, and if my being different meant I could help the other Priestesses. And what if death was the only way to break my bond with Asher? Did I care?




The Last Tritan Ch. 04



"Let's finish what we started, shall we?" The captain asked, startling me out of my dark musings as he opened the door to his house.

"I didn't start anything," I hissed, wondering how I'd missed the walk to his dwelling. A dark smile lit his features, and I swallowed nervously, trying not to show any fear. He swept a length of hair over my shoulder, pressing a kiss to the space between my jaw and ear - my stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, reminding us of the meal I'd ruined.

"Hungry for more, baby?" He said, laughing with lips pressed against my skin. I shivered, and it took me a moment to decipher his meaning.

"I'm hungry for food, if that's what you mean," I said twisting my head away from him, ignoring the sexual connotation. He sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair.

"Come on then. Let's get you something to eat," he said, guiding me to through the darkened halls. I followed along obediently, dead on my feet.

When we entered the kitchen, he sat me down at a breakfast bar, feet dangling several feet off the floor. As he rummaged through his cupboards, I took the opportunity to rest my eyes.

"This is all I have that doesn't have meat in it," he said, nudging me awake. Chuckling, he lay his bounty in front of me - a small loaf of bread, and a few apples. Meager fare, but in my state of exhaustion, I was strangely touched he'd bothered to find something I wanted to eat.

Clutching it with both hands, I sunk my teeth into the flesh of an apple, feeling the tension flow out of my system at once. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the cool, rejuvenating snack, my body soaking up the vitamins and nutrients gratefully. A wordless sound of pleasure escaped my lips, as I took another massive bite. I tucked my legs beneath me, crossing them and hooking my toes on either edge of the chair, as if I were balancing on a narrow branch.

"Shit, Mila," the captain said in a strained voice, and my eyes snapped open to meet his. "How's your apple?"

"Good," I said, belatedly making sure he wasn't getting a show of my lady bits under my dress. He bumped his hip against the counter, crossed his arms, and watched me with a dark look in his eyes. I swallowed, wary of his apparently speculative mood.

"How about a compromise, Mila?" He asked quietly, watching me eat. I waited for him to continue. "I'll support your strange diet, and get you whatever it is you eat," he said.

I sat forward, begrudgingly intrigued, and asked, "In exchange for what?"

"Train with Sasha," he said, and I set my partially eaten apple on the table, looking away to hide my surprise. I'd already made up my mind to train with Sasha, assuming she had more mysterious wisdom to impart.

"That doesn't sound like an equal exchange," I hedged, not wanting to give in too quickly.

"Mila," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "We aren't equals. I own you." He ran his hands through his hair again, making it stand out. "This is an offer you should take, but I could always beat you into submission and feed you nothing but raw meat," he threatened, and I cringed at the image he painted.

"You're going to kill people, Asher. Using me," I said, picking at the hem of my dress. "I can't let that happen," I continued, making eye contact, probably saying more than I should.

"Can you stop it?" He retorted, irritation billowing off him in waves, and I got the distinct impression I was pushing too hard. 

Not wanting to risk the deal he'd offered me, I lowered my eyes submissively and said, "I'll pretty much eat anything you don't have to kill."

"Is that a yes?" He asked, surprise flicking across his face. I nodded, not sure if I could hide my satisfaction. "Perfect," he said, smiling. "Have you eaten enough?" He motioned to the mess I'd made of the apples. I finished I was eating, and picked up the loaf of bread, intent on eating as much as possible to make up for all the meals I'd missed.

"Do you have anything else?" I asked around a mouthful. He laughed, coming to my side.

"I'll check," He replied, his rough fingers threading through my hair. "Don't move, pet. You won't want me to chase you," he said in a threatening voice, spoiling the first glimmer of humanity I'd seen in him. I nodded obediently, not ready to make an escape attempt, and he left me alone in the gloomy kitchen munching on bread.

I was asleep before he returned.

***

When I woke I was covered in sweat, my heart racing with panic. I'd dreamt of my capture, and some part of my brain was stubbornly refusing to accept my new reality - as a slave.

I cursed in fury at the thought, struggling with the sticky sheets tangled around my nude body. Kicking them off, I launched myself from the bed, sides heaving with exertion. It'd been years since I'd slept on a mattress, and even longer since I'd slept naked.

The unfamiliar sleeping arrangements had started my morning on the wrong foot. I had no idea how I'd gotten here, but this was the second time I'd woken up in Captain Rawlings' room, my attire different than when I'd lost consciousness - the lapse in my memory was beginning to trend.

My eyes darted around the room, taking my surroundings in as quickly as possible. Early morning sunlight illuminated what had previously been concealed in shadow, and I relaxed. This was nothing more than a room, though richly appointed, it was far from the sinister space it had seemed when I'd last been here. It was also a lot less intimidating without the captain in it.

I wandered through his large room until I found the toilet, grateful to be relieving myself in private. Finished, I splashed water on my face until I felt clean and refreshed, and decided my first order of business was clothing. If Captain Rawlings wanted me naked and helpless, he was in for quite a surprise. I rummaged through his dresser drawers, finding several military uniforms, and clothing that reeked of luxury, but nothing even remotely close to my size.

"Try the closet," said Beau in a snide voice, entering without knocking. I moved to cover my nudity, lip curling in disgust as she deposited a tray laden with food.

"I wonder," I said, as I pulled a sheet off the bed. "Does it make you sad to know all your years of loving worship mean precious little to your Master?" I drawled, tying the sheet in a knot above my breasts. "That said, your part in my bondage must be rather bittersweet."

"Why's that?" She asked, glaring at me warily.

"You gave him a Priestess!" I said enthusiastically, pausing for effect. "I can't imagine how hard that must have been," I continued, completely enthralled by the sweet taste of revenge, and was unable to stop. "All I have to do is breathe and I'm more important than you'll ever be." I took a step toward her, getting a surprising amount of pleasure from taunting the older woman. "And I hate him." Her face flushed as I spoke, anger and humiliation so thick in the air I could taste it. "But I'm sure Asher gave you a cookie for all your hard work."

"You insolent little girl!" She spluttered, apparently unable to come up with anything more insulting. I sneered, flashing her my most off-putting, toothy smile, and she blanched, glancing at the door in distress.

"No one's here to save you this time, Beau," I said softly, knowing it was a lie. I could sense Asher's presence. He was close - I just didn't care. My smile turned feral as I stalked toward her. "You've created a nice cozy life here. Lots of people rely on you, trust you even," I allowed, closing the distance between us. "But I see you, Beau. You're nothing more than a cockroach. Easy to crush, but hardly worth the effort."

"My God, Mila!" The captain said, clapping from the doorway. "That was truly inspired cruelty, darling. I'm impressed. And aroused." The sound of his voice broke the hold I had on Beau, and she stumbled backward, defeated. "Where did that come from?" The captain asked as she fled the room, tears streaking down her face. I frowned - I'd never been intentionally cruel in my entire life. Why I was suddenly driven to seek vengeance on someone as wretched as Beau, would have to remain a mystery until I had a moment to reflect.

"Don't you have a war to plan?" I asked in the same snide tone I'd used with Beau. "Oh that's right. You're Captain Asher Rawlings, the soldier who can't fight," I said, turning to his massive closet in search of something appropriate to wear. "Impotence comes to mind, but I'm just a slave, so what do I know?" I spat, and for some reason, I was finding it next to impossible to stop the flow of venom pouring from my lips.

"Impotent?" The captain said in a deadly voice, and I whirled to face him. He advanced on me with a predatory glint in his eyes. "Allow me to demonstrate, darling," he growled, closing the distance between us before I could do more than stagger away from him. What the hell was wrong with me? Why would I intentionally provoke this madman?

And then it hit me - Sasha had said I was an Empath, that I could feel the emotions of those around me. What if I was behaving so out of character because I was mirroring Beau's spitefulness, and the captain's antagonistic tendencies? 

"Wait!" I cried, shaking off the crazy emotions making it impossible for me to keep my cool in a dangerous situation. I pressed a hand to his chest, clutching the sheet closer to myself with the other. "I'm sorry Asher, I don't know what's gotten into me!" I said desperately trying to backpedal. He smiled and my chains tingled, glowing softly in the gloom of his walk-in closet.

"I distinctly remember telling you not to use my name, pet," he whispered, placing his hand on mine. "You're my slave Mila, and it's time you started acting like it." He gestured for me to follow him from the closet, my obedience assured by his influence.

"What happened to our compromise, sir?" I said, trying to appeal to the glimmer of compassion I'd seen the night before.

"It still stands. Accept training from Sasha, and you get fed," he replied bluntly, pushing me to sit on the edge of his bed. My heart stuttered in fear - I'd completely lost control of the situation, all because I was an untrained Priestess, an Empath.

"Please!" I begged, straining against his will with all my might. "You don't have to do this," I said as he began to slowly pull the sheet away from my body.

"You're right," he murmured, exposing my naked skin to the brisk morning air. "I don't have to do anything, darling. But I will do exactly as I please." He touched the delicate skin of my throat before slowly traveling lower.

"What happened to wanting your pleasure slaves willing?" I asked frantically trying to distract him. I could feel his arousal pulsing through the room, more potent than any other emotion I'd felt before - and it was beginning to affect me.

"Oh, they're all willing Mila," he said chuckling darkly, and roughly pinched a nipple. I sucked in an outraged breath, trying to clear my head of feelings not my own. "But you're not a pleasure slave, my beautiful, untrained Priestess, and the rules don't apply to you." His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me perilously close to the edge of the bed. He spread my thighs with calloused hands, his flare of arousal blinding my senses for a moment.

"Please stop, sir," I said in a broken whisper, as his fingers moved ever closer to my core. "I don't want this."

"I don't give a shit what you want, Pet," he replied, gently spreading me with his fingers. "You exist to serve me Mila," he continued, and pushed a finger inside. I tensed against his hand, feeling a burning pressure quite unlike anything I'd ever felt before. "Son of a Bitch!" He cursed in surprise, pulling away from me abruptly and releasing me from his influence. "You're a virgin," he said, his tone accusatory, hand still on my thigh.

"Been like this my entire life," I replied sarcastically, scrambling as far away from him as I could get. "Didn't your beloved pleasure slaves tell you?" I asked, pulling a thick blanket around my shoulders.

"They knew?" He asked, anger blazing in his eyes.

"Not as loyal as you thought?" I said bravely, using his temporary distraction to clear my head of his wild emotions. He threw back his head, letting loose an unexpected bark of laughter, shaking with mirth.

"An untouched Tritan Priestess!" He said gleefully, casually unbuttoning his shirt. I clutched the blanket closer to myself, shaken by his abrupt mood swing. "How on Earth did you manage to survive in the forest for five years, abstaining from meat, and with your virginity intact?" He mused, but my mouth was dry and I couldn't summon the wit to answer him.

He shrugged out of his shirt, his muscular chest boasting strength and confidence, and let the dark material fall to the ground. The action clashed with what I'd seen of his tidy, precise nature, and I looked around desperately for a weapon, knowing my safety was in immediate danger.

Finding nothing and hopelessly trying to ward him off with raised hands, I said, "Don't touch me." And got my feet beneath me in preparation for an attack. He laughed, climbing onto the bed, heedless of my fierce position.

"You want to play, baby?" He drawled, unbuckling his belt as he advanced on me. The captain had absolute power over me - not using it was the perfect way to flaunt it.

I took a deep, steadying breath, determined not to let him bully me into submission. He'd already seen me naked, and if I didn't at least attempt to resist him now, he was going to have much more than a visual memory. A fight out of the question - he had at least a hundred pounds on me, probably more.

I launched myself off the bed, leaving the awkward, heavy blanket behind. Given his size, I was shocked to hear the sounds of pursuit so quickly, and poured on as much speed as I could. The sound of laughter chilled me to the core, but his impossibly strong hand on my waist nearly stopped my heart.

Desperate and cornered, I had no choice but to attempt a physical confrontation. I spun, punching him in the face as hard as I could. He merely grunted, pressing me into the wall, his naked flesh burning into mine. A frustrated scream escaped my lips, and I began to fight with all of my strength, clawing at his skin.

He wrapped his arms around me laughing as I struggled. I sunk my teeth into the meat of his shoulder, satisfied only when he cursed in pain.

"Let go Mila," he said, his voice tight. I shook my head, smiling victoriously when I felt him flinch, my teeth sinking deeper into the muscle. Arms already around me, he began to squeeze until I squealed in pain, pressure so heavy on my ribs that breathing became impossible. Choice effectively removed, I released him, gasping for air.

"Fuck you!" I spat.

"You never fail to entertain, pet," he said in a lazy tone, inspecting the blood dripping from his shoulder to his chest. "But foreplay's over baby," he whispered, running his hands down my back, gripping my bottom with both hands. He squeezed, spreading me gently, his actions contrasting with the anger I could feel pouring off him.

"Please don't do this," I whispered, tears threatening to spill over my lashes. "Please," I said, and pressed a hesitant hand to his chest, trying to make him feel how wrong this was, to use my Empathetic nature to my advantage.

He pushed his knee between my legs and lifted me, his hands moving to the backs of my thighs for leverage. Completely exposed to him, I could do nothing but whimper in fear as he ground his pelvis against my core, though we were thankfully separated by his pants.

"I'll do anything," I begged, feeling utterly hopeless.

"You're an untouched Priestess Mila, mine for the taking, but please darling, tell me why I should stop?" He asked sarcastically, voice laden with arousal. I met his eyes, seeing his violent desire to claim me, and willing him to see me as more than an object he owned, to feel my fear and heartbreak, and know he was the cause.

He flinched, pupils dilating in confusion, but it was enough - I'd managed to get through to him. I could feel it.

"Asher stop," I said in a gentle voice, and felt his immediate flare of arousal - as if the taboo of his name on a slave's lips was the most erotic thing he could imagine.

"Mila, I can't," he said, voice cracking. "You're my slave," he whispered, and spun, carrying me back to his bed. I cried out as he dropped me unceremoniously on the mattress, his body weight pinning me with ease. I tried to push him away, heart racing in panic as he unzipped his pants with one hand, supporting his weight with the other - my hands on his muscular chest completely ineffectual.

To my horror, his sexual energy began to build anew, stronger this time, wrapping me in the strength of his feeling. I whined pitifully as my body reacted against my will, aching and burning with a delicious tension I'd never experienced before. He slipped a hand into my hair, and used the other to gently probe the slick heat building between my legs.

"Ah, you see Mila?" He said, holding his glistening fingers up to the light. "You're not really fighting me," he whispered, caressing the base of my skull. "You're fighting your own submissive nature."

"That's not true!" I cried heart in my throat as he resumed his intimate exploration. "It's you, I can't get your emotions out of my head!"

"Is that so?" He murmured, kissing the hollow of my throat. I shivered, gasping when he began to gently circle my clit with a wet digit. "Then why haven't I had to use the chains in the last ten minutes?" He asked, licking and nibbling his way to my ear. He had a point - if his taking me was inevitable, I should at least force him to remove my ability to fight. It would be easier to live with myself that way.

I threaded my fingers through his hair, soothingly at first, trying to simulate a lovers touch. He groaned, hips jerking seductively against my thigh. I pulled backward, trying to force his head away from me, and moved to sink my teeth into the vulnerable, exposed flesh of his throat.

"There's my wild cat!" He said chuckling, easily stopping my attack with the arm wrapped around my shoulders. Using his free hand, he collected both my wrists, pinning them above my head - forcing me to be present for this sordid act.

The captain readied himself to take my virginity, rubbing his thick length into my melting flesh. He gently thrust at my entrance, prolonging the moment. And then he pushed - breaking through my maidenhead in one swift movement.

"Stop!" I cried, trying to twist away from the burning pain. Tears spilled over my lashes, and I sunk my teeth into my lip as a distraction, tasting blood. "Oh God, it hurts," I whispered, stretched to my limit. He shuddered above me, sweat beading on his brow, his pleasure nearly wiping out my resistance.

"Shh baby, it's over," he murmured, stroking my face tenderly.

"It's not over, you fucking ape," I hissed, arching my back in an effort to buck him off me. "You're currently violating me, sir," I said in a wavering voice, intentionally avoiding the use of his name. He laughed, muscles flexing against me.

"You may not be a Priestess Mila, but you're gifted with their skills. Heal yourself," he demanded.

"No," I replied acidly. He laughed, moving inside me slightly, as if he couldn't help himself. I writhed against him, trying to find a position that wouldn't cause pain - or pleasure. He leaned back and placed a hand in the cradle of my hips.

"It doesn't have to be like this Mila," he said, and I cried out in shock when my manacles began to glow, the warm flush of a healer entering my body. His wide dark eyes met mine, reflecting my own incredulity.

"That's not possible," I said in a fragile whisper, afraid to say it too loud. He withdrew slowly, the friction making my breath hitch, and settled his weight over me. The pain of losing my virginity all but gone, I was left feeling nothing but his overwhelming pleasure - which was slowly becoming my own.




The Last Tritan Ch. 04



"Did it work?" He asked, concern in his voice. I turned my head away, ashamed, and tried to pull my wrists from his grasp. He grinned, thrusting hard and deep, a satisfied shudder rippling through his body. "Your pussy feels incredible, pet," he whispered, kissing my neck and grasping my breast with his rough hand. "So tight and wet. Like you were made for my cock." He pulled almost all the way out, leaving me empty, and pushed back in before I could adjust to the strange new feeling.

He groaned low in his throat, the masculine sound making something hidden deep within me shiver. He picked up a lazy rhythm, thrusting in and out with maddening leisure, his every movement sending electric jolts of pleasure through my traumatized system. I moaned as my muscles tightened, pressure building inside me.

"That's it baby," he whispered against my ear, gently nibbling with his teeth. "Let go, Mila. Enjoy it." His hand slipped between our bodies, fingers gently rubbing my clit.

"Please stop," I sobbed, tears flowing freely. "Don't do this," I begged, ashamed of myself, hating how easy it was for him to overpower me. Hating how fucking good this felt.

"You're my slave, darling. This is how it's supposed to be," He murmured, licking and kissing the underside of my jaw. His words ignited my anger, helping me clear my head of his sexual energy, and I laughed in spite of everything.

"I may be bound to you, Asher," I said, feeling his cock twitch at the use of his name. "But I'll never be your slave." His hips jerked erratically, dark eyes burning into mine as he tried to slow his rhythm. But it was too late.

His hand settled on my hip in a bruising grip, and he groaned, picking up a punishing pace. Glistening in the early morning light, his muscles flexed beneath his tan skin, breath coming in short, broken gasps. Using the hand wrapped in my hair he pulled my head back, burying his face against my exposed throat, teeth grazing my skin.

Driving into me with one final, punishing thrust, he came, sending hot jets of seamen as deep inside me as he could go. The strength of his orgasm rocked my senses, making my body ache with my own unspent passion. I could feel the base of his cock twitching at my entrance as he emptied himself, his warm breath exploding against my skin. He groaned, thrusting slowly inside me to prolong his pleasure.

"Stubborn little bitch," he said with a shaky laugh, pulling out and leaving a sticky trail of his come on my thigh. He released my wrists as he rolled to the side, and I scrambled away from him immediately.

"Do you feel good about yourself, Asher?" I hissed, shaking from head to foot.

"I feel incredible, actually, thanks for asking," he replied calmly, stretching with the supple grace of a cat. I shivered, my body aching with unknown need as I watched him gather his shirt, and dress. "Come here pet," he said, extending his hand toward me. I glared at him, not trusting my voice. He sighed, and my manacles glowed softly with his influence. "You're to meet with Sasha in an hour. Get dressed and have something to eat. It's going to be another long day," he said, as I headed toward the platter of fruit and vegetables, his seed running down my bare thighs.

I took a deep breath as he headed to the bathroom, trying to remain positive in the face of defeat. He hadn't been able to force my pleasure, though my resistance had been sheer force of will. But most importantly, I'd been able to project my emotions onto him - if only for a brief moment.

I was counting today as a victory - and it had only just begun.



Thanks for reading, and I'm hoping chapter five will give me far less trouble. With any luck it will be well underway by the time this chapter posts!

Your feedback makes me party dance, so feel free to vote or leave your thoughts and suggestions!! I love hearing from you. :D

Until next time,

WaterBurn Xx



The Last Tritan Ch. 05



"I'm never going to forgive you for this, Asher." My voice wavered slightly as I fought to contain my tears. The captain glanced at me in the mirror and sighed, straightening his jacket.

"Eat something," he said, and handed me a tray of fruit. The vibrant colours, and tantalizing smells did nothing to whet my appetite. I picked at the food, pretending to eat.

With the morning's drama over, I was free to feel my own emotions for a change, and I was desperately trying to handle the unfamiliar pressure. What the captain had done to me was contemptible, and I could feel my heart breaking for my stolen innocence. There was only one thing that could make this worse.

"Am I going to get pregnant?" I kept my eyes locked on the fabric of my dress, unable to cope with him having yet another victory over me.

"We're incompatible," he replied quietly. I nodded, thankful for the small mercy, but was past the point of caring why. "Eat." He tilted my face to the light, and I flinched away from his touch, eyes watering.

"Get your hands off me," I said, yet there was no real heat left in my voice. The captain halted in front of me, but I didn't bother looking up to read his facial expressions.

"Mila," he began, but a soft knock at the door interrupted him.

"Is she ready sir?"

"Not quite, Alicia. Come in and have a seat while Mila finishes her breakfast." Could this day possibly get any worse? While not as bad as Beau or the captain himself, Alicia was far from my favorite person in this strange new world. She sat gracefully at his desk, eyeing me warily.

"Why wasn't I informed of Mila's virginity?' The captain demanded in an icy tone, and I found myself enjoying his ire directed at someone else for a change - especially someone as vile as Alicia.

"Mila's a virgin, sir?" She asked, portraying the picture of innocence. My personal feelings aside, I was surprised this dedicated pleasure slave had the gall to lie to the captain. A ghost of a smile began to form on my lips, the humiliation of the last few days forgotten for the moment. Anyone who wasn't completely on 'Team Asher', was a possible ally. Even if she was trying to get out of a punishment.

"You've never been a convincing liar, my dear," he said after a moment, his posture reminiscent of a hungry predator. I popped another strawberry into my mouth, focused on the moment at hand, and watched the unfolding drama.

The captain smiled, a gesture belittling the barely contained anger simmering beneath the surface. "There are better ways to get my attention, Alicia."

She shivered when he turned, her body moving toward him subtly as if the action were out of her control. "I'm sorry sir. If I'd known the Priestess was a virgin, I would have -"

"Stop talking," he barked, running his hand through his dark hair. "Take Mila to the baths. I'll deal with you after my meeting." He stalked out the door without a backward glance, leaving us alone in an uncomfortable silence.

I pushed away the tray of food - largely untouched - and stood on unsteady feet. I ached in places I hadn't known about, hating the sticky mess coating my thighs. I was anxious to get to the baths and wash away the evidence of the captain's claiming me.

"Are you ready?" Alicia asked, the first to break the silence. Her tone was not altogether unkind, but I was far from wanting any sort of friendship with this poor twisted soul. I brushed past her, exiting the captain's bedroom unrestrained for the first time. Alicia scrambled to keep up with me squeaking in fright when both Gabe and Marco fell into step behind us.

"Give a girl some warning before you creep up on her, you great oaf," Alicia said, defensively wrapping a delicate hand around her throat.

"I like that you don't know when I'm coming, beautiful," Marco said, rubbing her shoulders.

"That's what the girls say about you." She brushed him off, and Gabe snorted, laughter breaking through his tough soldier exterior.

"How about you, wildcat, anything cruel to say to poor old Marco this morning?" He asked, easily matching my hurried stride. He grinned when I said nothing. "Ahh, that's better. You see Alicia? The wild cat here knows how to show a little respect."

"Nah, sorry mate. She's just learned to filter out your voice, that's all," Gabe said, looking down the busy street, unclipping his weapon as he scanned the area. Alicia laughed and touched his arm, lingering a moment too long. The sensual contact reminded me of my morning with the captain, and I found myself trying to stem the flow of hot tears. I pushed past Gabe, who was still checking the streets, and ran straight toward the doors of the bathhouse.

His shout of caution fell on deaf ears as I flung open the doors, barely resisting the urge to sprint to the warm water. I couldn't be the captain's obedient bed warmer, happily searching out sex the way Alicia seemed to do. I panicked at the thought, my heart threatening to punch its way through my ribs - I needed to get free of these people or die trying.

Stripping unceremoniously and flinging my dress away from me, I sunk into the hot water in one sleek movement. I took a deep breath, and dunked my head under the surface, trying to drown my panic before it crawled under my skin and took root. The heat soothed me, and the tension slowly left my body, allowing me to resurface with a better grip on my emotions.

Gentle fingers started rubbing my scalp - I yelped, lunging toward the other side of the pool, fists raised for a fight. Alicia, who was staring at me with wide eyes, had disrobed and slipped into the bath while I'd been distracted. She bit her lip as I glared at her, twisting her hands in the bubbles.

"I am quite capable of bathing myself, thank you," I hissed, my lip curling in disgust.

"Yes Priestess," she said to my surprise, and retreated to the edge of the pool. I stared after her, baffled by these people and their strange customs. Evidently there was some sort of hierarchy among the slaves, and being a Priestess put me somewhere near the top.

I filed the information away, betting it would be useful in the future, and continued my cleansing. Squirting a liberal amount of the fruity pink shampoo into my palm, I gritted my teeth and rubbed it between my legs, plunging two fingers into my depths. I winced when the soap came into contact with my delicate skin. I was tender from the captain's cruel use of my body, though he had somehow managed to use my gifts against me, and taken away the pain of losing my virginity. No amount of scrubbing, or Priestess-style healing, could undo the emotional damage he'd caused me.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, I dunked my head under again, running my fingers through my hair in the process. Sasha was waiting, and I was eager to learn everything I could from her. I owed Asher a debt.

Invigorated with thoughts of vengeance, I decided shampooing my hair three times in two days was overkill, and exited the bath with little grace. I splashed water everywhere, and rung the remaining moisture from my hair with my hands.

"Animal," Alicia muttered under her breath. I turned slowly stifling the urge to cover my nudity, and caught her eye. I smiled when she blanched, silently reminding her just who I was.

"Your robe, Priestess?" Came the timid voice of Rabbit. I spun, making her stumble and drop the black wrap I'd been wearing. She scrambled to pick it up, clutching it to her chest, eyes wide. I snatched it from her hands, trying to wrap it around myself, and failing miserably.

"May I help you Mila?" Sasha asked in a soft voice, her presence calming me instantly. I nodded, and felt her gentle touch coax my dress into cooperation.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, straightening the flowing material.

"Shall we?" She asked, and led me from the stifling heat of the bath house into the streets of occupied Elora. We travelled in silence, on our way to General Tilcot's sprawling manse as we were again flanked by Gabe and Marco.

Without the captain's distracting presence, I was able to take in the beautiful Eloran architecture, and wondered at the wealth of the previous owners. My parents had been heavily involved with Tritan politics and we had lived accordingly. But this building – with its perfectly manicures lawns, yawning front entrance, and gorgeous statues decorating a sparkling fountain – screamed of excessive wealth. I hadn't realized the Eloran economy was healthy enough to support its wealthier citizens this way - before the Caledonian plague rolled through, that is.

The interior was richly appointed with oil paintings of the highest quality, the furniture placed purely for its aesthetic appeal rather than comfort. However the gently sloping master staircase snared the attention of anyone who entered, declaring the owners lived a life of privileged decadence others could only hope to glimpse. My senses reeled, and I ached to return to my treetop apartment.

All of my observations were made as Sasha rushed us through the front hall, not stopping to admire any of the objects that had so captured my attention. We climbed the stairs, and an uneasy shiver raced through my blood. The captain had recently cornered me on the top floor of the bath house, and though I was already well and truly caught, it still felt like I was making the same mistake twice

"Ladies," Gabe said and pushed open a door, bowing as Sasha and I brushed past him. I couldn't help snorting in derision. Chivalry toward a sex slave was insulting - a painful reminder of the way things should have been and weren't.

"Thank you for the escort, gentlemen," Sasha said, standing with her hand on the door.

"We've been given direct orders not to leave Mila's side, miss." Marco holstered his weapon and leaning comfortably against a plush cream colored couch. "The captain's got important meetings all day, otherwise he'd be here himself."

"Sir, are you insinuating Mila won't be safe in the general's private sitting room?" The two soldiers went still, probably uncomfortable with the power the general's slave had over them.

"You know that's not what he meant, Sasha," Gabe said, speaking calmly and maintaining eye contact.

"The training of a young Priestess is a sacred thing, and requires a peaceful environment free of distractions. I'll need you gentlemen to leave."

Marco shifted, an uneasy look on his face. "We've got our orders Sasha."

"And I've got mine. From General Harper Tilcot, whom I believe outranks Captain Rawlings. But you're more than welcome to interrupt their meeting to find out. Or stand guard outside the door." I don't know how, but I managed to contain the gleeful cheer bubbling in my chest, and settled for a victorious grin as the soldiers filed out. They sent us another uncomfortable glance before Sasha closed the door in their faces.

"How do I get these accursed manacles off?" I asked the instant we were alone.

"Have a seat," she said, doing so herself and getting comfortable. I remained standing, waiting for her to answer my question. She sighed, and looked at her hands. "You can't take them off Mila, believe me, I've tried." My heart sunk, though I'd been expecting her to say something of the like - it couldn't possibly be so easy. "A Priestesses' gifts are limited to the manipulation of organic things, which the chains are not."

"Can they take them off?" I asked, refusing to believe there wasn't a way out. She shook her head, touching her own jewelled manacle with a wistful look on her face. "So I'm bound to Asher indefinitely?"

'Yes."

'Then how do I kill him?"

"You're an Empath Mila. You can't kill him without killing yourself."

"Maybe that isn't such a bad thing," I replied, grinding my teeth.

"I don't think killing yourself is the answer."

"Then give me another solution Priestess, because I can't live with being his slave, and I won't let him use me to kill anyone. Frankly I don't know how you've done it for so long."

"Hold on, let's just relax for a second," she said, raising her hands to stop me from arguing further. "I think you need to know a little more about being a Priestess before we start talking life and death."

"Like what?" I snapped, feeling edgy and uncomfortable.

"Have you always been this angry, this confrontational?" Her voice was gentle, and I could see no judgment in her sparkling blue eyes, no desire for retaliation against my angst - only a peaceful serenity. Taking her lead, I took a deep breath, and considered her question.

Hadn't I spent the majority of my adult life living in harmony with nature, unable to kill to save myself? Why then was I belligerently attacking the only person I'd met who was trying to help me?

I felt like I was losing myself. "What's happening to me?"

"It's your empathetic nature Mila. Have you been doing and saying things you'd otherwise never have considered? Aside from the drastic change in your living circumstances, of course," she added with a smile. I nodded, thinking of my recent affinity for swearing, of my interactions with Beau, of my inexplicably passionate reaction to the captain. "How long have you known you possessed Priestess gifts?" She asked, switching tracks. I thought for a moment, trying to remember a time I hadn't been able to feel the world around me.

"My whole life."

She nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "And your parents? How long did they know?"

"We've always known," I said slowly, looking away to hide the pain of losing them too young. "Where are you going with this?"

"I'm trying to figure out why your parents didn't bring you in for training."

"My father wanted me to pursue an education. He said my intelligence would be wasted in a life of servitude."

"And who was your father to make such a decision?" She asked, and for the first time I could sense a glimmer of anger from the Head Priestess.

"Senator Tanovic," I replied, bracing myself to defend his honor.

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Mila, we had a temple for a reason, just like there was a reason the Priestesses were forbidden from entering into politics. For your father to flout Tritan law," she paused, noticing my angry frown, and pursed her lips. "We Priestesses were born with power our fellow citizens couldn't learn or understand, and to keep the peace, we dedicated our lives to healing and the pursuit of knowledge. The rule of our nation was left to those with remarkable intelligence, those who could lead Tritan forward by speaking with the voice of their fellow citizens. It was left to those who had to earn a place in the senate, not those born into power. That way could only lead to corruption."

"My father wasn't corrupt," I said quietly, not wanting to continue this conversation.

"Of course he wasn't, I'm sorry Mila. I'm only trying to explain why a Priestess in politics was taboo. Look at what it did to the Caledonians. All of their ruling class are Elites."

"And they defeated Tritan inside of a week," I replied sadly.

She nodded, looking out the window absently. "A conversation for another day, I think," she said, not making eye contact. I understood her pain. "Training Priestesses is the most important thing the nation of Tritan ever did." She paused, crossing her arms. "And you're a prime example why a Priestess should never go without training."

"What? Why?"

"Being an Empath is dangerous -"

"So you've said," I said without thinking and blushed, immediately bashful.

"I'm amazed you're still alive, what with a war going on around you," she continued, ignoring my rude interruption. "Have you ever seen someone die?"

I thought back to the battle the night before - the captain had certainly injured a few of the rebels, but their shield had done its job. "I don't think so," I replied cautiously.

"No, I guess you being naturally able to defend yourself against the power of death is too much to hope for. No matter, most Empaths don't see their twenties, yet here you are, surviving through a war. It's incredible."

"None of this matters unless I can use it to kill an Elite," I insisted, uncomfortable with the compliment, even if it did feel rather backhanded.

"Have you heard nothing I've just said?"

"I don't care if I die Sasha!" I cried, clenching my fists and feeling my nails bite into the skin of my palms. "Asher has to pay for what he did to me."

"What did he do, sweet girl?" She placed a calming hand on my shoulder, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"He," I stopped to clear the tight feeling from my throat, and found I couldn't continue.

"Oh honey," she said, and wrapped me in her arms, the gesture reminding me of my mother. "Shh darling. It's OK to cry." She stroked my hair gently, and it was as if her words had given me permission to grieve - for my stolen innocence, for my parents, for Tritan and everything we'd lost. I choked on sorrow as it poured out of me, clinging to Sasha as if she were my only salvation in this sea of corruption.

I rambled about my time in the forest, about my parents and their hopes and dreams for my future, my words so broken by tears it sounded as if I were speaking another language. Through it all Sasha held me, running her hands through my hair with the patience of a mother for a beloved child.

"Why is this happening to me? Why now?"

"Your empathy?" She asked, and I nodded, hiccupping through my tears. "How much of your time did you spend with other human beings while you were living in the forest?"

"Very little," I admitted, trying to get my breathing under control. I felt, rather than saw her smile - I was finding it incredibly hard to make eye contact with her, such was my shame of this show of emotion. "So I'm only noticing now because," I interrupted myself with a spasmodic breath. "Because I'm being forced to spend time with people for the first time in five years?"

She kissed the top of my head - the action suiting her so perfectly I didn't cringe or try to pull away. "You're a survivor Mila. You'll get through this." I wiped my nose on the handkerchief she offered me, and glanced at her face, intent on thanking her for the support.

An involuntary sound of distress escaped my lips when I realized her face was covered in tears, as if she had been suffering along side me. "Why are you crying?"

"You're a powerful Empath, Mila." She smiled and shrugged. "I can't help it, you're projecting your grief onto me."

"Oh God," I moaned, nearly overcome by a second round of panicked sobbing. "I'm sorry Sasha, I didn't mean to."

She laughed, wiping her face. "Nonsense Mila, a few tears never hurt anyone. And I'm finding it rather therapeutic to cry with a fellow Priestess." She dabbed at my wet face, her touch soothing my wild impulse to flee from the intimate contact.

"I tried to project my feelings onto Asher this morning, before he," I trailed off, unable to say it aloud.

"You intentionally tried to manipulate the captain's emotions?"

"Yes, but it didn't work."

"Manipulating the emotions of others is something I've always taught the Priestesses not to do. It's wrong, ethically speaking."

"But this is war."

"Extenuating circumstances aside, you need to learn to control your gifts before you can start trying to influence others."

"I'm not doing anything that will help him kill, Sasha. I absolutely refuse."

"You're no good to anyone dead."

"And the alternative is what? Learn to protect myself, but in the meantime, let him use me to wipe out the rebels. Shall I subtly will him to care over time? I don't think so."

"And how do you think Asher will find out it's safe to use your power again? Do you think I'll be the one to tell him?"

My eyes widened, as her meaning dawned on me. "Won't he be able to feel the difference?"





The Last Tritan Ch. 05



"Even if he can, he won't be willing to risk your health without absolute confirmation that it's safe to do so. And who knows, it might take years to complete your training." Her smile was sly, and I found myself sending her an answering grin. It wasn't much in the way of plans, but it was a start.

***

Sasha said the first step of my training was clearing my mind of outside influences. Easier said than done - my head was filled with emotions and desires not my own, a concept I found both bizarre and distracting.

"A fully trained Priestess spends much of her time existing in a neutral state of mind. This way she can weigh the positives and negatives of the world around her, and choose the best path for the situation. It takes years of dedicated, peaceful meditation to achieve this. Both of which are luxuries we cannot afford." She paused to manually adjust my seat, ensuring I was sitting in the optimal position for meditation.

"Before we can do anything, you have to create a defense against the emotions of those around you. This is a war, Mila. Sooner or later you're going to be tied to someone who will die, and they'll take you with them."

"If that happens, I hope Asher's death is what causes mine."

"Ignore your hatred Mila. It won't help you shield yourself from danger."

I rolled my eyes, my mind inevitably wandering to the rebels' shield. "Not asking for much, are you?"

"Our training isn't as glamorous as the Elite's darling, but we end up with more control in the long run. Now focus." She slipped easily and naturally into the role of teacher, seeming to understand exactly how hard to push me without igniting my anger - an admittedly delicate balance. I found myself appreciating her experience and wisdom.

Several hours later, and after only one short bathroom break, I'd managed to clear my head enough build a fragile 'shield' between myself and Sasha. It was however, painfully easy to step around it, to touch the wellspring of her emotions and know her mood.

"Come on Mila. You've got to stop relying on your empathy,' she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

I growled in sympathetic frustration, succumbing to temptation yet again. "I know, I'm trying. It's just so easy to lower my shield and cheat."

"That's the problem. You shouldn't be building a shield Mila. You're supposed to be building a wall."

I shrugged and got to my feet, stretching like a cat. "Wall. Shield, same difference."

"There's a huge difference between a wall and a shield! Don't be arrogant, Mila."

I sighed, biting back my angry retort. "You're right of course, I'm sorry. You mentioned shielding myself earlier, and now I can't stop thinking about the rebels' energy shield."

"Well it's not going to be as effective as a wall, but it might be enough to save your life. You've done well for a first attempt, you just need to practice. Every chance you get."

"I will. But you have to admit knowing the emotions of my enemies is extremely useful. Knowledge is the deadliest weapon, after all."

"My God you're stubborn," she said, shaking her head, and a knock at the door offered a welcome distraction. "Let's take a break." Marco entered with a large tray of fruit and vegetables, and Sasha gasped. "I haven't seen so much fresh food since before the war started."

I smiled, waiting for Marco to leave. "The captain offered me a deal, and I took it."

Shock and confusion flickered across her features. "You cooperated with Asher?"

"Yep. He said he'd feed me whatever I wanted, as long as I agreed to train with you."

"You devious little thing," she said, and smacked my arm playfully, her irritation with me easily forgotten. "I'm ravenous."

"If you weren't here, I'd eat this entire platter," I replied, selecting a succulent handful and settling in to gorge myself on Asher's bounty. He'd bought fruits and vegetables of every type I could think of, and several I didn't know what to do with.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, both enjoying foods we hadn't eaten in years, and my gaze wandered to a small glass case on a pedestal. "Are those Tritan Chains?" I got up to have a closer look, licking my sticky fingers clean.

Sasha sighed deeply, and said, "Yes. Harper likes to see the reminder of Caledonia's triumph."

"Isn't that what you're for?" I asked, lifting the case, intending to inspect the chains for a possible weakness. "Well, that and charging his weapons, of course."

"I'm actually something of a trophy, Mila. I've never seen battle." She joined me in touching the Chains. "The general would never risk losing me when he has people to do the fighting for him."

"Like Asher." It wasn't a question, and I replaced the glass, no longer interested in finding a weakness in my bonds.

"Yes, like Asher, and many others who don't have a Priestess." We lapsed into a speculative silence, both wandering the lavish room lost in thought.

"I need to ask you something," I said, impulsively voicing the thoughts crossing my mind.

"Of course, Mila. Anything."

"The captain said I wouldn't get pregnant. Is that true?" My question made her wince, and the room grew heavy with sadness.

"Yes. It's the Chains," she said simply, again wandering toward the glass case. "They prevent pregnancy by interfering with our body's natural chemistry." Her hand drifted toward her abdomen, and I knew I'd accidentally crossed a line.

"You would have been a wonderful mother, Sasha," I said gently. I didn't have to understand it, and I certainly didn't share her desire for children, but it was obvious to me Sasha desperately wanted what she couldn't have.

"I think we've done enough for today," she said, and draped a cloth over the displayed chains. I could certainly respect her need for privacy, and I headed toward the door, without a second thought.

"Thank you for all your help, Sasha. Same time tomorrow?" I wasn't looking forward to facing the captain, but knowing I had another date with Sasha would go a long way to making the next several hours with him tolerable.

"Unless something comes up." She shrugged, and sent me a tentative smile. "The life of a slave." Her words caused an angry shudder to ripple through my body, and she chuckled. "Remember to ignore your anger, and practice as often as you can Mila." I waved over my shoulder and opened the door, startling the two soldiers standing guard.

"Ready to go, wild cat?" Marco asked, as he and Gabe fell into step at my side. When I didn't answer, the latter laughed.

"I told you she's got a 'Marco filter'. Just picked it up faster than most. Clever girl."

"No way, she's just intimidated by my dashing good looks." Almost against my will, I found myself trying not to smile at their antics. These men were my enemies, and yet I couldn't help noticing how normal they were - if I was even remotely qualified to comment on what normal was.

We exited General Tilcot's home as the sun sank below the buildings, but I was too tired to admire the beautiful architecture - all I wanted was to find somewhere dark and fall asleep. A chilly evening breeze pushed my hair back from my face, and ruffled the thin fabric of my dress. I shivered, and walked faster.

"Hold on there Priestess," Gabe said, placing a restraining hand on my shoulder. "The captain wants you protected at all times. No more running." And try as I might, I couldn't pull away from his grip.

They guided me through the darkening streets, constantly alert for any danger. My bare feet were silent on the paved road, in contrast with the soldier's heavy footfalls, and I found myself pining for my sturdy tree-bark boots for the second time in as many days. I knew they could have prevented the cold seeping into my bones, but guessed forcing me to forgo adequate footwear was simply another of Asher's training techniques.

All too soon, Marco was opening the captain's front door, and ushering me inside. The house was dark, and I sighed in relief, thinking the captain must still be in his meeting. Both soldiers continued walking deeper into the house without hesitation, and sandwiched me between them. I was left with no choice, but to meekly follow along.

I recognized the route to the captain's office, even in the dark. With my flimsy shield down, I was able to sense her presence before she passed us. Carina stumbled, fixing her hair and straightening her dress, before she realized she wasn't alone in the dark. She couldn't hide the powerful scent of alcohol hanging around her in a toxic cloud.

"Evening miss," Gabe said politely, and Carina smiled drunkenly.

"Ah, Priestess," she slurred, taking a step toward me. "He might be bound to you, but it will be my bed he seeks when we're married." I stepped back when she jabbed a perfectly shaped nail into my chest. Marco moved to block her immediately.

I hoped Asher did seek her bed, and left me in peace - but I let my senses flare out around me, not bothering to seek the neutral state as Sasha had taught me, completely giving in to my anger. Carina was an open book in her drunken state – all I had to do was touch her emotions and to know she was guided by a crushing sense of inadequacy. Knowing this made it easy to amplify those feelings, pushing until her hand flew to her throat and her knees buckled.

I smiled, when Gabe moved to catch her muttering, "Let's get you home," and entered the captain's office when Marco opened the door. Maybe this Priestess thing wasn't going to be so hard? Hell, manipulating Carina had been easy compared to what Sasha had been trying to teach me this afternoon.

I faltered when I saw the captain sitting behind his large desk. His head was resting on steepled fingers, and his hair stuck out at odd angles. His clothes were rumpled, but still on his body - contrary to what Carina had led me to believe. He looked up when Marco cleared his throat, his dark eyes glazed with the effects of alcohol.

"Carina's an interesting choice for marriage, sir." Marco said, slowly closing the door with a gentle snap.

"She's a toxic whore, but she's got good breeding. I haven't decided if I want to accept her proposal just yet." He rubbed his hands over his face, and poured himself another drink. "I've been taken off active duty, pending the completion of Mila's training."

Marco sat heavily in a chair. "You're joking."

"Nope. The general wants her fully trained, or not on the field." He downed the contents of his glass, wincing slightly, and poured two more. "And that includes me."

"He must have a good reason," Marco prompted, accepting the drink offered to him.

"Who knows." He stared into his glass for a moment, frowning at the liquid contained within. "How did Mila's training go?" His question was directed at Marco, for which I was profoundly grateful - I wasn't entirely sure I would be able to lie convincingly to the captain's face.

Marco paused to drain his glass. "I don't know sir, you'll have to ask Mila."

"What the fuck does that mean? Didn't I tell you to stay by her side at all times?" The captain said in a dangerous voice, draining the amber liquid in his glass again.

"You did sir. But Sasha pulled rank on us -"

"She pulled rank on you? She's a bloody trophy slave Marco! A child has more rank than she does."

"Yes sir, but she's the general's trophy slave, and she said they needed privacy to train, and if I had a problem I should interrupt your meeting with the general. The same meeting you told me only to interrupt if there was an emergency, or if Mila was -"

"I'm too fucking drunk to deal with this right now. Remind me to kick your ass in the morning." The captain got to his feet, planting his hands on the desk when he wobbled unsteadily.

Marco chuckled, also rising. "Yes sir, would you like me to book time in the fighting pits, or do you feel like winning?"

"Don't push it Marco. I'm not above demoting you to..." he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Marco smiled, and said, "Demoting me to private sir?"

"Yep. That's the one." Asher took a deep breath, and headed toward the door, more steady on his feet than I would have imagined possible, given his inebriated state. "Mila, come."

My body lurched after him, roughly seized by his influence. "Son of a bitch," I cursed, more surprised than anything. My feet carried me up the stairs after the captain, as Marco turned toward the front doors, leaving me in the captain's care without a second thought.

"Good night Macro," he called when the sound of the front door closing could be heard. We entered his bedroom and he headed straight for the ensuite bathroom, relieving himself with the door wide open. My wrists were still glowing with molten gold, informing me he hadn't forgotten I was there, in spite of his apparent disregard for bathroom etiquette.

"I would get the only Priestess in the world who's untrained." He flushed the toilet, returning to stand in front of me with his pants hanging loosely from his lean hips. "What devious little plot have you and Sasha cooked up today, hmm?" He asked, touching my lips delicately.

"And what makes you think we came up with anything?" I asked, trying to pull away from his touch.

"I may be drunk, Mila, but I'm not stupid." He let his pants drop to the floor, and ran his hands down the exposed skin of my back.

I shivered, redoubling my efforts to put some distance between us. "Agree to disagree."

"God, you're a terrible slave," he said with a deep laugh, and pressed his forehead to mine, his breath sour and warm. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but before I could reply to his drunken sentiment, he'd scooped me up and headed toward his bed.

"Oh no, Asher, please don't," I begged, prevented from struggling by his use of the Chains. He smiled, and tossed my pliant body onto the bed. Standing back, he stripped off the remainder of his clothing, taking his time, and chuckling when a terrified little sound escaped my lips.

He crawled onto the bed, straddling my hips and stared down at me, his expression completely incomprehensible. My Chains pulsed, and I watched in horror as my hands lifted off the bed, coming to rest wrist over wrist in the most submissive gesture I could imagine. Taking my involuntary offering in one of his large, calloused hands, he leaned forward stretching my arms above my head.

With his face inches from mine, I let my senses tentatively touch him, terrified I would be overcome by his passion for the second time. Before I was able to recognise he wasn't in fact radiating an all-consuming lust, he'd secured my wrists above my head in padded cuffs.

Without saying a word, he rolled to the side, pulling back the blankets and flinging them over us. A few moments later he was snoring softly, and I felt his control over me ebb away, as he sank deeper and deeper into sleep. The reason for the physical restraints became obvious, and I was annoyed he'd been capable enough to think of such a thing in his intoxicated state.

But my training had been long and mentally taxing, and I was grateful Asher hadn't decided to end my day the same way he'd started it. Having my arms pinned above my head was far from comfortable, and yet the soft, warm bed and rhythmic breathing of the man who'd taken over my life, successfully lulled me into a deep sleep.



The Last Tritan Ch. 06



I awoke to the sound of deep, masculine laughter, and groggily tried to open my eyes. My head was pounding from the mental exercise Sasha had put me through, and my entire body was leaden, as if I'd been running for hours. But I needed an advantage to level the playing field, if I had any hopes of fighting the captain. If physical exhaustion was the price to pay for a mental shield, I wouldn't hesitate to pay it again.

While the notion of being his equal was absurd while chained to his bed, I couldn't help being optimistic. I had a plan, a course of action, and was secure in the knowledge that Asher couldn't truly take away my freedom. He couldn't prevent my scheming, and certainly didn't control my thoughts—I was my own island, as I had been for years.

Sleeping with my wrists restricted by the padded handcuffs had been nearly impossible, and I had tried to twist into a comfortable position during the night. I'd ended up in the fetal position with my arms folded neatly across my throat, and the naked skin of my back pressed firmly against the headboard. One end of a pillow was held hostage between my legs, while my cheek rested on the other, pinched between my elbows. Probably not optimal sleeping conditions, and yet I was more comfortable than I could remember being—I'd spent the last five years living in a tree, after all.

Sleep was slow to leave me, and it took a moment to realize I was staring into Asher's dark eyes, his face inches from my own. I yelped and gave a feeble twitch, which was the only movement I was capable of in my twisted state.

"I've never seen anyone sleep quite like that," he said, eyeing my modest cleavage still concealed by my black dress. I glared at him, too shaken by his proximity to come up with anything witty. Asher rolled over and rose completely nude, strutting toward his ensuite restroom, leaving me to the task of untangling my limbs.

By the time he'd returned, I was sitting upright—though still restrained. I watched him warily as he stretched with the grace of a cat, his sleek muscles moving hypnotically under bronzed skin. My frown deepened, I refused to be distracted by his physical beauty, determined to see nothing but the monster waiting beneath the surface.

"You'd be much prettier if you smiled, Mila."

"I've got nothing to be happy about." 

He rolled his eyes, and took a few steps toward me. "Maybe if you weren't so fucking difficult all the time -"

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Like work? Oh that's right..."

Shrugging, he said, "It's OK. Gives me plenty of time to teach my stubborn little slave her place." 

"No," I said shifting backward, shaking my head. "I've got to train."

"Oh? And who, might I inquire, told you this?" He asked. I scowled at him, hoping he wouldn't prevent me from visiting Sasha. "We're going to spend the day together pet." I had my answer.

"Fantastic. Would you mind putting your clothes on?" I tugged at my restraints, trying to put more distance between us.

"Am I making you uncomfortable Mila?" He asked, and gripped his thickening manhood, a surge of arousal sweeping through the room. Too late, I remembered to raise my mental shield, but his presence was completely overwhelming and prevented me from attaining a 'neutral state of mind'. He knelt on the bed, moving toward me with a predatory glint in his eyes. The morning was rapidly shaping up to be an exact replica of its predecessor, and I knew if things continued to escalate, I would be completely at his mercy. He moved to touch me, and panic immediately clawed at my heart.

"Get away from me."

"I thought you'd like to use the facilities, pet. But if you'd rather stay chained to the bed all day, I certainly don't mind. My mistake," he added with a slow smile, and turned away.

"Wait, damn you," I said, knowing he'd manipulated me into asking for help, and hating him for it. "Get these handcuffs off me."

He stepped into a pair of slacks he'd found on the floor, buttoning them around his lean hips. "That's not exactly the response I was looking for."

"Would you rather I pee all over your bed?" I asked, knowing my ability to deal with him was seriously compromised this early in the morning.

He smiled, and moved to my side, foregoing the effort to find a shirt. "You're impossible Mila." And before I could react, he pulled my legs out from beneath me, and draped his body along my length, completely overwhelming my senses with his presence. He chuckled when I began to fight him, and I felt his mirth rumble through my chest. "That's it pet. Struggle," he whispered, tangling his fingers in my hair, and I knew he was enjoying tormenting me. 

I reacted instinctively, as I had when Carina attacked me the night before. I let my senses flare out around me and got a quick read on the captain. His emotions washed over me, baffling in their complexity, but in the heat of the moment I didn't stop to analyse every aspect of his psyche. I simply magnified all of it.

His pupils dilated rapidly, but I continued to push, satisfied only when I heard his breathing hitch. However, in the next moment the turmoil I'd caused within him reflected back toward me. I felt everything I was forcing on him, as confusion quickly developed into a debilitating uncertainty, fear evolved into blind terror, guilt turned into a crushing sense of remorse. And finally, mild arousal blossomed into full blown lust, and I knew I'd made another, possibly disastrous mistake.

My power had given me unrestricted access to his emotions, with no way to filter anything out. Not an ideal situation, given my attempt to cripple him emotionally. The only way to free myself, was to release him from my power.

His head dipped, coming to rest on my chest as he took a deep, steadying breath. "So this is what Sasha's been teaching you? How to tamper with my emotions?"

If I weren't having such a hard time breathing, the sound of his voice shaking would have made me happy. "Sasha had nothing to do with it," I snapped, trying to force my heart to beat at a normal rate.

"So that was all you, huh?" He asked, wiping sweat from his brow. I smiled, deciding not to answer. "I'll admit it's an interesting little party trick Mila," he drawled, and pressed the burning length of his manhood into my stomach. "But I think it's backfired. Wouldn't you agree?" Rather than answer him, I turned my face away, desperately trying to raise my shield.

He slipped his hand under my lower back and pulled my hips into him, grinding the evidence of his arousal into my thigh. I took a breath and tried with all my strength to buck him off me. He grinned, moving to loosen the ties of my simple dress and exposing my chest to the brisk morning air.

"I'm a soldier, Mila. Fear and confusion are my bread and butter. It's going to take more than that to distract me darling." He kissed my collar bone as his hand slipped under the hemline of my dress, forcibly gripping the soft skin of my bottom. "But I have to say, this sexual tension you've created is an interesting twist. I'm a fan."

"This isn't me-" I gasped as he sucked a nipple into his mouth, biting the sensitive nub gently. "Please don't do this," I said, and tried to calm myself enough to focus on the neutral state within me.

A soft knock at the door distracted me before I could push hard enough, and I heard the soft click of the captain releasing me from my restraints. He rolled off the bed and pulled on a rumpled white shirt—likely the one he'd been wearing the previous evening. I took the opportunity to gather my wits, and covered my exposed chest.

Without checking to see if I was decent, he opened the door. "Beau, come on in."

She carried a tray laden with food, which she deposited on the captain's small desk before giving him a slight curtsy. "Is there anything else I can do for you sir?" I couldn't help but notice the way her eyes remained fixed on the floor, and guessed I was the reason for her modified behavior.

The captain pushed some papers aside, and sat behind his desk. "No, I think that's everything for now." Beau bowed her head, and retreated without so much as a glance in my direction. "Hungry pet?"

I watched him warily, waiting until Beau closed the door before responding, unsure if his question came with strings attached. "I'm always hungry."

"Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

I hesitated. Finding myself in the care of a man who used food as a bargaining chip, had put me in a fairly uncomfortable position. Regardless of my personal feelings toward him, or any wrongs he'd committed against me, my restrictive diet demanded I eat as often as possible. Never one to turn down food, I bit back a rude retort, and walked toward him cautiously.

The platter was littered with beautifully cooked eggs, bacon, sausage, fried mashed potatoes, and fruit and vegetables of every type and color. My stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation, and he laughed around a mouthful of meat.

"Go ahead, Mila. I'm not going to bite," he said, bringing another forkful of food to his mouth. I rolled my eyes—stubbornly determined not to rise to the bait—and sank into the seat across from him.

Excluding my lunch with Sasha the day before, it had been years since I'd had access to anything but the forest's bounty, and I allowed myself a moment to enjoy every delicious mouthful. However, I wasn't interested in prolonging this impromptu sit down with the captain, and ate with reckless abandon, barely taking the time to chew before swallowing.

It wasn't long before my side of the tray was empty, save the rinds and peels of my victims. I hiccupped, unable to remember a time I had been so full, and leaned back in my chair, satisfied for the moment.

"Good lord, that was impressive Mila," the captain said with a chuckle, leaving a rather large portion of his food uneaten.

"Why?"

"I've never seen a woman eat with such," he paused to stroke the day-old stubble on his chin. "Enthusiasm. And you're such a little thing."

I shrugged, clearly missing his point. "I like food."

"Yes, I can see that."

"I don't understand why we're talking about this," I said, rubbing my distended upper belly.

He studied me for a moment, a contemplative look in his eyes. "No, I don't suppose you would," he said. I frowned, and was about to ask what he meant, when he shuddered in disgust and said, "I can smell myself. Come along pet. It's time for a bath."

I glared at him, annoyed by his arrogance for the umpteenth time, and headed toward the restroom. He was kind enough to allow me to relieve myself before herding me out the door.

***

The captain walked down the street and I following a few steps behind him, as a good slave should. I tried my best to ignore the curious stares of the men and women we passed, but having gone so long without most human contact, their questioning looks made my skin crawl.

I suppose I couldn't blame them. Since my arrival here, I'd gone from 'just another pleasure slave', to 'hidden Priestess of remarkable strength', to 'defective materials', and most recently, 'the reason Captain Rawlings lost his job'. Knowing this didn't stop me from grinding my teeth as their whispers grew in volume. Similarly ignoring the curious stares of his countrymen, the captain was looking a little worse for wear. His clothes were a far cry from his usual crisp attire, and he squinted his bloodshot eyes against the bright morning light.

He opened the door to the bath house, and staggered. His skin took on a pale and waxy appearance, and I guessed the onslaught of hot, humid air was the perfect way to amplify the symptoms of a hangover. I grinned, hoping he would disgrace himself by vomiting on the marble tiles.

Unfortunately, he continued walking, ignoring the nausea I could feel rolling off him. I shrugged, disappointed, and began heading in the direction of the large public bathing pool I'd used every time I'd been forced to come here.

The captain laid a restraining hand on my shoulder. "Where are you going?"

Due to our presence in the bathhouse, I found his question rather dense. "Where do you think?"

"I don't bathe with the slaves, Mila. We're going to the Elite's bathing pool."

"Oh good. So you agree I'm not a slave."

"I'm not in the mood to deal with your attitude right now Mila."

"Then don't force me to bathe with you."

He sighed, rubbing his hand down the length of his face. "You might just be the most obnoxious slave I've ever had the pleasure of training," he said. I spluttered indignantly, dumbfounded by his ego, and opened my mouth to give him a proper tongue lashing. "Shh," he said, and touched my lips.

My jaw snapped shut, and I felt my skin pulse with molten gold. Without saying another word he stooped and set his shoulder against my stomach, his left arm sweeping the backs of my knees as he lifted me off the ground. I squealed, while he headed in the opposite direction with me slung over his shoulders like a sack of grain.

The captain hiked up the stairs, the burden of my weight hardly seeming to phase him, and when he pushed open the door to a large tiled room, steam billowed around his feet. I suppressed the urge to struggle until I was properly orientated—his casual display of strength reminded me how outclassed I was when it came to physical prowess.

The sound of a man laughing made me tense up, and Asher's hand moved to my backside to steady me.

"Still haven't broken your Priestess in, Asher? What's taking so long?" I recognised the power signature of a bound Elite, and his voice for that matter, but had no interest in placing name to face. The captain set me down, none too gently, and stretched.

"The last few days have been especially busy, Colonel Viridian."

"Asher please. I think we can forgo the appropriate designations while bathing. It's hard to be respectful while you sit across from each other in the nude." They both laughed, and the captain put his hand on the ties of my dress.

"Alright then Conrad," he said as I stepped out of his range. He followed my retreat, my noncompliance causing barely more than a pause in their conversation. All it took was a light tug on the string of my dress, and it came loose, leaving me to scramble to keep the material pressed to my breasts. "My little wild cat here is a unique case. And she seems to be resistant to most of the regular methods of slave training."

"I bet I could have her behaving in a week. Let me have a crack at her." My lip curled in disgust, and I turned to glare at him. Sprawled out in the bath was Jealous Man from General Tilcot's disastrous dinner party.

"That won't be necessary, thank you sir," Asher replied.

The colonel moved to make room for us to join him. "Relax son, I've got nothing more than an intellectual interest in your Priestess. I heard she's causing you all kinds of problems. Mine is an offer of assistance, and nothing more." 

Asher laughed, and pulled me to his side, stripping my dress away from me with little decorum. "That's a nice way of saying she's a royal pain in my ass. Stay," he barked, and began undressing, while I tried to cover myself.

I was again faced with the fully naked, partially aroused Captain Asher Rawlings, and tried to bolt toward the door. He caught me easily, pressing his naked flesh against mine. I cursed myself for giving him the opportunity. He wrapped his arms around my rib cage and lifted me, walking calmly into the hot water. I concentrated for a moment, imagining my growing hatred of the captain as a bolt of lightening, and tried my best to send him a taste.

"Passion and fury Mila," he whispered against my ear, seemingly not put out by my little show of power. Asher sighed when we sunk into the water together, me restrained between his powerful legs, his thickening member at my back. "Ah, there's nothing better for a hangover than a hot bath."

"I'd have to disagree," the colonel said, with his eyes glued to my naked skin. "It's all I can do to get out of bed when I'm hungover." Asher shrugged, and the colonel sipped at a sweating glass filled with ice. "So General Tilcot actually took you off active duty?"

"He did," Asher confirmed, his arms still wrapped around me, his influence preventing me from uttering the string of curses on the tip of my tongue.

"Might I ask why?"

The captain sighed, brushing my hair over my shoulder, exposing the column of my neck. "Mila here is an untrained Priestess, and I can't use her power without risking her life. Which also means I can't use my own power, now that we are bound."

"A double edged sword, so to speak!"

"In more ways than one. I'm betting I've landed the only Priestess in the world with her particular constitution."

"Yes, I've noticed. Dinner was quite entertaining though, I must admit, I would never tolerate such behaviour from a slave of mine."

The captain shrugged, gently rubbing the tight muscles at the base of my skull. "I prefer a less heavy handed approach. Besides, I find her temper refreshing."

Colonel Viridian laughed, making me jump. "Refreshing? Asher, she's walking all over you!"

The captain shifted behind me, pulling me closer so his now throbbing member nestled against my back. "I've trained my share of slaves, Conrad. I'm not worried," he said. I snorted and rolled my eyes, catching the colonel's attention.

"And what does your slave have to say?" He asked, and I instantly felt Asher release me from the chains. Every little act of defiance against these people counted, so just to be contrary, I didn't respond, merely stared back at the colonel with a blank face.

"Answer him Mila," the captain said with lips pressed against my ear. "Or would you rather I punish you in front of him?" He accented his thinly veiled threat by pressing his throbbing member against my entrance, and it was clear he didn't mean 'punish' in the sense of whips and chains. My blood ignited and a shiver raced through me as he sucked my earlobe into his mouth.

"I'm not his slave."

"Interesting," the colonel said, stretching his arms out and resting on the edges of the pool. "All I see is a girl from a defeated nation, still fighting a war her people lost five years ago."

"As long as one of us is still fighting, we haven't lost."

He laughed, and I felt Asher press his lips to my neck. "Am I to believe you're going to take down the Empire of Caledonia single handedly?"

I trembled, though I prefered to think it was because of anger rather than the delicate kisses and nibbles the captain was pressing to my skin. "I won't stop until every one of you parasitic bastards is dead."

"So what's your plan? You, a girl who owns nothing, and does exactly what she's told."

My jaw dropped open in surprise at his misinformation. "I do exactly as I please sir!"

"So you want to be here with us? You enjoy being naked and vulnerable?" He grinned at me lecherously, obviously eyeing my nudity under the surface of the water. "Perhaps you're hoping your master wants to share?" I bared my teeth in response, shaken by the sudden surge of lust emanating from him. He laughed, clearly not put out by my show of bravado. "I see a willful girl who was purchased at auction for fifty dollars, who wears a collar and fetters, and I see the man who owns her. I see a girl whom the law doesn't care about, whose very life depends solely on the man who bought her. So tell me girl, if you're not a slave, then what are you?"

My lip trembled as his logical assault bombarded me. "I'm Mila."

"My darling girl, if the good captain decided to change your name to Whore, or Slut you'll no longer be Mila, will you?"

"I'll always be me," I said, though to my disgust it sounded frail and weak.

The colonel didn't respond immediately, merely gave me a knowing look, and Asher's strong hand tightened on my shoulder. "You may not be an example of a well trained slave, but slave you are." I shook my head, unable to speak for the knot in my throat. His logic was sound—which didn't mean I agreed with him—but I was finding it difficult to poke holes through his argument. To my horror, my lip trembled, and I could feel the hot burn of tears behind my lashes. Asher's hand ran the length of my spine, and unwelcome as his touch was, I couldn't deny the measure of comfort he offered.




The Last Tritan Ch. 06



The captain graciously changed the subject to marriage, and I took a moment to collect myself, no longer interested in their conversation. I began to wonder if fighting them was going to make a difference. Should I bother resisting, when my cause appeared to be a complete and total waste of effort?

My attempt to manipulate the captain this morning had been a failure, and the backlash of emotional energy was enough to prevent me from attempting such a thing again. Until I had the benefit of Sasha's opinion on the matter, that is. And as far as anyone knew, it was impossible to remove Tritan Chains once they'd been bound to skin, and I hadn't the knowledge or resources to disprove the theory.

There was however, a positive way to view the chains. They offered both a measure of success, and disappointment from the Caledonian's perspective—allowing their Elite warriors to have complete control over a Priestess, but preventing them from mixing our bloodlines.

To my knowledge, being born with Priestess gifts was simply luck of the draw, with less than five percent of our total populace born with any power. The Priestess gene was absent in both of my parents, though I had never thought to ask about the grandparents who'd died before my birth. If one could assume the Elites had a similarly random birth rate, I could understand Asher's remark about Carina's 'good breeding'.

"I must excuse myself," the colonel said, pulling me from my musings as he exited the bath. "Enjoy your slave Asher." His flagrant disregard for concealing his nudity made me blush and look away, and I felt an instant pang of satisfaction from the captain. As soon as there was more space in the bath, I tried to put some distance between us, but his grip tightened as he bid farewell to the colonel.

"Alone at last," he whispered and kissed my shoulder, pulling me tight to the heat of his toned body.

I squirmed, desperate to be away from him. "Did you bring me here specifically to expose me to that monster?"

"No, Mila." His touch wandered to my breasts, squeezing with a firm hand. "Your corruption is mine, and mine alone." I gasped as he rubbed the powerful length of his erection into my backside, the action making my head spin.

My fingers flew to his grip on my breasts, trying to pry his hands away from such an intimate touch. "Haven't you done enough?"

He chuckled, pausing to graze my skin with his teeth. "Not by a long shot." His free hand began a slow journey down the length of my torso.

"Asher, please," I said, trying again to force some of my terror into him. But I'd forgotten his strange reaction to the sound of his name on my lips.

His hips jerked, and he expelled a hot breath on my neck in a rush. "That's an interesting little trick you've learned pet," he murmured, his body radiating arousal. "But I don't think it's having the desired effect." It was then I realized, and probably much too late, he was turned on by putting me in a desperate situation. And I'd just telegraphed him my exact feelings on the matter.

My head began spinning as his more powerful emotions hijacked my system, but I pressed my knees together, determined to resist him for as long as possible.

"That's it baby, fight it. It's sexy when you try to resist." I immediately took a deep breath, trying to relax my muscles, inspite of the situation I found myself in. The only way to protect myself from being swept away by his base impulses, was to find the neutral state of mind Sasha had shown me. The problem was making it happen. My task was nearly insurmountable in Asher's presence, what with his touch and heightened emotions clouding my head.

I'd gone limp in his arms, trying to withdraw my mind from the physical realm, and focus entirely on reconstructing my shield. But my effort went straight to hell when Asher reached his goal, stroking my nether regions with delicate fingers. A strangled gasp escaped my lips, my back arching against him in an effort to twist away.

He'd been expecting my reaction, and easily followed as I tried to wriggle out of his embrace. "So sensitive Mila." He kissed my neck, the warmth of the bath and his body sending my heart into overdrive. I could feel the heat in my face, and had no doubt I was blushing profusely, but I had to do my best to fight—surrendering to his advances wasn't an option I could live with.

He dipped a finger inside me, making me gasp against my will, the invasion and his accompanying flare of lust making my mind go blank for a moment. "Does that feel good?" He asked, his free arm wrapping around my waist, securing me to him.

"Get your hands off me."

His thumb circled the bundle of nerves at the top of my cleft. "Hm, do we have to go over the rules again pet? When I ask a question, I expect an answer."

"I don't care what you expect you pig! I'll never give you what you want."

I felt him chuckle behind me, and inspite of myself, butterflies took wing inside my belly. "It's going to be spectacular when you fall Mila." His tongue dipped into my ear, and I shivered violently in the heat of his arms, trying to pull away. "I'm going to have the unique opportunity to be the one to push you over the edge," he kissed the back of my neck, and moved to my other ear. "And be there to catch you."

Rather than answer, I began to struggle with all the fear-fueled strength I could muster. He growled deep in his chest and rubbed his erection into me, proof my actions only served to incite him further. I turned my head slowly, so as not to draw his attention to the movement, and sunk my teeth into the wiry muscle of his forearm.

The metalic taste of his blood coated my tongue, and he cursed, his free arm tightening around my waist, crushing the air out of my lungs in less than a second. His lust took a sharp dive, and I let go without a second thought, my goal attained.

"We're going to have to do something about those teeth, aren't we pet?" He asked, spreading my legs as he spun me easily, forcing me to face him and straddle his lap. The tip of his penis brushed against me, the bath water helping to lessen any natural friction. "If you bite me again darling, I'm going to pull the teeth right out of your lovely little head." He yanked both my arms behind my back, securing them with one of his large hands.

"I wouldn't have to defend myself if you weren't constantly attacking me."

"But you'd miss the attention, wouldn't you pet?" He asked, sucking my nipple into his mouth. I shook my head violently, but he continued speaking before I had a chance to deny his accusations. "I can taste the sexual tension on your skin Mila." He licked the moisture collecting between my breasts, groaning as if the flavor was enjoyable.

I gasped, his actions so raw and animalistic my lips tingled with an unexpected head rush. "You're wrong, captain. I'm an Empath, which means I can't help but feel the emotions of those around me. You in this case, to my everlasting disgust."

"And your little party trick? Pushing your emotions onto me," he said, rubbing the small of my back. I hesitated, not sure how my response would affect my training with Sasha. "No need to answer pet. You're doing it right now, I can feel the arousal radiating off you."

"You can not!"

"I assure you Mila, I didn't come here with the intention to seduce you. I'm quite hungover, but you've managed to persuade me."

"You're lying," I whispered, momentarily distracted by his erection against me. "And calling this seduction is a stretch."

"Semantics darling." He pressed his hips forward, the tip of his penis sliding along the length of my femininity.

"Please stop," I whined, ignoring his comment, desperately trying to focus on my shield. I jumped when the door opened, my sudden movement making Asher push inside me a little.

"Asher my boy, sorry to interrupt!" The small, wet room amplified the sound of General Tilcot's voice, causing it to vibrate inside my chest. The captain stiffened, his grip on my hips becoming painful, but didn't respond to his commanding officer's greeting. "Oh come on, don't be like that. We're family." The general dropped his towel, stepping into the warm water with us.

Asher laughed, though it was a bitter humorless sound. "Only when it suits you."

"You have to know I did this for your own good. I'm trying to protect you."

"I think I could do without your brand of protection, Harper."

"And if you killed your little Priestess in battle? What then? We need every Tritan for the program -"

"We're done here," the captain said abruptly, anger billowing off him. He stood, taking me with him. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, trying to stabilize myself.

"The instant Mila is trained, you'll be reinstated. Spend the time relaxing, and educating her on appropriate slave behaviour."

Asher toweled me off roughly, completely ignoring my feminine charms. "Fuck off Harper, I don't need you to tell me how to train my slave."

"Oh, grow up Asher. If that were the case, she'd be trained already." The general stretched out his arms, the muscles of his chest rippling with the subtle movement. "She doesn't act like any slave you've ever trained before. Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'm finished with this conversation."

The general laughed as Asher draped the towel over my nudity. "Of course you are. It's not going your way. This has been your pattern since you were a child."

Apparently the captain couldn't resist having the last word on the matter, and said, "See now, that's where you're wrong." He dragged his pants over his wet skin, and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. "I'm leaving because I don't want your unborn child to grow up fatherless." Asher threw open the door, pulling me with him as the general's deep laughter escorted us from the private bathing room.

***

Despite his obviously sinister ulterior motives, I couldn't help but be thankful for General Tilcot's timely interruption. And as an added bonus, he'd managed to piss Asher off, distracting him from other, more pleasurable pursuits.

I smiled as he dragged me behind him, wondering what kind of upbringing could have put these men at such odds. I hadn't spent a great deal of time seeing either of them as anything more than 'the enemy', and therefore wasn't surprised I'd missed their familial relationship. My musings notwithstanding, knowing the two men were related would only be useful if I could find some way to use it against them. I filed the information away on the off chance I could use it to my advantage.

"What program do you need the Tritans for?" I asked, switching tracks as something the general had said floated through my mind.

"Come off it," he said without looking back.

"No. It's my life, Asher. I have a right to know."

"You're my slave Mila!" He spun to face me, and slammed me into the wall, though the act was more shocking than painful. I didn't need to be an Empath to know how angry he was. "You have no rights. If I decide to kill you right now, no one would bat an eyelash."

"An empty threat from someone who needs me to further his career," I retorted, carelessly allowing the captain's temper to ignite my own.

He growled low in his throat, and punched the wall beside my head. I flinched, the remainder of his physical dominance over me the only thing capable of breaking through my impulsive behavior. "I'm not in the mood for anymore of your shit, Mila." A strange look settled over his features, and he continued in a sinister voice, "In fact, I know just the thing to keep you quiet." He tossed me over his shoulder, using the Chains to keep me from fighting back, completing the walk to his residence at a brisk pace.

With his attention directed elsewhere, finding a semblance of inner peace was much easier, and I was finally able to erect my mental defenses. Sasha had been skeptical about my building a shield rather than a wall, but she'd also said I needed to practice every chance I got. And what better time to make a case for the benefits of a shield, than when faced with whatever sadistic torture the captain had cooked up?

He kicked open his front door, though his anger had taken on a sort of fierce purpose, rather than the barely contained fury he'd been feeling while talking to the general. As he charged up the stairs—taking two at a time—I promised myself I would stop provoking him.

He dumped me on the bed, heedless of my startled yelp, and continued on to his large closet. After a brief rummage through a drawer, he returned. "If I recall correctly, it took a significant amount of energy to get you talking when we first met," he began, walking toward me with measured steps. His use of the chains prevented me from making a hasty retreat. "However, now that I've got you talking, I find myself wishing for silence." He dangled a large rubber ball on a leather collar in my face.

But I was not without my own form of defense, and used my gifts to send him an extreme sense of revulsion, expecting the strange emotional backlash to be blocked by my shield. I was disappointed when some of it slipped past, but when his eyes lit with understanding I stopped broadcasting before it became unbearable.

He laughed, the mattress dipping under his weight. "You're right, pet. I don't think you're going to like this very much." He straddled my waist, and pressed the gag against my lips. "Unfortunately for you, the decision is out of your hands. Open your mouth." Against my deepest wished, my jaw stretched to accommodate the gag.

I couldn't stop the girlish giggle from escaping my lips when he cursed, as my modified teeth prevented him from attaining his goal. He glared at me, pitching the ball gag over his shoulder. "You're a lot of work, you know that?" He released me from his compulsion with a frustrated look on his face.

"Do you mind?" I asked, placing both of my hands on his naked chest, and pushing with all my strength. He grinned, my actions serving as little more than a nuisance.

"You know, I honestly wasn't going to do this today," he said, pinching my nipple through the towel. "But you've left me with little choice."

I clutched the fabric closer to my chest, though it could hardly be considered a viable form of protection. "Forgive me if I take your honesty with a grain of salt."

He laughed, and dragged my hands above my head, once again securing them in the padded handcuffs. My struggling went unnoticed. "Believe what you want pet. It makes no difference to me." He pulled the towel away from my body, leaving me completely exposed and vulnerable.

I took a deep breath, and focused on strengthening my shield. Knowing I had my defense in place offered a measure of comfort—he wouldn't be able to smother my resistance as he had been so close to doing yesterday.

The captain ran his hands down the length of my torso, his rough skin making gooseflesh erupt all over my body. He grinned, and dipped his head to catch a nipple with his teeth, nibbling and licking the hardening nub.

My face heated at the intimate contact, but I squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to remove myself from the situation. He moved off my hips, and settled beside me, his hand traveling to my knees.

I pressed them together as hard as I could, all the while completely aware my struggling was futile. His strength, coupled with his ability to manipulate my every movement was the very definition of overkill, but it was my reality. 

He released my nipple, and moved his knee between mine, pressing forward until he'd created enough space to wedge his large thigh between my legs. From there it was simply a matter of using his knees to spread my legs, and no amount of strength on my part could have stopped him.

"Relax Mila," he whispered, settling his weight above me, our bodies separated only by the material of his slacks. "This doesn't have to be hard for you."

I was surprised by the compassionate tone in his voice, but it didn't matter. "Don't insult my intelligence by asking me to enjoy rape." I felt my shield slip a little, and knew my angry outburst had cost me. Asher didn't respond, but lifted my hips and wrapped my legs around his waist, nestling his groin against the apex of my thighs.

I could feel the heat of his erection as he ground it into me, the friction making him groan. He moved forward and settled on his elbows, wrapping his fist in my hair and forcing my head to the side.

He pressed his lips to my ear, and whispered, "You look so sexy stretched out like this." With his free hand, he squeezed my breast, moulding my soft skin with a firm grip. I tried my best not to react, but couldn't help the shaky little breath as it escaped my lips.

I felt him smile against the shell of my ear before he dipped his tongue inside, making me cringe as a fresh wave of chills raced through my blood. He kissed his way down my neck, hips flexing against me rhythmically. I was sure I could feel his erection throb in time with each thrust, and I sucked in a breath, trying to clear my head.

Asher's grip traveled to my hip, and he squeezed, pushing me into the mattress as he crushed me beneath him. I whimpered, feeling the effects of lust start to take hold, and knew it wouldn't be long before maintaining my shield under the circumstances would be next to impossible.

His breath exploded in a great rush, and he dipped his head, sucking a nipple into his mouth. "You have perfect tits pet," he said, and captured my breasts in his palms. "Such delicate, pink nipples." He lavished attention on the left one, and a light sweat broke out on my skin, such was my effort to remain neutral. With a vulgar, wet pop, he surfaced for air, his eyes glittering with arousal. "Look how perfectly they fill my hands," he said, demonstrating.

I was the first to break eye contact, unable to remain unaffected by the carnal appetite gleaming back at me. "Please stop."

He chuckled and shook his head, my neglected peak easily capturing his attention. While the captain was focused on my chest, I tried desperately to force his arousal away from me, frustrated by how quickly my shield was crumbling.

The rasp of his day-old beard between my breasts furthered the damage to my defense, and I gasped, the sensation shocking to my battered senses. He shifted lower, kissing and licking his way down my torso, tasting the skin in his path. I flinched when he dipped his tongue into my belly button, and frantically tried to close my legs. His broad shoulders blocked my attempt.

Frustrated, I cried out, trying to buck him off me. I handled his rough treatment the previous day, because it had been a simple matter of letting my ire rise to meet his, a battle of wills. But this? Gentle touching and soft kisses? He was making a mockery of my will to fight him—and I didn't know how to respond.

The captain looped his arms under my thighs, leveling his face directly before my core, pinning my hips to the bed with his strong grasp. He pulled me closer to the edge of the bed, with my arms stretched taught above my head.

He exhaled warm, moist air directly onto my most delicate skin, and I tried to twist away. Despite the clues leading up to it, I was unprepared for his next action, and cried out in surprise when he kissed the melting flesh before him.

"What are you doing?" I asked, and my voice cracked as panic blossomed in my heart, lust and adrenaline rapidly spreading through my system. My shield fell, crushed beneath the onslaught of turbulent emotions, along with any pretense of remaining indifferent to his advances.

He didn't answer immediately, but traced my nether lips with the tip of his tongue. "My God Mila, the taste of you," he said closing his eyes. Pushing my thighs farther apart, he stopped my pathetic struggling with barely more than a thought, and traced my folds with a wet finger.




The Last Tritan Ch. 06



I pulled against my restraints and begged shamelessly, the need to protect my pride a distant memory. "Oh, please don't do this! Please sir, I'll do anything."

"Anything, hm?" He drawled, stroking me with a wet finger. "A truly tempting offer darling, but one I must decline." With that, he plunged a digit inside me, and began vigorously licking and nibbling my delicate flesh.

Any hope of blocking his emotions was long gone—it was all I could do to stop the flow of frustrated tears from streaking down my face, for he'd beaten me again. My stubbornness was no match for his skill between the sheets. His lips settled over my clit, and a sob of despair burst through the last of my willpower. He sucked the swollen bud into his mouth, all the while sliding a slick finger in and out of me. My hips bucked, as his thumb stroked the now sensitive bundle of nerves, and I groaned against my will.

"That's it baby, let go," he whispered, sinking a second finger into my depths. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I immediately tried to do the opposite, arching my back in an effort to twist away from the heat of his mouth.

He laughed, and moved his second hand to my inflamed core, and used his thumbs to spread my lips and expose my clit. I recoiled as he licked the length of my unprotected sex, my every muscle clenching against a wayward bolt of pleasure.

"Oh God," I whispered, as he drew the naked bud between his lips, flicking it gently with his tongue. An intense pressure began to build low in my belly, my muscles flexing against the agonizing pleasure the captain was forcing me to feel. "Stop," I said, but my voice was nothing more than a whisper, barely heard past trembling lips.

I teetered on the edge of release, desperately needing more and hating myself for it. I felt him smile as he answered my unspoken plea, curling the fingers buried deep inside me and stroking my depths with expert precision.

Pleasure crashed through my system, and for a moment, I was completely blinded by the power of my orgasm. Distantly, I heard the captain groan, but the depraved sound served only to further fuel my climax. My jaw dropped open, but not a sound escaped my lips as my walls fluttered around his fingers—such was the intensity of the ecstasy I was drowning in. Asher continued to thrust his fingers into me, prolonging his victory for as long as possible.

When it was finally over, I let out a shaking breath, trying to regain some semblance of control over my treacherous body.

"That was incredible," the captain said wiping his mouth on the sheets, and moving to cover my trembling body with his own.

I sobbed, tears spilling over my lashes in the aftermath of such a powerful experience. "I hate you."

He nodded, brushing my cheek with his thumb. "I know you do." I turned away, trying to hide the shame heating my face. Asher moved off the bed, flinging the blankets over my still twitching body before he retreated. The bathroom door clicked, and I rolled onto my side, trying to gather my wits before he returned.

Asher's emotions had been seeping through my defense long before it had failed, making me wonder if the attempt had been futile to start with. Not to mention he had been largely unfazed every time I'd tried to manipulate his emotions, unlike Carina, who'd crumbled easily with the slightest push. I couldn't help feeling the intense training session with Sasha had been a waste of time, as my shield had proved ineffective against the only person I needed protection against.

Damn it all, I'd just had the single most incredible experience of my life—at the hands of Captain Asher Rawlings. And for the first time since my arrival here, I wasn't planning an attack, analyzing my enemies, or waiting for a chance to escape. I stared at the wall, letting my mind go blank, and waited for sleep to rescue me from his clutches.




Thanks for reading, I hope this was worth waiting for!! And if it was, don't forget to vote/ comment, otherwise I will sulk and assume you don't care anymore. And you'll never see chapter seven. [Insert maniacal laughter]

See? It's the circle of life.

WaterBurn Xx



The Last Tritan Ch. 07



Beautiful people! Hello! I have wonderful news! FA_JF, who is also my newest, and best beta reader, helped me edit this chapter while I was waiting to hear back from my official editor. Seriously. A huge slobbery lesbo kiss goes out to her for being the bestest beta reader in the whole world. She's better than alcoholic truffles. You've been invaluable for these last two chapters, my love, and I can't thank you enough!

Anyway, enjoy this chapter, and please remember to vote! If you send me an email, I usually respond within a day or two! (I'm not lying! Check your junk mail!)

Love,

WaterBurn Xx

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As I lay curled in the fetal position trying to recover from the captain's latest assault, a single thought echoed inside my head. Sasha had to know of a better option for defending myself, a way to use my gifts offensively, rather than hiding behind an ineffective shield. As the Head Priestess, she would have been privy to knowledge and resources others could only dream of. All I had to do was keep it together until our next meeting, assuming the captain allowed me to continue training with her after our run-in with the general.

The thought of Asher made my stomach tighten, thoroughly distracting me from any notion of defending myself. He'd managed a decisive victory in the battle for my submission—by far his most convincing one to date. Forcing me to feel such blinding ecstacy at his touch was the most perverse thing I could imagine, and tears filled my eyes as I tried to comprehend how he had been able to do so with such ease. The worst part hadn't been the betrayal of my own body, but the tender, almost reverent kisses he'd scattered over my skin, overwhelming me with the heady sensation. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this sick parody of a loving relationship.

Ours was not a bond built on trust or affection, and the captain's aim was not to build faith in myself as a woman, but rather to show me my place as his slave. Despite having found pleasure at his hands, this was rape, pure and simple—made all the crueler for the confidence he'd caused me to lose in myself.

Learning to be self reliant had been the key to my survival through the war, and I'd been the master of my own body and mind. I'd survived the elements with nothing more than grim determination, stubbornly refusing to be beaten down by the Caledonian plague. 

But the forest was no longer my home, and I was not facing starvation or death by exposure. I was dealing with a fully trained Elite warrior, bent on destroying my resistance. Asher was an elemental force unto himself, and he'd managed to crack my faith with nothing more than soft kisses. His lips had shaken the very foundations of who I was as he gently caressed my most intimate skin. He'd proven I wasn't a contender in a carnal arena, and without a precedent I had no idea how to pull myself together.

I bit back an anguished sob. I had to drag my knees to my chest to prevent the confusing flow of emotions from finding an outlet. The slight movement caused a lingering tingle of pleasure to race through my blood, and I cringed, hating what the sensation represented. Against my will, a soft, broken whine escaped my lips as I berated myself for such a shameful display of weakness. I should have fought harder, done more to counter his sensual advances. This was the fight of my life, and if I wanted to continue being me, nothing less than perfection could be tolerated.

I took a deep breath, and pushed the all-consuming shame and guilt to the back of my mind—while it was clear this particular match had gone to Asher, I was far from beaten. He'd managed to rattle the trust I'd had in myself, and had proven his mastery over the female form. But he would never be able to take away my will to fight. I wouldn't let it come to that.

Temporarily absolved of my self-condemnation, I sat up awkwardly with my hands still bound, ignoring the slick heat between my thighs. I knew the captain's cruelty toward me had been inspired, in part, by my own reactions. On my first night as a slave, he'd locked me in a cold cellar, hoping the sensory deprivation would help him to break my spirit. When that hadn't worked, he'd tossed me to his other pleasure slaves, hoping the over stimulation would do the job. And then he'd forced himself on me, brutally taking my innocence, deaf to my shameless pleading. In hindsight, it should have been obvious his next weapon would be pleasure, as it fit the developing pattern.

In light of the give and take between Asher and I, it was clear my decision making process was flawed—and yet, it was my greatest weapon. Trying to relax, I recalled my father's favorite quote, 'An innovative idea can only be born of a fertile mind. Ergo indifference–in all its apathy–is the enemy of creativity, for it is barren.' Granted, my father had been trying to engage me in my studies, and certainly hadn't been an advocate for indifference. There was no denying the captain was remarkably imaginative in his attempts to wear me down. I resolved then, the only way to crush his creativity was to show no reaction to his latest violation.

Easier said than done, especially considering my Empathic tendencies, but it was a plan, and it was all mine. I concentrated on breathing, working to bury the turbulent emotions boiling in my gut, and felt some of the tension ease from my taut muscles. Not perfect control by any means, but I'd come to a conclusion not a moment too soon—the captain had returned from his trip to the restroom.

"You know, Mila," he said, wiping moisture from his face as he walked toward me. "I usually make new slaves beg for pleasure. But I have to admit, I far preferred this method. You were spectacular, darling." Expressionless, I watched him approach, taking in his dark, masculine beauty, and wondering how he could be so uncaring toward another human being.

I shrugged—I didn't have the energy or the desire to understand his motivation. Instead, I racked my brain, trying to decide what I would want if I were unmoved by the situation. The answer, when I came to it, nearly made me smile. "Would you untie me, please? I'm hungry."

Surprise flickered across his features. "How could you possibly be hungry? You ate twice what I did just two hours ago." I didn't answer, deciding it wasn't necessary to divulge the consequences of abstaining from meat, and waited for him to continue. "Regardless, I don't think I'm quite ready to untie you."

I felt his arousal, much less overpowering, yet still bubbling beneath the surface. "If you insist."

He frowned, and closed the distance between us, his strong fingers gripping my chin and tilting my face toward the light. Confusion radiated off him, as he silently searched my eyes. "What, no snappy retort?"

"Will it make a difference?" A strange look traveled over across his face, but a commotion in the hall prevented him from answering. Before going to the door, he reached for my bound wrists, and released me, giving me another penetrating gaze.

Beau's shrill voice managed to infiltrate the thick wooden door separating us from the hallway. "Absolutely not! Captain Rawlings left strict instructions not to be disturbed." A man responded, but the timber of his voice was too low and I couldn't make out what he said. "I don't care who sent you. I take orders from the captain, not you, or your-" She shrieked, and the sound of a scuffle could be heard.

The captain cursed, released me from the restraints, covered my nudity with a bedsheet, and dragged a rumpled shirt over his head. He didn't make it to the door before someone was pounding on it. "What the fuck is going on out here?" He asked, flinging the door open before the knocking continued.

The young, fresh-faced man at the door was cloaked in power, and there was no mistaking him for an unbound Elite. "Captain Rawlings, I apologize for interrupting you, sir," he said, giving a salute. "General Tilcot has requested an audience with you."

"What does he want?" Asher snapped, and Baby Face's eyes widened, surprised by Asher's irritated response.

"I- I don't know sir, he didn't say. He just sent me to collect you, and an escort for the new Priestess."

"And where exactly do you think this escort will be taking my Priestess?"

Baby Face paled, and sent me a panicked glance. "General Tilcot has ordered her to continue her training with Sasha, and sent two of his personal guards to escort her to his manse."

Beau's sweaty face appeared in the doorway. "I'm sorry sir, I couldn't stop him. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

The captain's demeanor softened as he took in his faithful servant. "Not to worry Beau, please show Mr. Collins to the door."

The young Elite–Mr. Collins–stammered, as the captain turned to close the door in his face, but he was rescued by a deep, gravely voice. "I'm afraid that won't be possible, Captain Rawlings. We have our orders, and we're leaving with your Priestess, with or without your consent."

The captain laughed, and stepped in front of me, subtly blocking me from their view. "That would be an incredible feat Reese," the captain said, his tone mild, as he reached into a short table beside the door. He pulled out a handgun, its sleek frame lighting up at his touch. My chains began to burn, and I grit my teeth against the sudden pain.

"Well that won't be necessary, sir," said a third tall man dressed in black, pushing his way into the already overcrowded hall. "The general merely wants a word with you, and insists your priestess continues training with Sasha in the meantime. I apologize for Reese, and young Mr. Collins. They've had an early morning, and can't see when they're outmatched. I can assure you, Reese and I will get her there safely."

The captain, ran a hand through his hair, disengaging his weapon. I let out a ragged breath, and rubbed my wrists and throat. "Thanks for the offer Aiden, but your services won't be necessary. Beau, will you please fetch Gabe and Marco?" The captain turned, closing the door on Aiden, stopping his protests in their tracks. He came toward me, and I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from flinching. 

He took both of my wrists in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the glittering gold of my chains, a contemplative look on his face. "Does it hurt when I draw on your power?" I stared back at him vacantly, refusing to be moved by a glimmer of humanity. My silence was answer enough. "I didn't realize," he continued, bringing my left wrist to his face for closer inspection. "That's not the case with the other Priestesses." Was that almost an apology? I rolled my eyes, letting my impassive facade slip for an instant.

But I'd afforded him an opening, and he didn't need more than a second to see through my mask. Smiling with an easy confidence, he brought my wrist to his lips, tenderly kissing the skin fused with the golden circlets. Forgetting for a moment, my plan to remain detached, I tried to pull free of his iron grasp.

Taking no notice of my struggle, he switched his attentions to my other wrist, making me hiss in displeasure as his lips traced a burning trail along skin and gold. "Does that feel better?" He asked, and it was admittedly hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

Pushing aside the urge to curse and scream at him, I said, "How could a kiss undo physical pain?"

He looked taken aback by my response. "You've never heard of 'kissing it better?'"

"I'm the first to admit I have no understanding of Caledonian culture. Nor do I wish for that to change. You people are repugnant."

He chuckled, and opened his mouth to counter my offensive comment, but Beau's muffled voice drifted through the thick door, distracting him. "Sir, Gabe and Marco are here."

The captain sighed and released my wrists, retreating to his closet. When he returned, he tossed a clean black dress in my direction, and watched me struggle with the complicated wrap. "Here," he said, and secured it around me with ease.

I shivered with barely contained fury—it was becoming painfully obvious I couldn't remain impassive with the captain so close to me. "Pants don't need instructions," I said, moving away from him as soon as he had finished securing the silky material.

He closed the distance between us with a dark smile, and placed a hand on my exposed lower back. "But you look so beautiful in traditional Caledonian dress, darling. And it's my decision." I snarled, his arrogance completely breaking through my plan to show him indifference. I stomped toward the door, desperate to be free of his presence.

Before I could wrench the door open, he pinned me to the heavy oak and aligned his hard, masculine body against mine. I felt his lips against the back of my neck, leaving a trail of fire along my golden collar. His arousal blazed through my senses, surprising me with its intensity. "We'll continue this tonight, and I'll make sure we won't be interrupted." I bit my lip trying not to react, but felt my heart sputter in spite of the effort.

A knock on the door made the captain growl against my skin. "Sir?" Beau's voice was tentative, as if she was loath to disturb him. However, I was grateful for her timely interruption, and reached for the door handle. I turned it, and the captain moved back enough for me to pull it open.

With the addition of Marco and Gabe, there were no less than six people crowding the narrow hallway, and none of them looked particularly happy to be crammed into the small space. "I'm quite sure I know the way to the general's residence, gentlemen. You may go."

"With all due respect, sir," said Reese, sounding as if he held the captain in the lowest regard. "Aiden and I have been ordered to escort your Priestess, and that's exactly what we'll be doing." He immediately stepped forward, reaching for my arm, but was blocked by Marco.

"Come on Reese, you know better than that," Marco said, placing his hand on his holstered weapon.

'Is this really necessary, Captain Rawlings?" Aiden asked, glaring at Marco and his hostile companion. "We're only following orders."

"I'm sure General Tilcot will understand my reluctance to send my Priestess off without a proper guard." Reese started to argue, but Aiden placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. The captain smiled, and continued, "I can't control what you two do with your time, but Gabe and Marco will be escorting Mila to the Tilcot manse." The captain's men moved simultaneously to my left and right, leaving the general's men looking a little flustered. He then addressed Mr. Collins, "I assume you're here to escort me to General Tilcot's office?"

"Yes sir," the boy said, blushing.

"Then let's get this over with. I'd like to get back to training my Priestess, sooner rather than later."

"That's what you're wearing to your meeting with the general?" The young man asked with an audible gasp. The captain glowered at him, and I started walking, taking advantage of the captain's preoccupation to put some distance between us, and get out of the crowded hallway. To my horror, all four men fell into step with me—Marco and Gabe flanking me, Reese taking point, and Aiden bringing up the rear.

"Marco," the captain called, eyes glittering in poorly disguised malice. "Don't be afraid to protect my property, at any cost."

"Sir," Marco replied, for once absent the comical retort.





I'll spare you the tedious recount of the walk to the Tilcot Manse—it was silent, except for the pounding of the soldiers' boots, and the occasional curious whispers of the people we passed. A single Tritan Priestess, guarded by four hulking Caledonians must have been a strange sight.

When we had ascended the stairs and were within sprinting distance of Sasha's sitting room, I'd nearly reached my breaking point. I hadn't been faced with the need to control my emotions while living in the forest, and my attempt at doing so now, had left me feeling edgy and out of control. But most of all, I needed to get away from the men surrounding me on all sides.

Sasha's door came into view, and without taking the time to worry about possible consequences, I reached between Marco and Reese, grabbed a pedestal with an ornate vase perched on top, and pulled it down. The sound of pottery–hopefully priceless–shattering on the floor was second to the shouts of surprise from my armed guard. I lunged for Sasha's door, Reese's hand missing the scruff of my neck by a hair.

I barged in without knocking, startling my waiting mentor to her feet, and slammed the heavy oak shut behind me. Seconds later, the heavy thud of a body collided with the door, and my whole body lurched forward with the impact.

"Good lord, Mila! What's going on?" Sasha asked, alarm etched across her face.

I gasped, putting everything I had into preventing the soldiers from gaining access, and gestured wildly at a swanky white chair. "Pass me that!"

She complied without a moment's hesitation, and I lodged the chair's backing under the door handle. "What's going on?" She asked again, ignoring the frantic pounding and the shouts of the soldiers. The sight of her beautiful, ashen face nearly brought me to tears, and I threw myself into her arms, unable to speak.

Reflexively, she stroked my back and made calming noises as I sobbed into her shoulder. "It didn't work Sasha."

"What didn't work, honey?" She cooed, pushing me back a little and tilting my face toward the light.

"My shield. He... the captain..." Hiccuping, I trailed off, pacing the serene room, unsure how to put my experience with my tormentor into words.

"Hold that thought," she said, and darted toward the other side of the room, opening a door I hadn't noticed, meeting Reese and Gabe as they were about to burst through.

"What's going on in here?" Reese demanded, checking Sasha over.

"We're OK gentlemen. Mila's having a hard time adjusting, that's all." She smiled kindly, and laid a hand on his bicep. "Where's Aiden? And Marco?"

"We split up to, ah... better use our resources," Gabe said, with a crooked grin. Reese snorted, and moved the chair from under the opposite door handle, sending me an annoyed glare.

Both men sent final assessing looks around the room, before Reese spoke, "We'll remain posted at both doors for your protection, Priestess." He made eye contact with me as he spoke, and I bared my teeth in anger, taking a step toward him.

Sasha hastily stepped between us, and said, "That will be fine, thank you Reese." And closed the door with a sharp snap. She pressed her back to the wood, and took a deep breath. "Mila have a seat, and try to calm down. Tell me what happened."

I twisted my hair between my fingers, ignoring her request, and tried to quell the nausea rising in the back of my throat. "You said it would work, but it didn't even slow him down."

She sat on the couch, and gestured for me to do the same. "Just relax, everything is going to be OK."

"Nothing's OK, Sasha!" I shouted, as panicked rage burst through the last of my frail grip on civility. "You said the shield would protect me!" I shouted, flinging my hands out to the sides, feeling my mind begin to splinter under the stress of captivity. "You lied."

"Mila," she said, stepping towards me, her hands raised as if she were trying to calm a wild animal. "I said the shield would probably keep you alive if you have the bad luck to be near someone who dies. It's meant to protect you from wayward emotions, nothing more." She touched my arm, her hand cool on my feverish skin. I struggled to tolerate the contact, such was my emotional anguish. "I also said it could take years to complete your training. You can't expect this to happen over night! You've only been here a few days, for heaven's sake!" She rubbed at the wetness on my cheek with a silken scarf, and guided me to a chair. "Now, take a deep breath–that's it–and tell me what happened."




The Last Tritan Ch. 07



Wasn't it obvious? "What do you think happened?" I snapped, and wrapped my arms around my chest, glaring at her.

"I don't know honey, that's why I'm asking."

I sighed, and pressed my lips together. "I'm sorry, Sasha. It's been a... shitty morning."

She smiled, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn't make my throat work. "Why don't you start with your shield. What happened to it?"

I stood, walking toward the window as I tried to gather my courage. "It hardly slowed him down, and then I was so wrapped up in his head, that I..." I took a deep, shuddering breath. "I wasn't strong enough to resist him this time."

"Mila, your body will lubricate in self defense during an assault, but that doesn't mean it isn't a violation. It's a natural reaction, beautiful girl, and nothing to be ashamed about."

"We didn't have sex," I said and turned away, tears threatening to drown my impotent anger. "He... kissed me." I didn't need to see her face to know I'd confused her, and I looked over my shoulder. "Everywhere."

She coughed, understanding in her eyes, and a deep red blush staining her pale cheeks. "Oh, well. I see."

I grimaced. Awkward didn't begin to describe this conversation, but I needed her to know why I was so upset. "And God help me, that bastard made me like it."

She twisted her hands in her lap, and began to ramble. "Yes, well, I've heard Asher has quite a reputation for being a, shall we say, successful lover." I couldn't help the snort of derision at her words. "I was actually surprised to hear he'd mistreated you in the first place. It seemed rather out of character." She stood, and tried to wrap her arms around me, but I flinched and pulled away, too angry to endure her comforting touch. "The bond between Priestess and Elite makes everything more intense..." She coughed again, and straightened the hem of her flowing white dress.

I laughed, though it was a humourless sound. "Of course. It just keeps coming back to the chains, doesn't it?" I picked at the gold circling my left wrist. "Is this why he can use my Priestess gifts?"

"No, sweet one, it doesn't work that way." She smiled at me, jumping at the chance to slip into her teaching mode. "It's the one thing we've been lucky enough to avoid -"

"He healed me Sasha. Yesterday, when he was... inside me. He used my gifts to take away the pain." The thought caused tears to threaten, but I ruthlessly forced them away—I was finished grieving for the things Asher did to me.

She stared at me, shock flicking across her features, her mouth agape. "But, that's not possible."

"My exact words," I said, beginning to pace again.

The Head Priestess was silent for a moment, a look of deep concentration scored between her brows. "You're the only Empath who's ever been bonded to an Elite. That has to be the answer. I can't think of anything else."

"Great. What does that mean for me?"

"As I said, things are more intense between a bonded pair. At least that's been my experience with Harper. But you're unique, Mila." She took a step toward me, excitement gleaming in her eyes. "He probably isn't affected by your defense because of your blood bond," she said, gesturing at me wildly with her hands. "His arousal would slip past your shield, drawing a reaction from you inspite of your fierce determination not to feel anything," Sasha touched her lips, clearly lost in thought. "And because you're an Empath, and you have a tendency to project your emotions onto others, it would create an endless loop. It's the perfect storm."

I stared at her in shock, unable to fully comprehend the words coming out of her mouth. "Did you just insinuate Asher's raping me was my fault?"

"What, no! Of course I'm not." She twisted her hands in her lap again, watching me with wide eyes. "I only meant to say it would have been impossible for anyone to resist the sexual tension, least of all someone with no experience." She took a tentative step toward me. "It's just... there's never been an Empath bound to an Elite before. This is unchartered territory, that's all. I was insensitive, and I'm sorry, but this is just another reason to learn to dampen your Empathic capabilities."

I snorted, clenching my fists. "Dampen them? Why on Earth would I do that? You said it yourself, my defense is irrelevant when it comes to him." Her eyes filled with sorrow, but I pushed on. "I can't live like this Sasha. There must be a way to use this to my advantage, to turn the tables on him."

Her hand settled on my shoulder, sympathy radiating off her. "It doesn't work like that Mila. Once we are bound, there's nothing we can do to stop them from using our power. Empath or not. They were born and bred for war, while Priestesses have always been forbidden from using their power to do harm."

I shook my head violently, twisting away from her soothing touch. "That's not good enough." I paced the room with sharp, jerking movements, trying to put my thoughts in order. "I need a weapon."

She turned away slightly, her eyes flicking toward the door. "A weapon? I'm quite sure I haven't got any idea what you're talking about."

"Are you kidding me Sasha? You're the leader of the Priestesses. There must be something you're not telling me. Some scrap of knowledge you're privy to that can free us from them."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You won't even try?"

"The only thing we can do is limit their access to our power. And to do that, you need to work on your defenses. Build a wall, not a shield. You've just seen first hand how ineffective a shield can be."

My mouth dropped open in shock. "You're joking. I'm on my knees, begging for a better solution, and your answer is 'stay the course?'" I laughed, taking a menacing step toward her. "I wonder how much blood is on your dainty, negligent hands?"

"We've given Elora an extra five years. Five years, Mila. That's more time than Tritan ever had."

"And how many people have died because of this strategy, Priestess?"

Her beautiful face contorted in anger. "And what would you have me do?" 

I laughed, gesturing at the plush settings around us. "Have you even tried to find another way? Because it seems to me you're enjoying your role as trophy slave, just a little too much."

She slapped me, and my head lurched to the side with the force. "How dare you! I'm a slave, and I'm doing everything I can under the circumstances."

"That's a lie, and you know it," I snapped, ignoring the burning pain in my cheek. "You've lost the will to fight. You're supposed to be the beacon of hope to a nation of hopeless people. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"What am I supposed to do?" She shouted, her face now flushed with guilt. "I'm a healer, not a soldier!"

"Don't be a coward, Sasha. You're a leader. You're whatever we need you to be, and complacent just isn't it."

"You think you can judge me? You've been a slave for less than a week." She laughed, sounding bitter and defensive. "I've been doing this for five years. I've done what I needed to survive, and I'm not ashamed of any of it. You're not even a true Priestess, and you think you can judge me?"

I stared at her for a moment, disgusted by the woman I'd foolishly put all of my hope into. "I've spent five years freeing slaves, Priestess. Which is far more than you've been doing."

"And yet, you can offer me no alternative."

"Fight! With everything you have. Rally the Priestesses and start a rebellion, don't simply limit the Elite's access to our power."

She sighed, and turned away. "The Priestesses are no more. Make the best of your life here, and put the thought of rebellion out of your head. It won't work." She glanced out the window, and fidgeted with her hair. 'Besides, the Caledonians aren't so bad, once you adjust to their ways."

"Not so bad? They're a nation of slavers and warmongers. They've completely destroyed countless lives, and turned you into a high functioning bed slave. You have the gall to try and convince me to enjoy this life?"

"One single man isn't responsible for the war Mila, most of them are just following orders."

"What's the matter with you?" I cried, seemingly incapable of understanding her logic. "Why are you defending them?"

"Because they've been raised to think the way they do. They don't know any better."

"Don't give me that shit. Children know the difference between right and wrong, Sasha." I took a deep breath, frustrated by the direction our conversation was taking, and tried to start again. "Please Sasha? There must be something we can do, some way to use me against them?"

"There isn't," she said, and set her jaw stubbornly.

'Then why is the general so interested in my training, if my being an Empath isn't somehow important?" I frowned, my thoughts becoming suspicious. "Did the general ask you to report back to him? Are you spying on me?"

Her eyes widened, but I couldn't decide if it was because I'd caught her, or if she was genuinely surprised by my accusations. "Of course not, why would you ask that?"

"Because it's the only thing that makes sense. Is he threatening you Sasha?" 

"No -"

"Or did he ask you to find out what I'm capable of? This is unchartered territory, after all. Your words." She didn't answer, only pressed her hand to her throat, and took a step back from me. "I know you're withholding information. Would you like to know how I know?" And again silent, wide-eyed fear was her only response. "The only time I've felt like I was in control, since I was introduced to this wonderful life of yours, was when I lost my temper with Carina. It's a gripping story, would you like to hear it?"

I took a measured step toward her, and she recoiled. "What have you done?"

"I defended myself." I snapped, annoyed because her fear confirmed my suspicions—she did know how a Priestess could use her power offensively. "And it felt good to be powerful."

"Mila, what did you do?"

I wandered toward the case containing the unused Tritan Chains, still covered by the cloth Sasha had draped over it the day before. "I only amplified her negative emotions, made her feel a debilitating sense of uncertainty until she couldn't take a step without direction from someone else. But you knew it would be something like that, didn't you?"

She pressed a hand to her temple, grimacing in pain. "Mila, you have to calm down. Your emotions," she paused, taking a moment to strengthen her defenses. "You can't use your powers like that, please."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "It's the only thing that works. But please, tell me why I shouldn't defend myself."

"You're going to get yourself or an innocent bystander killed."

"And maybe I'll be able to take out an Elite before I die."

"It's forbidden to cause harm with your gifts!" She shouted, no longer able to argue rationally. "Every Priestess swears an oath."

I watched her struggle with her temper for a moment longer, thinking about what she had said. "You're right Sasha," I admitted, watching her visibly relax. "I can't call myself a priestess. I'm not trained as a healer, and I'm probably too old to unlearn all my bad habits." I paused, when I felt a powerful presence approaching. "But if a healer can heal, they can also do harm, and I'm not bound by your ethics." The side door banged open, and there stood General Harper Tilcot, preventing Sasha from responding to my bold statement.

"How's the training going girls?" He asked, closing the door behind him. Alarm raced across his features as he took in Sasha's defensive position.

"Let's find out shall we?" I drawled, turning toward the general, mimicking a slave's submissive posture as I approached.

"Harper! Get back!" Sasha screamed, but it was too late. I pressed my hand to his chest, and concentrated on the anger coursing through my veins. I could feel his heart beating, and focused my gifts at the strong pounding beneath my palm, willing the rhythm to break down, to become erratic.

The general wrapped his large hand around my throat, and began to squeeze, but I pressed forward, uncaring if this attempt on his life meant my death. He groaned, and I watched as his face paled, and sweat beaded on his brow.

"What... the..." His is grip on my throat lessened as he labored to draw breath, and I knew victory was but a moment away.

If the inhuman scream hadn't broken my concentration, the vase shattering against my back certainly would have. "Get away from him!" Sasha's voice rang out in the silence following her outburst, and I stumbled back as the general collapsed, unconscious. She rushed to his side, tenderly pushing sweaty hair back from his face. "Harper? Open your eyes darling."

I stared at her, lovingly dabing at the general's face. "You're in love with him!"

"Get out Mila," she said without looking up, still frantically trying to revive her fallen lover. "They'll kill you if they know you did this. Go!"

"How could you possibly love a man who destroyed everything you've ever known and turned you into a slave?" I was all but shouting now, completely incapable of understanding her. "You disgust me."

"Can you see anything from their perspective?" She asked making eye contact, tears streaking down her lovely face, plainly trying to will me to understand.

"No."

"Let me know when you can." The commotion brought the soldiers rushing into the room, and I was prevented from responding.

"What happened?" Aiden asked, rushing to Sasha's side.

"I think it's rather obvious," Reese declared, grabbing me by the back of my neck, and pressed a wicked looking blade to my throat.

"Don't be ridiculous, Reese," Sasha snapped, defending me though I clearly didn't deserve her loyalty. "I think Harper's had a heart attack. I'm trying to fix the damage right now."

"Is he going to be alright?" Aiden demanded, as Marco pulled me away from my assailant, and pushed me behind his solid frame. Sasha nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Come on wild cat," Gabe said quietly, placing a hand on my forearm. "It's time to go." The captain's men led me toward the exit as the Head Priestess continued to tend to the unconscious general.

We were already in the hall before Sasha called out. "Mila?" I turned to face my former mentor, bracing for her condemnation. "You don't want to head down this path, darling girl. You'll regret it."

I turned my back on her, a smile crossing my features as we walked. Sasha was a coward, and her peaceful ethics completely irrelevant to me. For I'd found a way to use my power for protection, and I knew exactly who my next target was going to be.





Thanks for reading! I hope this was worth the wait!! If it was, please don't forget to vote. One click of your mouse... Thaat's it.. Now write me a comment.... good..

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WAIT! COME ON!! Don't be like that! I wrote this chapter with my left hand and a dislocated shoulder! Tell me what you liked/ loved/ hated about this chapter, or send me an email!!! I'm holding chapter 8 hostage until you do.... (huh, does that mean it's already written? Muahahahahahaaa....)

WaterBurn Xx



The Last Tritan Ch. 08



Welcome back my darlings! I hope the wait wasn't as painful as it usually is... Oh, who are we kidding? I love torturing you!! Just like I've been torturing poor FA_JF for weeks about chapter 9 :D! But seriously, thank you my beautiful FA_JF for all your help, and all your glorious suggestions. A serving of sloppy, tongue kisses to you.

And I'd love to thank FA_JF (again:), jennyb2492, LBGrant, for making me laugh at inappropriate times! You ladies are the beans, and I'm so happy we've found each other. :D

SP, my world would be a whole lot smaller without you in it. I love you to bits.

Literoticareader99, there's a little tiddly wink in here for you too, and more to come. ;)

Enjoy, and know that chapter 9--and this is roughly 5 days before posting--is well under way. I expect the wait to be a short one.

Love forever and ever,

WaterBurn Xx

Rage. It dripped from my every pore, radiated in a thick, powerful aura around my body—and I embraced it. I was on the warpath, primed to kill the man who'd changed every aspect of my life, who'd pushed me past the limits of my control and turned me into the monster I'd become. The irony of killing my tormentor with a weapon forged by the cruelty of his own hands was not lost on me. For I'd found a formidable strength within myself.

This newfound power afforded me a level of confidence I'd never experienced before. I felt strong, relaxing into an internal rhythm present only in the deadliest of hunters, and it was incredible. I felt like myself again, and I knew from this moment on, no man would lay hands on me and expect to get away unscathed. General Harper Tilcot could attest to that.

A feral grin spread across my features, my modified teeth poking into my bottom lip, reminding me who was the master of my body. The ease with which I'd caused the general bodily harm had me feeling giddy and reckless. I'd held the man's life in my hands, had been ready to extinguish his spirit and free the world of his toxic influence. That is, until Sash had broken my concentration, betraying both our country and me as she'd desperately tried to save her lover.

The thought of Sasha made me grit my teeth. She'd had the nerve to preach ethics to me, and yet she'd been quick to rescue a man who'd personally committed just about every crime I could think of, and would surely continue to do so until his death. Sasha had spent years using her Priestess vow as a reason to do nothing, which in my opinion, was worse than being the one to commit the crimes in the first place.

But her interference had made one thing clear—if I planned on successfully killing Asher, I needed to ensure I had the privacy to do so. I glanced to the men escorting me back to the captain, subtly taking in their large Caledonian frames. While I was confident I could end the captain's life, I had my doubts about taking on all three. Would a locked door be enough of a deterrent to his men, if the captain managed to call out?

My speculations came to an abrupt end as Marco opened the captain's front door. "I'm not sure if Captain Rawlings is back yet Priestess, but it's probably best if you wait for him upstairs."

I smiled, knowing without a doubt he was home. I could feel his powerful life force through the ceiling. Turning slowly in the doorway, I made eye contact with Marco. "Thank you," I said, and he took a step back, surprise scrawled across his features. "...for the escort." Making a conscious effort not to slam the door in his face, I placed my hand firmly on the heavy oak, and turned the knob to close it quietly.

The soft click of the lock sliding home was masked by Marco's deep voice, "I'm pretty sure that's the first time she's directly spoken to me." Gabe laughed, but I didn't bother trying to make out what he said. I had more important things to do.

I crept up the stairs, balancing on the balls of my feet to muffle the sound of my footfalls. A shiver ran down my spine as my hand settled on the doorknob—I knew the end of the captain's life was well within my reach. My face was heated with the confidence such power gave me. Vengeance for everything he'd done to me was so close, I could taste it.

I slipped inside his room, unnoticed. He sat at his desk, head resting on steepled fingers. A decanter of rich amber liquid was pinched between his elbows, his gaze unfocused, yet riveted to its contents. There were lines carved deep into the surface of his handsome face, making me think he was older than I'd first thought. He looked tired.

I shook my head, trying to focus on the task at hand, to see his exhaustion as the vulnerability it was. If I was successful, none of my observations would matter. He could sleep when I was finished with him—for eternity.

"Mila," he said without looking up, his voice raspy with fatigue. "You're back sooner than I thought." Rather than answer, I approached him warily, hoping he wouldn't notice the drastic change in my behavior. Still seated, he turned to face me, running a hand through his hair and sighing.

I reached to touch him, moving slowly and making eye contact. He frowned, confusion clearly present in his eyes. I gave him a friendly smile, hoping to soothe him. He stiffened when my fingers made contact with the hard pectoral muscle beneath his wrinkled shirt, but made no move to stop me. I let my senses flare out, trying to follow the rhythm of his pounding heart.

When I struck, it was without hesitation or regret. And just as I had with the general, I willed the steady thumping to become erratic, using my Priestess gift to force the captain's heart to shudder and skip. I pushed with all my internal strength, with everything I'd learned from living in the wild, instincts demanding vengeance for the wrongs he'd done to me.

"What..." he gasped, and seized my wrist, bringing my Chains to life. The searing pain was nearly enough to break through my concentration, but I ruthlessly pushed it aside, aware my failure would bring dire consequences. Thankfully, he either didn't have the strength to pull my hand away, or the pain I was causing him was enough to distract from what I was doing.

A moment later, my own heart squeezed painfully, and agony lanced through my chest, shooting down my left arm. The world spun, my lips tingled, and my concentration wavered dangerously. Sweat formed on my brow and my face heated as I tried to breathe through the pain.

But try as I might, I couldn't maintain the effort required to end his life—and my own. Some deeply imbedded survival impulse surged to the surface, and I faltered. Blackness dotted my vision as I lost my hold on Asher's heart, and I collapsed on the floor when he released me from his influence.

*

*

*

A deep groan echoed in my ears, and I struggled back to consciousness, every muscle in my body aching with exertion. Hands brushed over my sensitive skin, and I mumbled an incoherent objection, trying to push him away from me. Asher's masculine scent invaded my brain, adding to the already dense fog swirling inside my head.

"Mila, wake up," he rasped, slapping my cheek gently.

Warm breath caressed my face as his weight settled over me. "Get off," I mumbled, feebly trying to push him away. He shifted his weight, and pulled me into his lap.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked, pushing my hair off my face.

Still unable to pry my eyes open, and feeling as if my mouth were full of rocks, I said, "It's the Chains."

He shook me, a rough hand cupping the back of my neck to stop my head from lolling. "What are you talking about?"

"The Chains, Asher," I said, laughter bubbling up to surprise both of us. "They protected you."

"Protected me from what? Mila, what did you do?"

But I was unable to speak past the hysterical laughter shaking my entire body. I didn't stop until tears were streaming down my face and my mirth had burned out, leaving behind a profound sadness—an opportunity lost.

I opened my eyes so I could properly appreciate the visual effects of his shock. What I saw made the excruciating pain of the last few minutes worth it—his forehead was damp with sweat, and his normally tanned skin was pale, right down to his lips. He looked completely shaken. "I tried to kill you, Asher."

His head snapped back, eyes widening. "You..."

"Tried to kill you." I finished for him, speaking slowly. His pupils dilated, and a feeble spark of anger touched my senses, as if he didn't have the energy to get properly worked up about it. He looked completely unprepared to deal with anything else. I grinned. "And I almost killed the general too, but Sasha managed to stop me, the little traitor."

Asher stiffened, his already waxy face turning a sickly shade of green. "You made an attempt on the general's life?" I didn't answer, merely watched him try to work it out for himself. "Shit," His grip tightened, and I felt a tremor run through his body. "Shit! Do you have any idea what you've done?" His head tilted back with a hoarse bark of laughter, throat working reflexively. "And I was next in line for a promotion, too. Six grueling months in the west, all for nothing..."

I allowed myself to enjoy the flavor of his panic. "I take it that's a bad thing?"

He looked at me, eyes wild, sweat dripping down the side of his face, and said, "What the fuck is wrong with you, you little lunatic? He's going to kill you."

I shrugged. "I welcome the challenge." I tried to pull away from Asher's embrace, but my limbs refused to follow my commands. I frowned, taking stock of my body. It appeared whatever I'd done to Asher was taking its toll on me as well.

He pushed me away, mumbling, "I'm going to be sick," before rolling to his side, pulling a garbage pail as close to him as he could, and proceeded to violently empty his stomach. I winced in sympathy, while simultaneously cursing my Empathetic nature. Asher deserved every bit of suffering he got, but I didn't want to join him for the ride. "Ugh, what did you do to me?"

"I think you've had a heart attack," I said, realizing the same must be true about myself—another gift from the Chains.

A second round of vomiting was his first response, but he eventually managed to lift his head and glare at me. "Are you fucking serious?" He spat into the pail, and dry heaved before he was able to continue speaking. "A heart attack? I'm twenty-eight years old, for fucksakes."

"It could have been some other form of heart problem I'm unaware of," I allowed, rubbing at my chest. "Because I lack the skills to diagnose something like that, but we can call it a heart attack for lack of a better term."

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, and groaned. "Why would you attack the general -"

"Because he's a monster."

"Fucking hell, Mila," he groaned, twisting to sit with his back pressed against his desk. "Why couldn't you have kept this between us?"

I laughed, trying to pull myself into a sitting position, and failing. "And pass up the chance to cut off the head of the snake?"

"You stupid girl!" He cursed, and hunched over his bucket. "Harper isn't the head of anything. The Empire has dozens more lined up to take his place," he paused to spit into the pail. "All you've done is thrown gas on a fire."

Though it took all of my remaining strength, I managed to force myself into a sitting position, using the chair for support. "Are you suggesting there's a better way to kill Elites?"

He rolled his eyes, and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. "I should chain you up and lock you in the basement so you can't cause any more trouble." Turning slightly, he eyed the bottle of amber liquid on his desk, and with a grunt managed to push it to onto the floor. The glass was thick enough that it landed with a heavy thud, intact.

With shaking hands, he twisted the cap, sloshing alcohol all over himself. He took a healthy swig, and thoroughly rinsed his mouth before spitting in the pail. "But it's too late to lock you up now, isn't it?" He asked, again bringing the decanter to his lips. I watched his throat move, hypnotized as he swallowed with a wince. "I don't know if I can fix this."

I shrugged. "I didn't ask for your help."

He caught my gaze, resting his head against the desk. "If you want to continue living, you're going to need it." I didn't blink. He watched me for a moment longer, apparently waiting for a response. When I held my silence, he nodded--seeming to understand my grim, unspoken sentiment--then passed me the decanter. "Here. You look like you need this. Have a sip."

Not unfamiliar with alcohol, I took the bottle, carefully avoiding his fingers, and lifted it to my lips—or rather, I tried to. It was far heavier than I'd expected and my arms shook with the effort, needing two hands to get the job done in my weakened state. It smelled horrible and tasted worse, but I only realized this after swallowing two huge mouthfuls, assuming because Asher could do it, I could too.

I coughed, squeezing my eyes shut against the burning in my throat, and pressed the back of my wrist to my lips. "Ugh," I said, when I was sure I could suppress the urge to vomit.

"So," he said, reaching to take the bottle from me. "You tried to kill me." Another long draft, his throat working mechanically. I stilled, waiting for the repercussions of my failure to hit. "I'm not necessarily surprised that you tried of course, but the fact that you very nearly pulled it off is... impressive." He licked his lips, eyes wandering over my body. "But I have to ask, why did you stop? Why not take your revenge, and finish the job?"

Why indeed? I thought back to my botched assassination, wondering where it had gone wrong. From my earlier attempt on the general, I'd known if my concentration was broken, I could be stopped—and I'd been prepared for that. Asher hadn't been able to distract me with his use of the Chains because I'd been expecting it. But when my efforts to kill him had reflected back to me, causing my own heart to sputter and cough, I'd faltered. Yet the question remained—why? I'd already come to terms with the idea of dying for my cause, so why hadn't I been able to go through with it?

"Let me guess," he said seeming to answer my internal question. "You couldn't endure the thought of a world absent my presence."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Quite the opposite, Asher. It was the Chains. They..." I trailed off, unsure if I should reveal our connection, and what I was beginning to understand about it. I watched him watching me, feeling a peculiar sense of ease in his presence now that we both sat broken and crumpled on the floor, equal in our intense discomfort. Ignoring the urge to be cautious, I continued, "It seems I cannot attack you without inflicting the same damage upon myself."

His expression went carefully blank as he took in my words. "Your heart?"

"I believe so."

A faint smile graced his lips, and he rubbed his hand over the light stubble on his face. "I suppose asking you to fix the damage you've caused is a wasted effort?"

"Probably," I allowed, the corners of my own mouth tilting upward.

"Well I can't very well go to Sasha, thanks to you. It's probably best if I avoid Harper for the next few years." He laughed humorlessly. "At the very least, he's going to want compensation, which would be fine under normal circumstances."

I smiled, ignoring his pointed look. "But this situation is anything but normal."

He nodded. "He's going to ask for something I'm not willing to give, in which case I risk facing a court martial."

Fearing I knew the answer, but needing to hear it aloud, I asked, "What will he ask for?"

"You." Asher's eyes found mine. "He'll ask for you." He took another swig of the potent amber liquid, and continued, "Harper has wanted a second Priestess since the moment our scientists invented the Chains and bound the first Priestess and Elite." Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he pushed himself off the floor, the effort to do so making sweat soak through his shirt. He took the pail to the bathroom, dumping the contents in the toilet and flushing it away. He closed the door on the offending smell, and returned to his spot on the floor, stretching his long legs out before him with a great sigh. "He can't unbind us, of course, but he can demand you serve him until he gets a second Priestess from the program."

"The program?" I asked, pouncing on his slip.

"Shit," he sighed, crossing his arms across his chest.

"What's the program?"

"Drop it Mila."

"No." We glared at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to break.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, running his hand through his hair. "It's a breeding program. For Tritans." My mouth dropped open in shock, and the contents of my stomach threatened to make an appearance. "I told you to drop it," he said, passing me the heavy decanter.

I took a long swallow, desperate for the effects of alcohol to burn away his words. "You're joking. That's sick, Asher. Absolutely appalling."

"I didn't create it," he said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Am I a part of this program?" I asked, tears threatening to spill over my lashes.

He exhaled, his breath leaving him in a great rush. "No. The Chains prevent you from getting pregnant."

I pressed my hand to my mouth to catch the screams. "Why?"

Resigned now, to the telling, he continued, head angled back against the desk. "The birth of a Priestess is as rare as the birth of an Elite, and since the Chains prevent pregnancy in Priestesses, we had to do something to ensure future Elites would have access to Priestesses." I choked, a sob caught in my throat.

"But they're children, Asher. Born into..." I gagged, the effort to suppress my emotions finally too much. He crossed the distance between us, pulling me into his arms. "Don't!" I cried between clenched teeth, trying to pull away.

"Why do you think I was so thrilled to find you, Mila?" He asked, and I shook my head, too overcome by the injustice to form a sentence. "I didn't relish the prospect of being bound to a child." I sobbed, and slammed my fist into his chest as hard as I could, furious he could agree with my disgust, that he would side with me. He didn't flinch, just stroked my hair soothingly as I cried against him, silent except for the sound of steady breathing.

I was quite suddenly grateful I hadn't managed to kill Asher and myself in a blaze of glory—not if the Empire of Caledonia was willing to enforce a breeding program on Tritans. This had to stop, I couldn't abandon my countrymen to such horror.

But I needed more information. How did it work? Was there a cage somewhere filled with Tritans trying to make babies? Were they treated well, or was there some fat overlord snapping a whip every time they stopped trying to procreate? Or might they have taken a more clinical approach? A cold, white room with vitamin shakes and plenty of food?

I shivered, knowing I would choose death over either option. The captain's arm tightened around me, and he changed the subject before I could start pelting him with questions. "I don't think Harper will demand your death, but I can't be sure."

"Aren't you related?" I asked, grasping at the chance to be distracted. I needed time to digest this information before I was in any sort of mindset to form a plan—and I couldn't make a plan if I was dead.

Asher snorted, taking another swig. "I wouldn't put much stock in a familial relationship." He handed me the bottle. "It's certainly never helped me in the past."

"So..." I swirled the amber liquid, watching as the light caught the glass, throwing a dazzling display across the floor. 'What now?" I asked, willing--for the moment--to follow his lead.

He didn't answer straight away, apparently giving the question some serious thought. I felt myself relaxing into the heat of his body, entranced by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, too physically and emotionally drained to pull away. My eyes started to drift closed, and I shook my head, trying to ward off the effects of the alcohol. My brush with death had obviously affected me more seriously than I'd first thought.




The Last Tritan Ch. 08



"For now I think it's best to just avoid him," he said, making me jump. 'If he feels as horrible as I do at the moment, then he'll probably want to turn in early for the night." He took the bottle from me, taking one final, long draft, before placing it back on the desk above his head. "He's leading a demonstration tomorrow, which will occupy him for most of the day -"

I laughed. "Please tell me you've got a better plan than that?"

"That's rich, coming from you Mila." He pulled away from me, heaving himself off the floor, and moving toward the bathroom. He had to use the wall for support, hunched over, shuffling his feet like an eighty year old. I'd done that.

I grinned, trying to pull myself off the floor—only to slip, landing prone in a tangled heap. A grunt of discomfort escaped my lips, and I managed to roll over, sweating and gasping for breath.

"A little help?" I asked, glaring at him as he washed his face at sink. He chuckled, but otherwise ignored me in favor of cleaning himself up. "Please?"

"Didn't you just try to kill me?" He asked, rubbing his face vigorously with a cloth. 'Besides, 'helpless-on-the-floor' is a good look for you. Maybe it will remind you which of us is the slave."

I snarled, struggling to pull myself up, to fight back in some way. He laughed, and started cleaning his teeth, using several rounds of toothpaste to eradicate the undoubtedly foul taste in his mouth. Any regret I may have been feeling was sorely misplaced.

A tentative knock at the door was instantly sobering—Asher's eyes snapped to mine, wide with fear, and he cursed, closing the distance between us in several unsteady steps. Sliding his hands under my armpits, he hoisted me up, grunting with the effort.

"Come on, Mila. Help me out here," he said, and I was surprised by the audible tremor in his voice. "Undo this."

"I can't," I whispered, clutching at his shirt for leverage. "I don't know how." He growled low in my ear, his grip moving to the back of my thigh--indecently close to my core--as he pushed me into the chair. "Can't you heal us Asher? Like you did before?"

"No," he whispered, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. "I don't know how I did that."

"Of course not," I replied, with a breathless laugh. "It's not like it would have made a difference anyway. Not if that's the general here to kill me."

He leaned heavily against his desk, gasping for air. "Quiet," he whispered, sprawling out trying to recover. "I need to think." Another soft knock made him tense up, take a final deep, steadying breath, and head toward the door.

"Asher?" Came a hesitant feminine voice, as the captain reached the knob.

"Carina," he whispered, sagging against the solid oak.

"Are you in there darling?"

He cleared his throat, wiping at the fresh sweat on his brow, and opened the door. "Carina, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My God, Asher!" She cried after she'd taken in his appearance. "Are you ill?"

"Hangover," he replied gruffly, leaning against the wall. "Nothing some food and a nap won't cure."

"Oh perfect," she gushed, pushing past him. "I've brought a picnic." I cursed under my breath, not sure how we could deal with this woman on top of everything else.

"Carina, now's really not a good time," Asher said, echoing my thoughts.

"Nonsense," she purred, clearing a space on his desk for the basket slung over her arm. "All you need is a gentle feminine touch, and you'll be back to your usual charming self in no time. Move slave." She bumped the chair I was sitting in, and I tilted dangerously toward the floor before catching myself. I'd never felt so weak in all my life, and struggled to pull myself into a more secure position.

Asher's hand settled on my shoulder, steadying me. I nodded my thanks, without looking up. "A picnic is for eating outside," he said, hand still helping to support my weight. "Let's take this somewhere else."

"Oh Asher! What a wonderful idea." She threw her arms around his neck, nearly dragging him off his feet in her exuberance.

"Have Marco bring a car around, will you? I need to change into something fresh." She bristled at his dismissive tone, but headed back the way she'd come without hesitating, basket and all. "Come on, up you get," he said, urging me to my feet.

"Whoa, hang on." I leaned heavily on his arm, my current state of weakness making it an unfortunate necessity. "I'm not going with you."

He herded me toward the door. "Yes you are."

I stopped walking, trying to put my weight into my resistance. "Asher, no."

"I can't leave you here," he snapped, turning to face me.

"I can barely stand," I said, hands trembling against his skin.

He growled deep in his chest, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I don't want to be here when the general's men come looking for us." He reached toward the small desk beside the door and retrieved the sleek gun hidden inside, tucking it into the back of his pants. "Which means we are leaving."

"I said no."

He turned to face me, a dangerous look in his eyes. "Mila get your ass moving before I drag you out by your hair."

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "You're in no condition to be making threats like that, Asher. You can't back them up."

Anger flashed across his face, and for a moment, I thought I'd underestimated him. "Please don't fight me on this," he said, holding out his hand. I crossed my arms over my chest, face void of expression. "Fuck it," he snapped, and my Chains sprang to life, feet following his direction without my consent.

*

*

*

Marco parked the captain's luxurious magnetic car on a grassy hill in a park, complete with sparkling fountain, towering marble statues, and soft, romantic breeze. Carina had spent the short drive rubbing her foot along the captain's inseam, talking incessantly about each moment of her life. I, on the other hand, had been slumped in my seat, barely able to keep my chin off my chest, my torso supported by the captain.

The fact that Asher was still functioning was incredible, but keeping pace with Carina's torrential flow of information was nothing short of miraculous. I'd tuned her out the moment she'd opened her mouth.

"Oh Asher," Carina whined, rubbing his chest. "Leave your slave here. I want you all to myself."

He laughed and directed me to exit the vehicle. "I'm afraid not. Mila's at a crucial stage in her training, and I can't let her out of my sight."

"I'm sure your man here could watch her, isn't that right Marco?"

"Of course sir," Marco said, saluting with a flourish and a silly little bow. "And I'd forgive you for forgetting my birthday present last year, if you'd let me do more than watch." He grinned at me, and I blushed, rolling my eyes to cover my discomfort. Asher's hand settled on the back of my neck, fingers tightening possessively.

"See, she'll be fine. Let me distract you for a few hours..." She trailed off, her hand drifting toward Asher's belt.

He grabbed her wrist and she gasped in surprise. "I said no, Carina."

Her eyes were widened, and I felt both fear and arousal pulse through the air. "Oh," she whispered, licking her lips seductively. "I do love a man with a firm hand." He released her with an amused snort and propelled me toward the shade of a tree, Carina and Marco following along behind.

I settled myself in the grass, and closed my eyes, more than ready to take a nap. "Make yourself useful, slave," Carina said, venom dripping from her voice. I cracked open an eye to see her looming over me, holding out a blanket.

"Allow me the honor of providing you a place to sit," Marco said smoothly before I could gather the energy to react. He took the folded blanket and easily shook it out, letting it flutter elegantly onto the grass.

She huffed, and then gracefully folded her long legs beneath her. The captain followed suit, stretching out beside me, letting his thigh brush my shoulder. I glared at him, but found I was too comfortable to bother moving away.

Carina rummaged through the basket of food, and said, "Asher darling, try some of this." She held a cracker loaded with a black gelatinous sludge to his lips. "It's a delicacy in Letta, well known for its ability to increase a man's virility."

"I really couldn't," Asher said with an indulgent smile, plucking the nauseating cracker from her fingers and placing it to the side. His skin had taken on a familiar shade of green, and I watched with rapt attention, hoping he would be the second to vomit on the beautiful Carina, in as many days. He swallowed thickly, breathing through his nose, and I tsked when some color returned to his cheeks, disappointed.

She pouted with just enough theatrics to appear enticing, rather than petulant, and I stifled a snort of derision. "You're not interested in increasing your sexual drive?"

'On the contrary. I just don't need some foreign delicacy to whet my appetite," he paused, letting his fingers trail over my skin, holding Carina's gaze as he licked his lips. "Given the proper stimulation, of course."

I listened to her pretty, tinkling laugh and watched as she placed a hand on his thigh, and said, "Asher, you're too much!" I closed my eyes, trying to tune her out.

Everything about this woman--from her dainty, manicured toes, to her glossy, black mane of hair--seemed to trigger my ire. But the sound of the captain's name on her lips grated my nerves in a way I'd never imagined possible, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was motivated to lash out at her again.

Surely the cause of my irritation was a simple matter of finding an outlet for my angst? Her blatant lack of respect for anyone she perceived beneath her, slave or not, coupled with her unapologetic attempts to seduce the captain, certainly made it easy to loathe her very presence. But how could her use of his name have me itching to claw her eyes out? I found myself thinking of my morning with Sasha, of the way she'd screamed the general's name as I'd tried my best to kill him. Her voice had been filled with terror, yet her lips had caressed his name with the love reserved for a husband.

And then I understood. Using a first name implied a certain level of intimacy was present between two people—regardless if it happened to be of a sexual nature or not. It suggested a measure of respect, was guaranteed to capture the owner's attention, was a sure-fire way to acknowledge a shared history, and a possible future between two people. I resolved never to use the captain's name again.

Happy with the conclusion I'd drawn, I flipped onto my stomach, enjoying a lull in Carina's monologue. For the first time in years, hunger wasn't gnawing at my insides—which I took to be a sure sign I'd done some serious harm to myself when my attempt to kill the captain had failed.

Concentrating, I turned my Priestess gift inward, searching for the cause of my loss of appetite. I found nothing amiss. No irregular heartbeat, no damage to vital organs, no discernable problem whatsoever. Relief surged through me—I wouldn't have to ask Sasha for help and risk exposing myself to the general before I was ready. All I needed was time to recoup, to sleep, and when I felt like it, eat. I would live to fight another day, to destroy the program and free as many Tritans as I could.

Carina adjusted the collar of the captain's rumpled shirt, and he moved away uncomfortably, resting his hand on the bare skin of my leg. For curiosity's sake, I used the opportunity to check the captain's health, to see if he'd been harmed by my actions. I found... nothing. It was as if our symptoms were an overreaction.

"I thought you were going to change, darling?" She asked, wrinkling her nose in a charming manner. "This shirt is rather lived in, wouldn't you say?"

"Hm, yes. I've been wearing it for close to two days now," he acknowledged, and she gasped, as if wearing the same shirt for more than a few hours was the most horrific thing she could imagine. My lips twitched—I wondered how she'd react if I told her I'd worn the same handcrafted outfit for close to five years? "I apologize for my attire Carina, but I needed fresh air, some food and some good company," he purred, fingers stroking my thigh. Too comfortable to do more than twitch irritably, I was forced to endure his touch.

She flushed, elegantly nibbling on her lip. "But you haven't eaten a bite!"

"Just the fresh air then," he drawled, voice dropping a decibel. I watched her intently, eager for her to notice the subtle insult.

She lifted a jeweled hand to her throat, brushing seductively against the side of her breast as she moved. "Oh yes," she said in a husky voice. "The air is quite refreshing, isn't it?" She leaned forward until she was on all fours, giving us both a healthy view of her chest. "Can I offer you a glass of wine?"

He grimaced. "Oh, I'd rather not -"

"But we're celebrating," she said, retrieving a sweaty bottle, her hands moving suggestively over the neck.

"Oh?"

She smiled, eyes flicking toward me with a cruel glint. "Yes, this is a rare vintage, and I was saving it for a special occasion," she paused to pop the cork. "But I can't think of a more symbolic moment to drink it." The captain raised his brows in question. "It's a young wine, only five years old." She smiled, and poured two glasses, making sure to brush his hand as she passed him one. "But the date of its bottling is what makes it so valuable." She stopped, and looked directly into my eyes. "Because you see, this is a Tritan summer wine, the very last of its kind. It was bottled the year we took Tritan."

I sucked in a breath, anger exploding through me with a ferocity I couldn't fully comprehend. But I didn't have the chance to do more than move in her direction before the captain activated my Chains, effectively freezing me in place. I had to settle for letting my unblinking eyes burn into her, trying to telegraph my rage, my unyielding desire for retribution.

She paled, the stench of her fear lighting up my senses with its delectable aroma. "I thought you said you'd finished training your pet?" She asked, moving to the far side of the blanket.

The captain shrugged, stroking my thigh soothingly. "No I didn't."

When he offered no further explanation, she continued, searching his face imploringly. "But Asher! She's barely more than a wild animal, just look at the way she's watching me. Like a predator."

He gestured for me to move behind him, using his body to break my line of sight. Thanks to the Chains, I moved without hesitation. "You provoked her Carina, and that could end up costing me a few more days of training. The law forbids you from interfering with a bonded Priestess, after all." Carina opened her mouth several times, trying to form a sentence. "It wouldn't be much of a stretch to convince a judge I was owed compensation for the inconvenience."

"You can't be serious!"

He held her with his gaze for an uncomfortable moment, then smiled. "Of course not, my dear. Just try to refrain from picking at my Priestess, and we won't have a problem." He brought his glass to his lips, inhaling the delicate, floral scent of a Tritan summer. "I must admit," he said, swallowing a small sip. "This particular Tritan vintage is all the aphrodisiac I need."

She laughed, the delicate tinkle sounding forced. "I thought you'd appreciate it's quality."

"Hm, yes," he said, subtly leaning into me. "Its flavor is simply unparalleled. I'm afraid I'll never be able to get enough."

"Oh," she breathed, relief surging through the air. 'I'm so pleased you're enjoying it." She reached for a cracker laden with the sex-enhancing delicacy from Letta, and bit into it, black slime oozing between her perfect, white teeth. "You really must try this, it's divine."

"Ho there," Marco called, preventing the captain from indulging in such a rare treat. "Master Collins, how can I help you?" The captain got to his feet at the sound of Marco's voice, brushing the gun tucked into his pants with his finger tips.

The young man puffed out his chest, standing toe to toe with the much larger Marco. "I'm here to speak to Captain Rawlings, soldier. Step aside."

"Easy son, the captain is otherwise engaged at the moment, but I'd be happy to pass along a message."

"I come with a missive directly from General Harper's hand, now step aside!" I'm sure the young man would have been very intimidating, if his voice hadn't chosen such an inopportune moment to crackle and squeak. Marco had the unfortunately poor taste to laugh, and Mr. Collins yanked his side arm from its holster, the sleek steel glowing a sickly green at his touch.

"Mr. Collins," the captain said, motioning for him to come forward, and stepping in front of me in one smooth movement. "You have a pressing missive from the general?"

The boy glared at Marco for a moment longer, then holstered his weapon. "I do, sir."

"May I see it?" The captain pressed, his voice tight. Mr. Collins hurried over, extending a thick manila envelope sealed with an elaborate crest. The captain broke the seal and withdrew a letter written in an elegant hand.

Captain Rawlings,

You and I have a little problem.

As you know, I shall be performing the demonstration for unbound Elites tomorrow morning.

Your attendance to this event is a requirement.

You will wait for me in the Officer's tent after the show, at which time we shall discuss your options.

Bring the Priestess.

General Harper Tilcot,

North District

The captain crumpled the letter in his hand, and stuffed the paper into his pocket cursing under his breath. He grabbed my upper arm, propelling me toward his town car. "It's time to go Mila," he said, and brushed past Mr. Collins.

"What's happened Asher?" Carina shouted, rushing to his side.

"Urgent business that needs my immediate attention. Thank you for the lunch, my dear." He guided me into the back seat

"But, how will I get home?" She asked, grabbing at his arm in an attempt to slow him down.

"I'm sure Mr. Collins would be delighted to escort you, my dear. Excuse us please, time sensitive matter. You understand." He shook free of her clutching fingers, and slid in beside me without looking back.

"Please don't mistake my curiosity, for any sort of concern for your future," I began, shifting away from him as Marco maneuvered the vehicle through the narrow streets. "But it's clear you aren't fond of that woman. Why entertain the thought of marrying her?"

The captain snorted, directing his attention to the general's letter, which he'd retrieved from his pocket. "She's a very beautiful woman, and wealthy. Why wouldn't I consider her proposal?"

"I believe you told Marco she's 'a toxic whore'," I said with a shrug when he didn't look up from the general's letter. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"I need an heir. And because I can't impregnate you, I'll have to marry at some point, won't I?" I swallowed thickly, thinking of a life with Carina ordering me around. If the roles were reversed, I couldn't see myself marrying a 'toxic whore' for beauty and money, but then, I hadn't been raised to consider such things. "Believe me Mila," the captain drawled, distracting me as he brushed his fingers along the back of my neck. "If I could figure out a way to keep you fat with my children, I would." He touched my Chains, a strange look on his face.

"Well, in that case, I owe you a sincere apology captain," I said, swatting at his hand. He raised his eyebrows in question. "These Chains have been a wonderful gift, and I'm sorry for disrespecting them." He laughed, touching my hair. "But more importantly, thank you for essentially castrating yourself. I'm glad I wasn't the one who had to do it."




The Last Tritan Ch. 08



"Cute," he said, sitting back and sending me a heated look from the corner of his eye. "I'll remember that when I don't feel like I've just crawled out of my grave."

"Hmm, tempting," I said, reminded how close I'd been to ending his life. I looked out the window, watching the buildings flick past. "But I'm not going anywhere until the Breeding Program has been dealt with, which means neither are you. For better or worse." He didn't answer, merely shifted his attention to the passing buildings, his face unreadable.

*

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Thanks for reading! Now go ahead and show me how much you loved (or hated) this chapter by voting, followed by a nice, lengthy comment or email. No, that's OK. I'll wait....

...

Oh, God... Don't leave me hanging. Oh please, Please, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING!! Just one click of your mouse, a comment or an email, and I promise to get chapter 9 out as fast as possible!! [Sobs, desperate for your approval]

Because, chapter 9 is SERIOUSLY going to blow the tops of your heads clean off.

OK, I think that's enough from the crazy train.

WaterBurn Xx 



The Last Tritan Ch. 09



Hallooo!! And welcome back to The Last Tritan! I've certainly missed you. It's been lonely here in CrazyTown without you. A big ol' roman orgie style to the lovely FA_JF, Jennyb2492, LBGrant and SP for helping me with this chapter. You ladies have already seen what a big help you've been, just between version 1, and 2, and your suggestions have made this chapter what it is.

Anynoodles.. without further ado... here is the long awaited chapter 9. Be sure you're seated for this. I'm not responsible for any shock related injuries... Xx

*

I felt sick—the kind of unwell that settles over your heart and makes breathing a chore. A thick, black cloud, omnipotent in its desire to infect every aspect of your life, consuming one's soul, and replacing it with a crushing sense of hopelessness, perpetuating the sense of unwell. Only my particular dark cloud would affect thousands, and not just in the immediate present, but for generations to come. For the Caledonians had developed a breeding program for Tritans, and I wouldn't be able to find peace while such horrible war crimes were being committed against my people. I had to do something to stop it.

The captain shifted in his seat, the sound of his desk chair squeaking in protest the only warning I needed. "Mila," he said, settling his hand on my shoulder. "You need to sleep."

I eyed his naked chest, brushing off his touch and tucking my feet beneath me. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit." He sipped on a steaming mug of dark brown liquid, and bumped his hip against the desk. "I can feel how tired you are, even without the gifts of an Empath."

I looked away, not bothering to educate him on the finer points of being an Empath, and summoned my mental shield, trying to separate our tangled emotions. "Better?"

He smirked, and drained his cup. "Actually no. It's entirely possible I feel worse than you do at this point. I did take the brunt of your attack, after all."

I rolled my eyes. "You can't know that."

"Maybe not," he allowed, setting the cup down and crossing his arms over his chest. "But I know it's not going to do you any good to sit in front of the window until you catch a cold."

I laughed, turning to face him. "Give me a break captain. I survived in the forest for five years, wearing nothing but clothing I made by hand. I didn't get sick once."

He pursed his lips, a thoughtful sound rumbling deep in his chest. "A testament to your resilient nature, no doubt."

"Or maybe it's simply because you can't get sick from being cold. But I win either way."

He laughed, and held out his hand. "Come to bed Mila. Tomorrow is going to be stressful enough without a sleepless night."

"No, but thank you for the," I paused to curl my lip, flashing my modified teeth. "...generous offer. Besides, I don't trust you to keep your filthy hands to yourself."

"And I don't trust you not to try to kill me the instant I close my eyes, but I can't function without sleep. And neither can you."

I sighed, and turned my attention back to the window. "I've already told you I won't make another attempt on your life until the program has been stopped. You're safe for now, captain."

He was silent for a few minutes, but with my shield up I couldn't taste the flavor of his mood. "So your plan is to sit on this window sill until the sun comes up?"

"If you think I'll willingly get into bed with you captain, you're sorely mistaken."

While his expression didn't exactly soften, his voice betrayed his sincerity. "Would you rather I take the choice away Mila?"

Yes, I'm exhausted. The thought came unbidden, and yet the memory of his plush mattress nearly compelled me to nod. My lips parted as I drew in a sharp breath, biting back the verbal response forming on the tip of my tongue. I wrapped my arms tighter around my ribs, and turned back to the window.

"Well it's a good thing your opinion doesn't matter," he snapped, stooping to pick me up. I started to struggle, but neither of us had fully recovered from the ill effects of my attack and I didn't trust him not to drop me from standing height. He tossed me onto the bed, sinking onto the mattress wearily. "Close your eyes, and go to sleep."

"Stay on your side," I retorted, trying to keep the satisfaction out of my voice—it didn't matter how stubborn I was being, I was exhausted and comfy.

He starfished. "It's my bed Mila. Both sides are my side."

I glowered at him and curled into a tight ball, making sure to keep my knees and fists between us. As much as I hated to admit it, the captain was right—I needed to sleep, but I'd reached the subspace between dreams and itchy, wide-eyed wakefulness, and found insomnia. My thoughts bounced around my head, flicking from one topic to the next without discernible pattern. The world took on a fuzzy glow, my over-tired eyes refusing to focus on objects I'd never had a problem seeing. A warm flush started creeping onto my face, causing me to sniffle as it heated the tip of my nose, making me feel feverish. I wondered idly if one could get sick from lack of sleep, and if the captain would feel the need to say, 'I told you so.'

My eyes flicked to the man who'd invaded my thoughts, watching as he breathed rhythmically, hating how quickly he'd lost consciousness. Though I assumed his training as a soldier probably had something to do with it—when your life depended on your ability to function properly, grabbing any available sleep was a necessity.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, distracting me, and yet the thought of eating was nothing more than an abstract idea. How could I eat, how could I sleep while my people were enslaved, treated no better than prized livestock? My chest tightened until it became apparent I was holding back anguished sobs as I continued to tormented myself with thoughts of The Program. What sort of hellish torture were my fellow Tritans being forced to endure, knowing their chances of conceiving a child cursed with Priestess blood was exceedingly slim?

Would they be punished for failing? What did they do with the 'normal' babies? Were my own parents being forced to copulate with people outside their marital bed, or were they allowed to be together because they'd already produced a Priestess? Or had they hidden my true identity, hoping to spare me from being bonded to an Elite? Did I have siblings I'd never met? Five years was a long time—I could have five or more full blooded siblings. I might even have dozens of half-siblings if my father had been forced to lay with other women... or if my mother...

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to stop the direction my thoughts were taking. It was useless to try and guess at the details of The Program when it only served to blind me with rage. Being angry in this situation was justified, but acting without a plan was reckless and stupid. And I'd already learned it wouldn't work, when I'd botched not one, but two assassinations the day before. No, what I needed was information.

But obtaining reliable counsel now presented me with something of a dilemma. I'd cut myself off from Sasha—both a wealth of knowledge, and my only ally. And while we may have formed a truce after I'd failed to kill him, the captain had never been a legitimate option. Not while I was completely vulnerable to his mercurial whim. I was completely, and utterly alone.

I sighed, and the captain shifted in his sleep. I had to admit I wasn't alone in the traditional sense, as much as I craved the opposite to be true. There was however, no question I'd done a fantastic job of alienating myself from Sasha—the only person who'd tried to help me, regardless of our differing opinions. What I really needed was her help, which meant apologizing for trying to kill her lover. Which in turn meant lying to her face, because I wasn't sorry in the slightest.

As satisfying as it had been, I'd come to realize attacking General Tilcot was the most reckless and idiotic thing I'd done since my capture. Not only had I failed to recognise he was a respectable, yet replaceable member of the Caledonian army, I'd also shown him the only weapon I had was as deeply flawed as the one who wielded it. In fact, he was probably sitting in his beautiful manse at this very moment, sipping on a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and thinking up a litany of painful punishments for me.

"Penny for your thoughts?" The captain asked, and my head jerked in his direction.

I grinned to hide my anxiety, exposing my teeth. "Do you really want to know?"

He laughed, and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes. "Let me guess. Thinking of ways to destroy The Program?"

My smile faltered. "It's not funny, captain. What you people are doing to babies is horrific. The fact that -"

"Come on Mila, give me some credit. I didn't want to be bound to a child any more than you wanted to be bound to me."

I snorted, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "And why should I believe you? Enslaving them young means they'll never know anything but a life of servitude, will never have the urge to strangle their masters as they sleep. That scenario would suit your needs perfectly, wouldn't it Captain?"

"Perhaps," he said, stifling a yawn. "But I've never been a fan of perfect."

I rolled out of bed, stretched, and said, "So it's not as much fun if your slave girl is broken by the time you get to her?"

His eyes darkened. "Where are you going?" My Chains lit up, burning as my feet stopped moving against my will.

I tossed a condescending look over my shoulder. "I have to use the facilities if that's alright with you, Almighty Lord of the Universe."

"Did you sleep?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"Because you look like a walking corpse." He shrugged. "It reflects badly on me."

I glared at him, trying to ignore the insult. "Do you mind? I have to pee." He watched me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he released me. I extended my middle finger, and closed the door on his surprised bark of laughter, using the privacy to think, and to plan my apology to the Head Priestess.

I was sure Sasha couldn't have known about the program—a woman with a deep desire to carry a child of her own, couldn't possibly condone a breeding program using her own people as livestock. And she certainly couldn't love a man who'd been actively seeking to bind a young girl to him, if she'd known about it.

Finished with the facilities, I washed my hands and face, letting the cold water ground me. And then something occurred to me, a solution so simple in its poetic justice that I grinned, the mirror reflecting a savage, beautiful face I didn't quite recognize. The Program was both problem and solution--a paradox--for she couldn't know about the sinister plot to breed new Priestesses, and love General Tilcot at the same time. Forgiving me for my attempt on the general's life would rank a pale second to the righteous anger she'd feel on behalf of her enslaved kin. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if I helped her reach this conclusion with a helpful little nudge from my Empathy. Who would be the wiser?

Asher--the captain--was waiting for me when I opened the door, two steaming mugs in his hands. "Drink this," he said holding one out to me.

Skeptical didn't begin to describe my mood. "What is it?"

"It's good. Drink it."

"No."

He smiled, sitting behind his desk and taking a long draft of his own mug. "How long are we going to keep doing this Mila?" My Chains tingled, his threat clear enough.

Not interested in starting yet another fight, I took a sip, and was immediately surprised by how good it was. "Wow, what is this?"

He swallowed. "Trup. A Caledonian evening drink."

"Hm," I said, taking a long draft. "I like it."

Dark eyes watched me as I continued to sip at the warm liquid. "My mother used to make it for me when I couldn't sleep." Not really listening, I nodded, and licked the rim of the mug, thirsty for more for I'd quickly finished what he'd given me.

I yawned, already feeling tired in spite of the anxiety running through my body. "Is this a family recipe?"

"Yes," he replied, watching me closely. "Except my mother never had to add sedatives to get me to sleep."

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Asher would have been a cute kid—before he'd been corrupted by his people's customs, and... "Hang on," I slurred, wobbling. "Whadid you jussay?" Surely that wasn't my voice sounding so helpless and confused. I stumbled, and dropped the mug on the carpet. The captain guided me to his bed as I tried to formulate a sentence, and failed.

He pulled the blanket over me, and said something about finally getting a few hours of peace and quiet, but my eyes wouldn't stay open and I couldn't think clearly enough to bother with speaking.

I don't remember anything after that.

*

*

*

The sun had already risen by the time the sedative wore off. I rolled out of bed with heavy limbs, feeling the urgent need to use the bathroom. My eyes were extremely light-sensitive and puffy, and the best I could do was crack them open wide enough to place one foot in front of the other, hoping I'd chosen the correct direction to the bathroom.

"My, you're looking well rested this morning," the captain said, and though I didn't open my eyes, I could just tell there was a smug grin on his face.

"I can't even... I'm so mad that I could..." A frustrated half shriek left my lips, and--eyes still squeezed closed--I stomped in the opposite direction to the sound of his voice.

He laughed, and a moment later his hand settled on the bare skin of my back, guiding me where I needed to go. Given the pressure in my bladder, I was in no position to decline his help and allowed him to position me directly in front of the toilet before pointing at the door. "Out."

Finished--and feeling much better--I splashed water on my face, and opened my eyes. The high flush was no longer staining my cheeks, and though my eyes appeared a little swollen, I looked well rested. I cursed—I even felt well rested, but I certainly wouldn't be mentioning that to His Royal Highness.

I turned to leave the bathroom, and froze with my hand on the door knob. Voices. Who was the captain speaking to? Had the general decided to deal out my punishment before his demonstration? My gaze darted around the bathroom, searching for a place to hide.

Finding nothing suitable, I took a deep breath, and let my senses flare out around me. I couldn't feel the powerful spirit of General Tilcot, only the captain, and a soft flicker close to him. Definitely female. I opened the door, bracing myself to collide with Carina's toxic presence.

"Good morning Priestess," Alicia murmured, giving me a slight bow. Surprised I'd been completely wrong about the captain's guest, I nodded uncomfortably. The beautiful pleasure slave was standing at the captain's elbow, a startling array of cosmetics neatly laid out on the desk before her, a large box tucked under her arm.

"What is this?" I asked, taking a hesitant step back inside the bathroom.

"General Tilcot has a weakness for beautiful women," the captain said, rising from his seat and approaching me slowly. "And given the choice between watching you die, and temporarily losing you to my cousin, I'd choose the latter. Distasteful as it is."

"You're joking!" I cried, wrenching my arm out of his grasp. "I'd rather die than be a slave to him."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly obvious, pet." He caught me by the shoulders. "Look, I'm not happy about this either Mila," he said quietly, brushing the hair back from my face. "But you haven't left me with very many options."

"There's always a way out, captain. We just have to find it."

"Well until then, let's show off some of your superficial assets so Harper doesn't shoot you the instant he sees you."

Well when he put it like that, I had to agree with him. Again. I'd backed myself into a corner, and at this point, anything that could give me an advantage was worth trying. "Fine," I snapped, pushing past the captain to address Alicia head on. "But you're not touching me."

She frowned, confused by my refusal. "But Priestess, how can I apply makeup if I can't touch you?"

My lip curled as I thought of the last time she'd had her hands on me—intentionally trying to force my arousal. "Talk me through it," I said through clenched teeth.

She flinched, taking a step back from me and glancing toward the captain. "But, Priestess-"

The captain cut her off. "It's too early for bickering. Just try your best."

Alicia swallowed thickly and nodded, gesturing for me to sit at the captain's desk before a dainty, compact mirror. She placed the large box on the floor beside the captain's desk, her eyes never leaving mine, and said, "This is kohl." She handed me a thin brush and a marble jar filled with fine black powder. "It requires a steady hand Priestess. No, shake it off, that's too much." I did as she asked, trying to focus on the menial task. "Good, now outline the outside of your eyelid. Try to use the corner of the brush because if you're too heavy handed... Oh my God. No, don't rub it! I can fix it, just let me..."

She tried to take the brush out of my hand, and I flinched, flinging a good amount of fine black powder into the air. In a matter of seconds, we were both lightly dusted in kohl, our faces and arms streaked with black. The captain doubled over, laughing hysterically as Alicia herded me toward the bathroom. He was wheezing as we passed him, and without thinking I dumped the contents of the jar over his head, coating him in a thick, black layer of cosmetics.

Silence dominated the room as the captain tried to understand what had happened. Alicia stood beside me, utterly motionless, a look of complete disbelief etched on her beautiful, dirty face. The captain opened his mouth to speak and coughed, a dark cloud bursting from his lips.

A girlish laugh popped out of my mouth as I made a hasty retreat, the captain's shocked, dirty face the last thing I saw before I closed the bathroom door behind me.

*

*

*

Two hours later we were both clean, and in spite of the captain's wishes, I'd proven it wasn't too early for bickering. I'd only allowed Alicia to touch me after a heated argument, which the captain had ended by threatening to force my compliance with the Chains.

"You look beautiful, Mila," he said, and brushed a length of perfectly coiled hair over my shoulder.

I slapped his hand away. "I look like a sex doll."

He grinned. "Beautiful."

"I'm sure your cousin will appreciate your effort."

His smile faltered, and Alicia cleared her throat. "Is there anything else I can do for you sir?"

He didn't look at her. 'No. You can get ready for the demonstration." She nodded, packing up her tools and face paints, her movements quick, yet graceful.

I watched her for a moment, feeling a dreadful sense of melancholy settle in my heart. "What's this demonstration for anyway?"

The captain fastened a button on his sleeve before responding. "The general is going to personally demonstrate the might of a bound pair by publicly executing an Eloran rebel. It's taking place after the inauguration of several young Elites."

With everything I'd learned about the general over the last few days, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I couldn't help the disgusted 'tsk', any more than I could remove my Chains. "I imagine the prisoner will be unarmed and restrained?"

"It sends a powerful message."

"You're already winning the war. Seems like it's about time for a little mercy," I said as Alicia paused by the door, curtseying to the captain. "Especially in regards to a prisoner of war."

"And why would we do that?" he asked, pulling on a formal Caledonian jacket. "This particular Eloran Rebel killed six men before his capture."




The Last Tritan Ch. 09



"I'm sure he'd do it again, given half a chance. I know I would."

He seized me by the waist, one hand buried in the hair at the base of my skull. "Careful pet," he murmured, his face inches from my own. "Someone might overhear such traitorous words, and be especially..." he ground his semi-hard cock into my thigh. "...motivated to punish you for it."

I tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip. "Yeah, someone like your cousin."

His eyes darkened menacingly and he caught my lower lip with his teeth, biting with just enough force to make my heart squeeze. "I haven't lost you yet."

The sound of a man clearing his throat made us both jump. "Sorry to interrupt sir. General Tilcot sent us to escort you to his tent."

"Good morning Aiden," the captain replied, discretely adjusting the bulge in the front of his slacks. "We'll be down in a minute. Make yourself at home."

Aiden shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. "The demonstration will be starting any minute now. You'll be late if you wait much longer."

"Thank you Aiden," the captain said, subtly dismissing him by turning to face me. He waited for the sound of Aiden's footsteps to fade before whispering, "Mila listen very carefully. You've injured the pride of a very arrogant man. Don't give him a reason to make it a double execution."

I blushed under the intensity of his gaze, but nodded, forced to agree with his logic. "Wouldn't being late to the demonstration be a reason?"

"I'm stalling," he replied with a rueful smile.

*

*

*

Aiden and Reese escorted us to a beautiful city square, complete with extravagant decorations, plenty of Caledonian propaganda and a sea of grand tents providing shade to ladies and slaves alike. Row upon row of soldiers dressed in their finest uniforms, were gathering on the northern end of the square, waiting patiently for the demonstration to begin. Sheltered against the chaos of roughly a thousand people was a pristine patch of grass--a clearing--harboring a polished wooden podium raised above the crowd by a small stage.

It looked like a good spot for a sacrifice. I shivered, hoping the general would prefer to deal with me in private. Since I'd attacked him, I was sure we would be a spectacle for the Caledonian public, the subject of intense gossip and debate. But no one bothered us on our way through the crowd, and we made it without a single nasty comment or dirty look thrown our way. Not even Aiden or Reese seemed to be holding any sort of grudge toward the captain or I.

Certainly not behavior I'd have expected from people whose leader I'd just tried to murder—unless of course, the general had decided to keep that particular detail to himself. And why wouldn't he? He certainly couldn't let it be known just how close a Priestess had come to killing him. His reputation wouldn't be able to recover from such a blow. I smiled to myself, an idea forming in my mind. The general was concealing a dangerous secret, and in doing so, he'd accidentally given me a certain measure of power—power I could use as leverage in our upcoming meeting.

The captain stopped abruptly, and I collided with his strong back, too caught up in my musings to catch myself. We had arrived at the nicest tent around, decked out in Caledonian black and gold, its flags flapping lazily in the warm afternoon breeze. One of the banners bore the same crest I'd seen stamped into the summons the captain had received the night before, and I swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in my throat.

The unmistakable power signature of General Harper Tilcot oozed through the fabric of the tent, and I braced myself to accept whatever my future held—hoping it was a future that included me bringing down The Program.

Reese knocked on one of the solid support beams, and announced our arrival. "General Tilcot sir, I have Captain Rawlings and his Priestess to see you."

"Enter," the general replied, and I immediately felt a combination of both anger and anticipation seeping through the walls of the tent. Sasha was perched delicately on a heap of pillows, looking demure and effortlessly beautiful. I had the wild urge to giggle, thinking of the amount of time it had taken to make me look even half as pretty as she did now.

"Ah, captain," the general said, checking his watch. "You're late. I was beginning to wonder if you'd made other arrangements for the day." He leaned forward in his chair, and I stiffened when his eyes wandered over me. "But I see you've brought our wild little Priestess along, so no harm done, eh?"

"Sir," the captain said stiffly, saluting, and for the first time he didn't enforce his ownership over me. I focused on breathing deeply, knowing if I were forced to choose between the two men, I'd have to pick the captain. He at least appeared to be the lesser of two evils.

"We have a little problem to discuss, don't we?" He asked, motioning for Reese and Aiden to give us privacy. The captain didn't respond, but placed a hand on the back of my neck. An evil smile twisted the general's features and he watched us for an uncomfortable minute, seeming to enjoy the awkward silence.

A horn blared in the distance, and the general tented his fingers, eyes narrowing in the captain's direction. "It's rather convenient you've chosen today, of all days, to be late captain, wouldn't you agree?"

"My apologies sir," the captain drawled, sounding calm and confident, in spite of the nervous anxiety I could feel pouring off him. "Your missive said we were to attend the demonstration, but it didn't specify a time." He looked to me, his gaze heated. "I took the opportunity to sleep in. Last night was a rather intense training session, wasn't it pet?"

I couldn't help the disgusted curl of my lip, nor the way I tried to pull away from his touch. "Yes sir," I replied quietly.

The general laughed. "Look at her Asher!" He cried, rising from his chair. "Chin raised defiantly, eyes burning with anger. This little slave of yours carries herself like a queen."

The captain used the Chains to force my body into a submissive posture, sending me a furious glance. "My apologies, General Tilcot. Mila's just -"

"Stop with your excuses, Asher. You can't simply use the Chains to force her to act like a slave," he ran his finger down the side of my face, and still under the captain's influence, I had no choice but to endure. "You have to break her spirit. Kill the part of her that dreams of rebellion so you can fill the empty space with the behavior of your choice. Only then will you have a slave you can be proud of, cousin." The general's hand drifted lower, leisurely tweaking a nipple, much to my horror.

The captain shifted, his eyes on his cousin's hand, cheeks flushed with anger. "Get your hand off my Priestess Harper."

"Hm, I don't think so," he replied, moving to the neglected peak, watching my face intently. "Release her."

The captain complied without hesitation, and the burning, itching pain in my wrists and throat ceased. I slapped the general's hand away, embracing the rage churning in my gut, allowing the captain's anger to add fuel to my fire. I managed to stop myself before I succumbed to the urge to make another attempt on his life—but only just.

The general stepped closer to me, his chest brushing against the soft fabric of my dress, the heat of his body radiating through my skin. "She's clearly out of your league, Asher. I think it would be best if her training were left in more... capable hands."

I snarled, shivering with pent up rage. "You won't lay a hand on me, general," I spat, refusing to back away from his intimidating proximity.

"I'm sincerely going to enjoy stamping out your fire," he whispered, stroking a finger down the vulnerable column of my throat, silently daring me to make good on my threat.

"You're welcome to try," I said, trying desperately to control my Empathy, and failing. "We were rudely interrupted yesterday, and I for one, am looking forward to a repeat of history."

"Which part of history are you refering to, I wonder? When my Elites stormed the temple, and enslaved every Priestess in sight, or when the great country of Tritan fell beneath our boots in less than a week?" He smiled, and a second horn sounded in the distance, three sharp blasts—sounding impatient. "Either way my dear, it doesn't bode well for your future." He brushed past me, gesturing to the captain. "Come along Asher. We'll have to discuss the consequences of Mila's behaviour after the demonstration."

"What the hell was that?" The captain hissed in my ear as he turned to follow his superior out of the tent. "I thought we agreed antagonizing him was the worst possible path?" I stood trembling beneath the weight of his anger, knowing I'd probably ruined our chances of pacifying the general.

"I..."

"Captain Rawlings!" The general called, impatience clear in his voice. The captain stared at me for a moment longer, allowing me to sense the anxiety pouring off him, before turning to follow his superior without another word.

Reese and Aiden resumed their protective positions by the door, ignoring me as I stared after the captain. I was dreading the coming conversation with my former mentor, not wanting to hear her say 'I told you so.' I already knew I was completely out of control, unable to master the challenges of my Empathy when it counted most. Hell, I'd even used the emotions of the captain and the general to feed my rage, comforted by knowing I could defend myself if the need arose. But that was the heart of the problem—I was quickly developing a taste for emotions, and the power it could give me.

I took a deep breath, preparing to humble myself and apologize to my former mentor, and found her gazing at the gathering Caledonians, an unfocused, wistful expression stamped on her face. I turned to watch the organized chaos, trying to see what had her so enthralled. From our vantage point inside the tent, we had an unrestricted view of the clearing, the row of chairs where the captain, the general and the other high-ranking officers were seated behind the podium. So far, all rather uninteresting.

"Look, Sasha," I said, the first to break the heavy silence. "I've acted like an idiot. I don't know what you've had to do to survive, and have no right to judge you." She didn't turn to face me, didn't even seem to hear me. Frustrated, I started again. "You've been incredibly helpful over the past few days. I was wrong to disrespect you the way I did."

She smiled, and I heard the boisterous laugh of the general coming through the walls of the tent, followed by a faint, "I'm thrilled you could make it my Lord. Allow me to escort you to the seat of honor."

I touched her shoulder. "Hello? I'm trying to apologize here. Are you listening?"

"Tyra went into labor this morning," she said, her voice strangely calm.

"What?" I asked, totally thrown off track. "Who's Tyra?"

Sasha met my bewildered gaze, her eyes carefully void of emotion. "Harper's wife."

I frowned in confusion, before foggily putting the pieces together. "Oh. And you're..." Jealous. Heartbroken. Angry. But I kept my judgments to myself, not sure how to proceed other than to offer my condolences. "I'm sorry Sasha. I know how much that means to you. A child."

She smiled, and absently rubbed at her Chains. "That's kind of you to say, darling. But I know you don't mean it. Your shield is down."

I blushed, for some reason feeling like she'd caught me with my pants around my ankles. "I can't focus long enough to keep it up," I replied lamely, looking away.

"And you don't want to give up the advantage it gives you when dealing with Asher and the rest."

It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. "Sasha, I know we've had our differences, but I need your help. Tritan needs your help."

"He doesn't love her, you know," she said, turning her attention back to the gathering soldiers on the field.

"Sasha!" I cried, shaking her shoulders to bring her attention back to me. Reese put his hand on his weapon, and Aiden pulled me back.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Priestess," he growled, and I raised said hands in defeat, showing I wouldn't do the Head Priestess harm.

"I don't think it's a matter of love. He got his wife pregnant. Even by Tritan law, he's technically done nothing wrong." She smiled, but it didn't take an Empath to know I'd hurt her. Again. I groaned. "Look, I'm no good at this stuff Sasha. I'm sorry, OK?"

She reacted then, and pulled me into a fierce hug, but I couldn't help the way I stiffened at her touch. "You've got nothing to apologize for, darling girl. Nothing at all."

I smiled, relieved she'd forgiven me so easily. "Thank you Sasha." I glanced uneasily at the soldiers, wishing we could speak privately. "I need to talk to you. Something terrible is happening, and I need your help to stop it."

She moved back to the window, my desperate words not having the effect I'd hoped for. "Oh?"

I gaped at her, clearly missing something important. "They're creating new Priestesses, Sasha. With a breeding program for Tritans." It was as if my words had fallen on deaf ears, such was the anticlimactic nature of her reaction. "Did you hear me?" I asked, now dreading her response.

"I assume Captain Rawlings is responsible for telling you?" She asked, not looking at me.

"You knew?" I gasped, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow. My knees trembled, and I struggled to keep my breakfast down, trying to absorb the shock of this latest revelation. My entire plan had just become irrelevant—clearly she could both love the general and know about The Program. I'd been wrong.

"There's so much you don't know Mila. And there isn't enough time left to fill you in."

I sank into a chair, fighting back exhausted tears. "Try me."

She didn't react for a moment, hardly breathed as she watched the general greeting the young Elites, her eyes shining with a profound sadness. She turned a moment later, and it was as if I were watching an ancient being moving for the first time in centuries. "Might we have a few moments of privacy, gentlemen?" She asked, placing a gentle hand on each of their forearms.

Aiden smiled sadly. "I'm sorry Priestess, but we've got our orders. You're not to be alone with Captain Rawling's Priestess under any circumstances."

"Yes, I'm sorry too," she said, and I felt a powerful surge from the Head Priestess, and both men crumpled to the floor, snoring softly.

My mouth hung open, and I stared at her in shock. "That was... incredible! Sasha, you didn't tell me you could do that!" I leapt to my feet, carelessly stepping over Reese's prone form. "What did you do to them? How did you do it?"

A slight smile curved her lips, but she looked on her victims with regret. "They're sleeping, nothing more."

"But how did you do it? I thought you said regular Priestesses couldn't use their gifts offensively?"

She scoffed, and stooped to position the limbs of the soldiers, ensuring they wouldn't waken with cramped muscles. "Don't be arrogant Mila. You know nothing about being a Priestess."

I bit back an angry retort, wanting her to keep talking more than I wanted to start another fight. "Enlighten me. Please?"

"You're not special Mila," she snapped, and I frowned, confused, but waited for her to continue. "You aren't destined to destroy the Empire, and your coming wasn't foretold by the Ancients, or written in the stars. You're a slave, and a reckless one at that."

I put my hands up, knowing I deserved this for my behaviour the day before. "You're not wrong Sasha. I have a temper."

"Every single Priestess who has ever been, has had the potential to become an Empath. But we train them to control their power, teach them to separate themselves from the pure energy of the Earth." She looked at me, holding my gaze without flinching. "To prevent them from losing themselves to the chaos of emotions, from becoming a danger to everyone around them. From becoming you."

I stepped back, appalled by what I was hearing. "Do you mean to tell me that you've prevented the other Priestesses from protecting themselves in this war?"

"Becoming an Empath is something only a Higher Priestess can control, a right reserved for the most experienced of our kind."

"But why? How could you just leave them to their fate, completely unable to protect themselves?"

"Because to teach them to use Empathy would be a death sentence," she replied softly, eyes brimming with tears. "I took a vow to protect and lead the Priestesses, and sometimes being a leader means choosing the lesser of two evils," she said, echoing my earlier thoughts. "Slavery may not be an easy life, but life it is."

"That wasn't your decision to make."

"Yes, Mila, it was," she said, her expression fierce. "I'm the Head Priestess, it was my job to protect them, to protect our secrets, our way of life!" She hissed, her face flushed. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, Mila. You're not a true Priestess."

"Slavery is a living death, Sasha. Your precious Priestesses merely exist, going from one day to the next, entirely at the whim of their owners."

"Tell me Mila, would you have condemned more than two hundred innocent women to death? Lost a thousand years of tradition and collective knowledge, just to make a statement?"

I laughed, bitter and angry. "How many have died or been forced into slavery because Priestess power fuels the Elites? How many families scattered to distant, unknown lands to avoid the clutches of the Empire? Your decision had consequences that affected -"

"Stop," she snapped, running her hand over her face. "You said all of this yesterday."

"That doesn't make it any less true."

She glared at me, opening and closing her mouth several times, before sinking into a chair beside me, tears sliding down her lovely face. "I know OK?" She whispered, voice trembling."I've made mistakes, Mila. God know, I've made mistakes."

I pounced, seizing the opportunity to guide her back to the original topic, to convince her to help me take The Program apart, piece by piece. "It's not too late to fix it, Sasha. Help me destroy The Program. Help me free our people. Help me make things right."

"You can't destroy it Mila. The Program isn't here."

"What?" I asked, surprised by her answer, yet again.

"Haven't you noticed the only Tritans here are bound Priestesses?" I shook my head, the detail having completely escaped my notice. "Tritan slaves are mostly kept in the heart of the Empire, to keep them firmly under thumb."

"But the capital of Caledonia is..." I trailed off, knowing the journey would be a hard one under the best circumstances. But as a fugitive...

"It's a five day ride by magnetic car, and a two day journey across the narrow sea." She shrugged, and adjusted a pillow. "Unless you've got transportation, you won't make it very far. Not to mention the fact that the capital is the most heavily guarded place on this planet."

"So we escape," I whispered, gesturing at the two fallen soldiers, both bodyguards to a general. "Teach me how you did that, and we'll leave in the dead of night."

She laughed, disbelief scrawled across her face. "We won't get very far Mila. The Chains, remember?"

"Yes, but there has to be a limit to their power over us, some flaw in the design?" I retorted, undeterred.

"Their sphere of influence is larger than you think."

"But there is a limit!"

She sighed, turning back to the window. "It's about two-hundred yards, in any direction."

I grinned. "Finally, we're getting somewhere."

"Stop it. It's probably bigger in your case."

"What? Why?"

"Because you built a shield instead of a wall and you can't be bothered to use it. Because you've got a complete and total disregard for the delicate nature of a Priestess's relationship to her surroundings, and you abuse your ability to manipulate the emotions of those around you." She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "But most of all because you're an untrained Empath, which gives Captain Rawlings unfettered access to your power. Yes, it will ultimately kill you if he opens the proverbial floodgates to fire his weapon, but if he's careful, he'll have access to more energy than any other Elite alive. He'll be able to activate your Chains from a greater distance as a result."




The Last Tritan Ch. 09



Shocked into silence, I watched the citizens of Caledonia milling about, watched as the general and Captain Rawlings greeted people, and moved slowly toward a row of seats reserved for high ranking Elites. "Which is why you wanted me to build a wall. To restrict his access to my power."

A small smile curved her lips. "A shield can be lowered or raised, depending on the situation. But a wall..."

"Is permanent."

"Semi permanent, depending on the skill level of the Priestess," she corrected, and the distinction seemed important somehow. She moved to the couch, fidgeting with a pillow. "I know being an Empath isn't your fault Mila. It's just..."

"Frustrating?"

"Yes. You've got such potential, such raw, natural talent."

"I can't just forget about the program, Sasha. It has to be stopped." I pushed on, needing time and privacy to deal with her revelations. "Tell me about the Tritan slaves?"

"So stubborn..." She touched my face, her expression unreadable. "Very well. Owning one comes with strict guidelines, and harsher punishments."

"Rules?"

"Yes, several. No Caledonian may neglect a Tritan slave's basic human needs."

"Food, water, shelter, that sort of thing?"

She nodded. "No Caledonian may use excessive force on a Tritan slave."

"Well that's open to interpretation."

"No Caledonian may impregnate a Tritan slave, or become impregnated by a Tritan slave, for fear of diluting the bloodlines." My hands curled into fists, nails biting into the skin of my palms. "There are also all sorts of rules to prevent Tritans from being sold to other countries, and a whole unit of the army is dedicated to keeping Tritans out of the black market slave trade." She paused, the sound of the general's deep laugh distracting her for a moment. "It's actually not difficult to enforce these rules. Owning a Tritan slave is the pinnacle of high fashion, and a lucrative source of income."

"Like a stud farm?" I asked, feeling nauseous.

She grimaced. "Not quite so barbaric. It's rather complicated, but if the female Tritan gave birth to a Priestess, her owners would be able to sell the young Priestess to the family of a young Elite." I literally had to sink my nails into the palms of my hands to stop myself from telling her about the general's plans for a second Priestess. It wouldn't do any good at this point. "Though the owners of the father would probably work out some sort of fee... so I suppose your description isn't far off."

I cursed, feeling a shiver of pure rage dance through my system. "Do they even wait until she's out of swaddling clothes before they rip her away from her mother's breast?"

Sasha touched my knee, filling me with a serene sense of calm—another skill I hadn't realized the Head Priestess possessed. "The Priestess gene doesn't manifest until late adolescence. Any children born of The Program, will be under four years old at the most."

My lip trembled. "Oh God Sasha, my parents. They're probably there, a part of it, just like the rest. What if I have siblings?"

Her head dipped, and she picked at the hem of her dress. "I've done my best for our people, Mila, as much as it seems I've been idle." She looked out the window, watching as the different factions of the Caledonian army assembled for the demonstration. "I was making the best of a tragic situation, had accepted I wouldn't be able to have things the way they were, but could still have a positive impact on the future."

"By working with them?"

"I didn't start the war, sweet one," she said with a faint smile.

"But you didn't fight it either."

She ignored me, wrapping her arms around her slender frame. "I was going to train the new Priestesses in the old way. Start a new temple and teach them the art of healing with the Gift." Something about her phrasing struck me as odd, but she continued before I could put my thumb on it. "I was going to take the horror of a Tritan Breeding Program, and do something good with it."

I smiled gently, and touched her arm. "You've done much to help our people in your own way Sasha, and I'm sorry I've been cruel to you," I said, though I hadn't had the time to digest everything I'd learned, and wasn't sure if I was lying or not. "But this has to stop, Sasha. It's time to teach the Priestesses to fight back, to throw off our Chains, and put an end to the Empire of Caledonia." I paused to make eye contact. "It's time for revolution."

She patted my face with a twisted smile on her face, the gesture reminding me of an elderly neighbor. "You're a very passionate young woman, Mila. Your mother would be proud." Confused by her lack of response, I watched her gather herself to stand and return to watch her beloved general greeting what seemed like dozens of young Elites. "I'm so tired Mila," she said, softly. "There's been so much fighting, so much death. I wasn't born for this life."

My mouth opened, but the only sound to leave my mouth was a distressed squeak. I swallowed and tried again. "No one is born for war, Priestess. But this is the only life we have. I'm not about to let them get away with this. But I can't do it alone. I need your help."

The sound of the General's voice drifted across the assembled men, sounding strong and confident in spite of everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. "I'd like to start by welcoming these promising young men to the North District. These are exciting times gentlemen, and this is the most exciting place to be." He stopped to look each of the new Elites in the eyes. "These are the front lines! This is a place to build a career, find a wife, and even find a Priestess." He paused, and gestured to the captain. "My own cousin, Captain Rawlings recently discovered a rather wild Priestess living in the forest to the west. Just imagine the possibilities!" An excited murmur ran through the new Elites, and the captain nodded, appearing slightly uncomfortable with the crowd's attention momentarily focused on him. "This is a day of reckoning, the first day of your time among the Elite."

The crowd cheered, and Sasha spoke, her eyes still glued to the general. "He's a good man, you know."

I flexed my jaw and made a noncommittal sound.

She nodded, tears sparkling on her lashes. "I know you don't understand Mila, and it would take too long to explain." I didn't speak, didn't try to sooth her distress though it beat at me with a fierce intensity. "He wasn't always this..."

"Power-hungry, manipulative and sadistic?"

She turned her luminous, blue eyes on me, silently begging me to make and effort. I dipped my head to conceal my contempt, and nodded for her to continue. "He used to be kind, gentle even. He helped me put some of the rules in place to protect Tritan slaves, even privately funded more than half the militia enforcing those rules. He helped me design the new temple, and without him, I would never have been approved to continue teaching the new Priestesses. But lately..." She sobbed, pressing a trembling hand to her lips as she tried to contain her emotions. "He's out of control. I don't recognise him anymore."

This was the moment I'd been waiting for, my chance to turn her love of the general into righteous fury that he'd dared to abuse her and her people. I send out a tentative thread of anger—and met a swirling vortex of emotions so intense, I staggered and pressed my hands to my temples.

Either she ignored me, or my distress went unnoticed because she didn't react in the slightest. Her attention was firmly planted on the general as he introduced an elderly man, dressed in crisp black and gold traditional Caledonian garb. Several heavily armed Elites took up positions around the podium, eyes scanning the crowd warily, as he began to speak in a soft, wheezing voice. "It is my honor to welcome these fine young men to the splendor of his Majesty's Northern force. May you rise in the ranks, and find glory in his name." The crowd roared its approval, as the thin old man accepted the general's help down from the podium.

Sasha's eyes softened as the general guided the old man to his seat, handing him a glass of water before taking control of the podium once again. "I can't help you Mila," she said in a soft voice, not making eye contact. "At least not in a way you'll understand."

My heart plummeted, and a choked cry of disbelief burst from my lips. "Sasha please, you're my only hope. I can't do this alone." I tried to stand but found my legs rubbery, unable to support my weight, my plans crumbling before my eyes. "I'm sorry Sasha, please -"

"No baby, shh," she said, kneeling before me and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. "You were right Mila. I haven't done my duty as Head Priestess. But for the first time in years I didn't have responsibilities, didn't have to worry about the well being of two hundred Priestesses. I could relax, let Harper make the decisions without worrying about the consequences." She must have seen the horror on my face, for she grimaced, and nodded vigorously. "I realize how selfish I've been. You don't have to say it. I just felt so... free, giving up my control." She laughed at the irony, and wiped at the tears streaking down her face. "I failed Mila."

"It isn't too late," I whispered, still hoping she would change her mind, agree to help me.

She paused as the prisoner was brought to the stand, a dark bag over his head, heavy manacles binding his hands and feet. "You're right, of course," she said and got to her feet, using me for leverage. "It's never too late."

I sighed, relief flooding my system. "Thank the Gods."

"I can't help you in the way you're asking," she said quietly, her attention riveted on the general. She watched him lift his heavy weapon, balancing it on his shoulder. He began to speak to the young Elites, talking them through the process of finding the energy within and channeling it into their weapons. He explained how much easier it was if they were lucky enough to find a Priestess of their own.

The prisoner started begging, his voice muffled by a gag beneath the hood. Sasha shuddered, watching helplessly as the man she loved prepared to publicly execute a prisoner of war. "This is all I have left Mila, my only remaining weapon. I don't expect you to understand. Not for a long time."

"What are you talking about Sasha?" I asked, knowing I was missing something vital, but unable to figure out what.

The general charged his weapon, sections of the sleek metal glowing brightly at his command. Sasha cried out, the hand still resting my shoulder squeezing convulsively, her painful grimace capturing my full attention. Horror paralyzed me as a dreadful thought occurred in my sluggish brain, as I realized what she'd done. But before I could do more than utter a sound of protest, she incapacitated me with a wave of lethargy, draining every ounce of my strength with no more than a gentle squeeze of her hand.

"I've had a gift delivered to the captain's room, sweet one," she said, tears streaking down her face, her eyes fixed on the man she loved. "I think you'll know what to do with it."

I struggled to speak, forcing my body to do my bidding, though sleep had never been more tempting. "Sasha... please... don't... do this..."

"Every Priestess is capable of becoming an Empath, Mila. But only the strongest of us can be trusted with the knowledge." She glanced back at me, calm conviction dancing in her gaze. "I trust you to know this isn't the answer for the rest."

"No no no," I begged, trying to force my will to live into her tired mind.

She brushed it aside, and touched my face—the general asked the prisoner if he needed to pray to his Gods, his voice carrying clearly above the man's broken sobs. "It's time darling. Put up your shield now."

I shook my head, unable to accept this, unable to simply let it happen, but prevented from action by the Head Priestess herself. "I can't..."

"Yes you can darling." I shook my head—if nothing else, I knew if I couldn't raise my shield Sasha would be forced to stop this madness. "There's so much you don't know," she said as the general took aim. "So much I couldn't teach you." And then I felt her build the shield around me, doing so without my help or consent.

"Oh my God," I whispered, trying to push against her power and coming up against an impassable wall of pure, unguarded emotion.

Molten gold pulsed through her veins, tracing delicate lines along the length of her arms and across her face. "I'm sorry for this Mila. But it's the only-" the general fired his weapon, killing the Eloran rebel soldier instantly. Sasha crumpled, her spine flexing powerfully as she writhed on the floor, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream. The general continued to fire, ignorant of the danger as he drained his Priestess of life before my eyes.

An instant later the screams of the nobel women echoed across the gathered ranks—General Harper Tilcot had collapsed, his gun belching energy uncontrollably, a thick plasma pooling on the ground before his fallen body. Several soldiers jumped to push the crowd back, wary of the lethal discharge surrounding their fallen general.

As her spirit waned, Sasha's hold on me faltered, and I felt the strength return to my limbs. I staggered to my feet, my vision blurred by tears as I pulled her limp shoulders onto my lap. "You can't die!" I screamed, desperately trying to bind us, to stop her from throwing her life away. "I need you. I need you..."

Where the Head Priestess had been a soothing balm for my wild spirit, I found only a bone chilling void, absent everything but a tiny, flickering spark of life. Without thinking, I threw everything I had into the abyss, trying to bring her back, to fuel her dying body with my untrained gift. I wilted immediately, the effort to sustain her broken form an impossible task.

Chaos exploded around me as I let her drain me, people shouting in masculine voices. "Get off her!" Strong arms wrenched Sasha from my grip, held a blade to the vulnerable flesh of my throat. Someone shook me, apparently trying to determine if I was alive or not. I didn't react, lost in the effort to keep Sasha alive.

"Mila didn't do this! Rawlings!" A voice I recognized—Reese? Aiden? They must have woken when Sasha fell... "Warren, get your hands off that Priestess, or so help me God..." His voice faded, but I didn't care. Sasha was slipping away, and I was so cold...

A heavy thud echoed in my ears, the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I got tossed to the side, and my eyes opened involuntarily, focusing on the still form of the Head Priestess, a man dressed in red trying frantically to resuscitate her. My eyes drifted closed, and I dug deep, knowing if I could just give her more energy...

"Mila!" I opened my eyes, hoping I'd been dreaming, hoping to see Sasha smiling ruefully as she scolded me for being an impatient fool. But her eyes were partially closed, lips tinged with blue, chest still. "Mila." A warm hand touched my cheek, a familiar energy. The captain. "You have to let her go," he said, cradling my face in his palm. "There's nothing you can do." I whined in pain, feeling cold and dead inside, my eyes beseeching him for another solution. "Let her go Mila. She's taking you with her. Taking us both."

"I... don't care..." I whispered, feeling the cold spread.

"Your fight isn't over," he said, and the look in his eyes ensnared me—a primal call to arms, daring me to continue the fight, challenging my resilient nature. Giving me permission to let her die. I cried out, anguish threatening to tear my chest apart as I let my spirit touch Sasha's in a silent farewell.

And then I let her slip away, feeling her fade into nothingness so quickly and irrevocably, that for a moment I wasn't sure if she'd ever really existed.

"She's gone," I whispered, not speaking to anyone in particular.

The captain brushed the tangled hair back from my tear-stained face, tilted my head back to meet his gaze. "You know I have to ask Mila," he whispered for my ears only. "Did you do this? Did you kill them with your power?" His dark eyes searched my face for the truth, and I hesitated for a moment, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. I shook my head, mind too scattered, too shell shocked to do more than exist.

He nodded, accepting my answer for the time being. "What happened?"

I took a deep breath, trying to find myself. "It was Sasha." To my horror, tears started to form on my lashes, making my throat painfully tight. "Oh Gods, she killed herself. Killed them both."

"How?" He asked gently, brushing the tears off my cheeks.

"She lowered her mental shield," I said, and shuddered violently in his arms. "So she'd be vulnerable when the general fired his weapon." Traumatized, gut wrenching sobs broke through my illusion of inner strength. He pulled me closer, pressing my face into his chest, his masculine scent a pleasant distraction from reality. "And I gave her the idea," I whispered brokenly, knowing it was true.

*

Phew! I'm really, truly horrible this time, aren't I?

I have a formal request this week: If you have a guess as to the contents of the gift, please don't post it in the comments. If you're burning for validation, send me an email with your name (or whatever penname you'd like to be called) and I will give a shout out to all the readers who've guessed correctly, when it comes time to open the gift. Just for those of you who'd prefer to tag along for the ride!!

Now. I would be ever so much obliged if you'd be so kind to vote for this story, if y'all liked it. Even if you hated it... I guess a single star is still a vote.... [lip trembles... tears form]

If you love me and want chapter 10, you'll vote AND write me a comment or send me an email. This (wannabe) author gets paid in virtual ass slappings, and 'who loves kitty?' type compliments.

So pay up.

Till next time,

WaterBurn Xx

(Seriously, vote and comment, damn you. Mama needs her lovin'.)



The Last Tritan Ch. 10



Hello again all! So sorry about the longer than usual wait on this chapter! You may have heard about my wisdom toothocalypse (<--FA_JF) but I'm much better now. Jaw still won't open all the way, but I've been told there are thing that can be done about that. (Medieval stretcher comes to mind... ) Anynoodles, thank you again to all you fine ladies who had to put up with me while high on pain meds—FA_JF, LBGrant, jennyb2492 and SP. You ladies rock my world, and as such, there's a little shoutout just for LB and JennyBeans. See if you can find it all you Wanting It All & Finding Home fans...

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A burly soldier shoved the captain away from me, and reached for my throat with murder in his eyes.

"Get back!" Reese shouted, raising his weapon in shaky hands and pointing it at the soldier. "Rawlings, get your ass moving," he snapped as the soldier released me, and stepped back warily.

"That Priestess had something to do with the general's death, Reese," the murderous soldier said in a shaking voice, his hands raised defensively. "And we both know it. I won't let you leave with her."

Reese snorted scornfully. "Not your call mate."

The captain got to his feet, stepping in front of my limp form, his own weapon drawn and aimed at the soldier currently threatening my life. "It's time to go Pet, get up," he said as several arguments broke out amongst the soldiers surrounding Sasha's body.

I turned my head toward them, 'tasting' the air. "It's... chaos..." I whispered hypnotized by the miasma of turbulent emotions, and wanting... more.

"Mila. Get up, right now," Asher barked, trying to haul me to my feet.

I could hear shouting in the distance, could hear the sounds of panic creeping closer as the initial shock of the general's horrific death wore off. I pushed myself into a sitting position, one handed, trying to ignore the still form of my mentor.

My eyes drifted over the soldiers, seeing their emotions shimmering in the air around me, a colorful rainbow only I could see. "So beautiful..." I whispered, feeling something inside me slip, knowing I only needed to give a little push to take all of this to the next level. I reached for it, desperate to fill the void Sasha had left behind, needing something other than this bone crushing grief. I let my mind go blank, becoming nothing more than a conduit for the chaos around me.

Marco burst into the tent, giving me a brief glimpse of the confusion surrounding the general's body, his eyes wild as he tried to make his way to the captain's side. "What happened?" He shouted over the din.

"Not now," the captain replied, his voice tight, and from the corner of my eye, I saw his head jerk in my direction. "Help me get her out of here."

A fight broke out between Reese and the murderous soldier. I could feel the dull thud of connecting fists vibrating in the air around me, but it was abstract, and my attention soon wandered to the other men. Heartbreak, confusion, excitement—it was all there, swirling inside my head, filling me with incredible power. "Yes..."

The captain's hoarse shout broke through the fog. "Mila stop!"

I ignored him and got to my feet, any residual side effects leftover from my attempt to save Sasha had been erased by the energy currently coursing through my veins. This was the key to my freedom, the key to vengeance for Sasha's death. My head lolled back, as I gathered my strength, trying to push the chaos in the tent to the next level.

My world spun unexpectedly, and I was abruptly staring at the captain's boots, with no idea how I'd managed to find myself dangling several feet off the floor.

"Clear a path," the captain snapped, and I realized--belatedly--he'd tossed me over his shoulder, his weapon trained on everyone and no one. I'd barely felt the painful twinge in my Chains, so enthralled was I by the flavor of so many passionate emotions, so utterly lost. Marco took point, and the captain started running after him, my stomach bouncing painfully on his shoulder.

Everywhere I looked there was pandemonium, people crawling over each other desperately trying to flee the area, without regard for those caught beneath their feet. Well-dressed officials, elegant ladies, terrified slaves—it made no difference. The crowd had devolved into a writhing mass of humanity, hell-bent on consuming itself.

I watched entranced--from my limited vantage point--as two waves of people collided in the center of the clearing, their panicked screams blending to create a symphony of terror, their faces lit by the eerie blue glow left over from the general's gun. Hapless individuals were thrown from the herd, stumbling and tripping in all directions. I winced when several people landed in the slowly fading pool of plasma. Their deaths would not be easy.

There was however, a single exception to the anarchy corrupting the Caledonian populace. The soldiers gathered at the northern end of the clearing were being efficiently organized into riot patrol, by none other than Colonel Viridien, who'd kindly offered to take my training out of Asher's hands. I could clearly hear his booming voice over the sounds of panic as he ordered his men to subdue the crowd at any cost. I watched as the soldiers began to guide the wall of people away from the deadly pool of liquid energy.

Someone shouted from outside my limited line of vision, though he was close enough that I could understand his words. "No! Don't shoot!" The terrified scream was followed by an electric tingle at the back of my throat, and the now familiar shock of a life slipping away...

"Captain, get down!" Marco shouted into the brief silence following the man's sudden death, tackling us to the ground with him. But then someone started screaming, and the crowd surged with renewed vigor, their minds becoming a collective consciousness. "They're firing at civilians," he whispered, voice was thick with disbelief.

"Marco, nothing matters but getting her out of here," the captain replied tersely.

"But—"

The captain waved him off. "We don't have time to argue soldier. Get us out alive, and I'll explain everything."

Marco hesitated for a split second, but nodded, and said, "Sir." He stood, protecting the captain as he hefted my limp body back onto his shoulder.

I could do nothing but feel, paralyzed by the emotions of a thousand terrified people, drowning in the onslaught of their pain and suffering. Only a moment before I'd been reveling in the chaos, but it was quickly becoming too much, the emotions too intense, too overwhelming for me to handle. I tried to close my eyes, to shut everything out, but it was a wasted effort—I ached where my silken dress touched my skin, the commotion of the riot burned my ears, and the smell of panic caused acid to burn the back of my throat.

"Oh God... make it stop... please..." I whispered, but my voice was immediately swallowed by the crowd, and the captain didn't slow down.

The captain skidded to a halt, nearly colliding with Marco. "Move lady!"

The voice of a young woman answered him. "P-please—"

"I will shoot you," Marco replied gruffly, and I wondered if the woman could hear the hesitation in Marco's voice as clearly as I could.

She whimpered, her voice thick with tears. "Oh God, please help me."

"Sir?" Marco asked.

The captain's response was to the point, yet not unkind. "Keep up." And then we were running again, keeping pace with Marco as he cleared a path, the frightened young woman sticking as close to the captain as possible.

Energy, hot and pure, flashed past my dangling arm, and an anguished cry nearly deafened me. The pain I could feel emanating off the woman was so intense, I was almost able to cry out, yet I couldn't lift my head to see if she still lived. Marco cursed, and attacked the shooter. And I was with him as he unleashed his temper, felt every blow he landed, his weapon laying forgotten on the ground to my right.

Still unable to move, I was forced to feel every strike Marco landed, couldn't escape when the shooter's bones began to crack and Marco's blood lust boiled over. But most importantly I couldn't escape as the man slipped away, overcome by the might of his assailant's fists, couldn't shake death's seductive lure silently pulling me into the darkness with him...

"That's enough soldier!" The captain shouted, and I shivered, focusing instead on the desperate tone of his voice, of the feeling of Asher's hand caressing the skin at the top of my thigh. "He's dead, we have to move on."

Marco coughed, and I felt his horror as he stumbled back, saw his bloodied fists tremble. "Asher," he began, but his voice broke, the unmistakable sound of grief punctuated that simple word. "Is she dead?"

The captain exhaled, tightening his grip around my legs. "Yes." Hold on—who died? He couldn't be talking about me... could he?

Marco cursed and got to his feet, the shock evolving into anger, then unbridled rage. I knew because I couldn't help experiencing it with him, couldn't resist the temptation to add my own ever-present fury to the pot, and push until he snapped and his temper boiled over.

Marco bellowed, a heart-felt war cry preceding him, as he charged through the masses.After that, all I knew was darkness, vanquished by the emotional tidal wave, still unsure if I'd survived or not.

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I woke to the sound of voices--as I often did in this strange place--but my head was so foggy, I could barely open my eyes, let alone make the effort to understand what was being said. It was clear they were arguing, whoever they were, and the tone was angry and intense. A hoarse groan escaped my lips, as I tried to gather the strength to roll over, and failed.

Someone placed a cool towel on my forehead and stroked my face tenderly, but I couldn't tell who it was from their touch. I could only be sure of one thing—it wasn't Sasha, because Sasha was dead. She'd killed herself, and her lover in a blaze of glory fit for a queen, and abandoned me to deal with the horrors of this life without her maternal guidance.

But it made a sort of twisted sense didn't it? Sasha had freely offered to help me, and I'd scorned her, had ridiculed her pacifist nature, and tried to kill her lover. I didn't deserve her affection, or her help, and now it was forever out of my reach.

An anguished sob clawed its way free of my throat, and the gentle hands grew a soothing feminine mouth, hushing me, whispering, "It'll be alright Priestess. Everything will be fine."

I wanted to laugh, wanted to scream and claw at that stupid floating mouth for speaking such offensive words. But my mind refused to feel the emotion for more than a few seconds, leaning instead toward the glorious freedom of unconsciousness. Where I would be free from the burden of my Empathy. Where I could be numb.

The last thing I heard before succumbing to the darkness was the sound of his voice, murmuring words I couldn't understand, low and deep, matching me step for step as I succumbed to a restless oblivion.

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He watched me with a dark intensity, his face a careful, indifferent mask. But it didn't matter. His intention was clear. I could see it in the unforgiving gleam in his eyes, could hear it in the quick, shallow breaths he took. And I could feel it, because it was beginning to affect me too, had already caused my face to heat and my core to clench with repressed need.

He wanted me.

But more importantly, I wanted him. I wanted to lose myself to his touch, wanted to know what I'd been missing while living alone in the trees all those years. Even if it meant conceding the fight... and besides, I was just so... tired.

He moved, a smile curving his lips as he leaned toward me, his mask slipping to reveal the passion I'd sensed bubbling beneath the surface. The lust. His hand slipped behind my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me to him. Our lips met in a bruising kiss, and I groaned, enjoying his taste and the rasp of his dark facial hair against my skin.

He pressed me back, and I felt the heat of his naked flesh, writhed as it burned me. I hadn't realized we were already naked, but it was convenient... I wanted this, wanted him, hard fast. Needed him to mark me, to be consumed by his dark flames, and simply feel.

He groaned, and spread me with his fingers, supporting his weight with his other hand as he placed the thick head of his cock at my entrance. And though I ached for him, he didn't move, merely held himself above me, trembling with restrained passion. I moaned, frustrated and impatient, as he searched my face, looking for something.

I reached for him, needing the contact, desperate for him to continue. He nodded, and surged forward, plunging into my depths with a single, confident stroke, his groan of pleasure nearly drowning out my cry of pain...

*

*

*

I gasped awake, trembling and soaked with sweat... and perhaps something more. The room was dark, and I'd been dreaming. Or maybe I'd been hallucinating. I couldn't decide which, and it didn't seem terribly important. My head was spinning, and my heart was pounding. Had I really just dreamt about sex with the captain? Or was it... real...

"Mila?" I jumped. He was sitting on the bed beside me, a concerned look scrawled across his features. Was it a dream? His hair was messy--I couldn't tell if it was from sleep, or from other more, carnal pursuits--and his eyes were slightly glassy, as if he wasn't sure what was happening either.

I couldn't help myself, I glanced down, noticing in an abstract sort of way, noticing that he was completely naked... and painfully hard. His erection was straining against his stomach, seeming to stiffen further as I watched, throbbing in time with his heart.

"Mila? Are you okay?" Well that was a difficult question to answer, as I was currently trying to decide if I was still dreaming or not... better to play it safe and remain silent. Or roll over and try to find the threads of sleep, pretend this had never happened, dream or not...

*

*

*

So I slept, but it was restless and far from peaceful. Even semi-conscious I could feel the presence of several powerful Elites and their various entourages, coming and going as I lay in the captain's bed.

At first, I'd thought I could feel the distinct lifeforce of Sasha, thought she was back from the dead, haunting me with my failure as a Priestess. But then someone started talking about plans for a funeral and everything came rushing back. I realized I must be sensing the other bound Priestesses, following the Elites everywhere they went, complacent as obedient little slaves should be.

Time passed, and I became aware that I was the subject of a great debate, having been one of three people present when the Head Priestess--and by consequence, the general--had died, and the only one who'd been awake during the entire episode. I could hear the captain arguing heatedly with his superiors, insisting I'd had nothing to do with their deaths.

But that wasn't exactly true, was it? The captain had nearly killed me in the exact same way, mere days ago. And if it hadn't been for Sasha's intervention, the general would be the one planning a funeral right now, not Asher. Furthermore, I had a hard time believing she'd have killed herself in such a unique fashion, if I hadn't been the one to push her about her beliefs and responsibilities as Head Priestess. I'd forced her to confront her life choices as a slave, and the responsibility for her death landed squarely on my shoulders, for it had been inspired by none other than me. I would be the one to deal with the consequences.

"How did she do it Asher?" Asked the deep voice of Colonel Viridian, sounding exhausted. "Priestesses don't have offensive capabilities."

"Apparently they do," the captain replied in a sarcastic tone.

"This isn't a joke captain," the colonel snapped, his anger palpable. A few tense moments passed, and I nearly slipped back into a dream-state in the quiet that followed. "How could we have missed that?" He sighed, and I got the distinct impression he'd run his hands over day-old facial hair.

A new voice broke the silence. "The important question, gentlemen, isn't how we missed this," he paused, the tone and cadence of his voice hypnotic. "But how many of the other Priestesses know about it? Are we facing an uprising of slaves, or can we assume the Head Priestess had privileged information, being the most talented of her kind?"

The colonel continued in the same train of thought. "Or will there be a rash of Priestess suicides in an attempt to kill their bound Elites?"

"It's been five years, sir," the captain said, drawing me a little farther away from blissful ignorance. "I think it's safe to assume Sasha was the only one who could figure out how to do it."

Mr. Hypnotic didn't miss a beat. "What about your Priestess, captain? I understand she and Sasha were spending a great deal of time together?"

The colonel cleared his throat and added, "She was right there when it happened, Asher. It would be stupid to assume Sasha wouldn't have passed a little something along before she died."

Nervous anger danced through my system, and it took a moment for me to realize the emotion wasn't my own. "I carried her out of there myself gentlemen. We've been under round the clock surveillance since the demonstration, thanks to Jake and Elias' wild accusations, we haven't left this room in two days. She's barely even opened her eyes since..." He stopped, cursing under his breath. "If Sasha had given Mila something, I can assure you, I'd have noticed. But you're welcome to check for yourselves."

"Stand down captain," the colonel soothed. "This isn't an attack on your character son. We've got hundreds of Elites to think of here. We need to consider every possibility."

"What about something that could have been hidden under her clothing?" Asked Mr. Hypnotic, though he sounded impatient now, and had lost the calming edge to his voice.

The captain didn't respond for a moment, and I heard the familiar sound of his liquor bottle being uncorked. "She was spattered with gore during the riot. I stripped her down and cleaned her up as best I could without visiting the baths." He paused to swallow. "She hasn't got many places to hide something."

"Good lord! You bathed her yourself?" The colonel asked, aghast.

"Conrad," the lieutenant general sighed, clearly exasperated. Still chuckling, Colonel Viridian apologized, and the lieutenant general continued. "So you didn't find anything the Head Priestess could have given her?"

"No sir."

"I want to hear you say it Captain Rawlings. There can be no question of your innocence in this."

A tense silence dominated the room as the captain struggled to obey without attitude. When he eventually managed to speak, his voice was tight with repressed anger. "Lieutenant General Hastings sir, I've found nothing the late Head Priestess could have given Mila that could teach her how to kill an Elite. She had nothing but the dress I gave her, and she hasn't been conscious for long enough over the last two days to hide something from me."

"Good enough for me," the colonel said, obviously trying to lighten the mood. "Pour me one of those will you captain? Thanks. Lieutenant general, sir? There you are... good. Now, what I still don't understand, is how Sasha did it. How could she kill Tilcot with his own weapon, and be nowhere near him?"

"Mila said something about the Head Priestess letting her shield down," the captain offered, his voice betraying his relief at the conversation's new direction. "But I'll have to ask what she meant."




The Last Tritan Ch. 10



Colonel Viridian laughed. "Will she tell you Asher, or will you have to force it out of her?"

More laughter, and the sound of glasses clinking. "Yes, I've heard that little Priestess of yours is quite a handful. That she's more animal than woman."

"And those teeth!" The colonel's voice was thick with amusement. "I can't imagine using that saucy little mouth for pleasure, not with such fierce weaponry guarding the way."

"Mila's unique, if nothing else," the captain agreed, his laughter joining with that of his superiors. "I must admit, her training took a wrong turn somewhere amidst the chaos of the last few days." He cleared his throat, subtly changing the subject. "When was the last time we lost an Elite in battle?"

"Hm, it must have been..." the lieutenant general paused, apparently trying to remember, and coming up blank.

The colonel picked up where his commanding officer had left off. "I heard they lost a man in the capital two years ago. Training accident or something."

"Did he have a Priestess?" The captain asked.

"I think so," the colonel responded slowly, sounding thoughtful. "But don't quote me on that."

"You may have something here, Captain Rawlings," the lieutenant general said, and I felt his energy move, as if he were pacing the small bedroom. "If they figure out how to replicate Sasha's actions, are we going to start losing Priestesses and Elites in pairs? Have we ever lost Elites and Priestesses in pairs before, or did the Head Priestess do something unique?"

"So many questions we don't have answers to," the colonel interjected thoughtfully.

"One thing we do know for sure," the lieutenant general said, his voice ominous. "Is that the specifics of this conversation won't leave this room. I expect we can all agree we don't want this information getting into the wrong hands."

"Yes sir," they murmured in acknowledgement, and the silence that followed was heavy with meaning.

The lieutenant general spoke into the quiet after a moment, his voice was once again calm and soothing. "And captain? When will your Priestesses' training be complete?"

"I intend to get back to it immediately after the funeral," he replied promptly.

"Good. Can't have untrained slaves running around, causing havoc. It's unseemly."

Asher laughed, though it sounded forced. "I'll do my best, sir."

"May I?" The colonel asked.

"Only if you've got one for me," the captain replied, and a moment later the thick, cloying scent of cigar smoke reached my nose.

They were silent for a few minutes, enjoying their cigars, each man lost in his own thoughts. I took the chance to sneak a peek at my surroundings, trying to appear unconscious—in the last few minutes alone I'd learned there had been enough suspicion on both the captain and I to warrant a round the clock guard, and the Elites were simply guessing at the circumstances of the general's death. But most importantly they hadn't lost many soldiers in this war, and even fewer Elites. That made them arrogant, which in turn, made them vulnerable. I just had to figure out how to exploit it.

I turned my attention to the three men seated around the captain's desk, subtly trying to add images to the impressions I'd made while eavesdropping on their conversation. I recognized the colonel, with his distinctive Caledonian dark hair, and muscular body. And then of course, there was the captain, leaning back in his chair, and looking relaxed and confident, in spite of the presence of two superior officers. My heart rate picked up, remembering the dream, remembering the sensation of his hands on me, of his lips...

I tore my gaze away from him, and focused on the newcomer—the lieutenant general was middle aged, with dark hair laced with silver, and tight, humorless lines etched in his forehead. I had the sense he wielded a great deal of power in the Caledonian army, so I committed his features to memory, marking him as yet another potential enemy.

I was now fully awake, though I lay still, buried deep within the blankets, and I took the chance to mentally inspect my body. According to the captain, I'd been bedridden for two days, and aside from the grogginess I'd expect from an extended period in bed, I felt fine. Everything appeared to be in working order, but my clothing had been changed at some point. I was now wearing a thin, white t-shirt, and little else. An uncomfortable little shiver raced through me—according to the captain, he'd been the one to clean me up after the disastrous demonstration and the ensuing riot. He'd been the one to undress me, and wash the gore from my unconscious body.

I pushed such thoughts away, preferring not to dredge up any memories of the captain caring for me. For that matter, I preferred not to think about the captain in any kind light whatsoever. No, I needed to hold onto my anger, would wrap it around me like a protective cloak... for fear of what would happen if I let it go.

The colonel was the first to speak, saving me from the grim path my thoughts had taken. "Asher, I think it's time to wake your little terror up. We have questions that need answering."

"Yes, good idea Conrad. Wake her up captain."

"If it's all the same to you sirs, I'd like some privacy before the funeral," the captain replied, his voice somber. "Harper was my cousin, after all."

When the lieutenant general spoke, his voice had taken on the soft, calming tones of a professional sending his condolences. "Yes, of course captain. How thoughtless of us. Harper was a good man, led this arm of the Caledonian army to its most glorious of conquests, in the conquering of Tritan." He stood, and patted the captain awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss." I felt the captain's relief as his superiors started walking toward the door.

The colonel sighed, pushing himself to his feet as if it were the very last thing he'd like to be doing. "Yes, I suppose we're leaving things rather late, aren't we? Just don't forget about our meeting after the funeral. We've got important things to discuss captain." He paused to make direct eye contact. "Things regarding your future."

The captain swallowed thickly, though he didn't look as nervous as he felt--which I could certainly vouch for--and drained his glass. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, sir. See you in a few hours."

Asher stood with his hand on the door, but the lieutenant general stopped, and cast his eyes over the room. "Oh, and captain?"

"Sir?"

"We'll be interrogating your Priestess at our meeting."

His pause was slight, but noticeable. "Actually, I wasn't planning on bringing her to the funeral, sir. Which means she won't be ready for the meeting. If it's alright with you, I'd rather—"

"Nonsense," the lieutenant general interrupted with a wave of his hand. "All the Priestesses are expected to attend a state funeral."

"Yes sir, but Mila isn't ready—"

"That's enough captain. I don't care if she's unwell, and I don't care if she's depressed, I don't even care if she's shitting uncontrollably, and needs to wear diapers. I've got a national security problem to deal with, son, and I won't let you put it off any longer." The lieutenant general adjusted his tie, and tucked a hat under his arm. "I'll give you an hour of privacy out of respect for your cousin, but not a second longer. You're Priestess will be at that funeral Captain Rawlings, or I'll send the entire northern infantry to drag her there."

This time, the captain didn't hesitate for an instant. "Yes sir."

After saying their goodbyes, the captain closed the door with a snap, and let out a breath, resting his head against the doorframe and cursing under his breath. I closed my eyes, and concentrated on regulating my breathing, imitating the sure, deep breaths of someone in a deep sleep. I could hear him moving around his room--straightening chairs, corking the liquor decanter--and prayed he wouldn't be motivated to check on me. The mattress shifted, sinking under the captain's weight, proving my prayers had fallen on deaf ears. But then, why would any deity be motivated to listen to me, after all I'd done over the last few days?

"I know you're awake Mila." My only answer was to sigh deeply, and roll over, exposing my back. "You need to get up."

Instead of responding, I asked a question, turning my head to make eye contact. "Why weren't you going to let me go to the funeral? That seems cruel, even for you captain."

"Mila do you remember the demonstration?"

I shuddered, the shock of Sasha's death sneaking up on me. "Of course I do."

"Oh good, then you already knew that sixteen people died in the rioting afterward. Excluding Harper and the Head Priestess."

I felt the blood rush out of my face. "I don't understand what that has to do with anything."

"Don't you?"

"I..." I trailed off, suddenly unsure. Hadn't I initially embraced the chaos? Reveled in the power it had given me? Hadn't I added my own impotent rage to the cauldron, and pushed until Marco had lost control? "Are you... blaming me for the riot?" Did I blame me for the riot? Should I?

At first, he didn't respond, his eyes locked to mine, some confused emotion clouding my thoughts. "You're out of control Mila," he said, his voice soft. "And if it were my choice, I wouldn't let you leave this room until I was sure you could handle yourself." He picked at a spot on the blanket, anxiety evident in every line of his body. "But the decision is out of my hands, so you need to get up."

Tears gathered in my eyes, but I ruthlessly forced them back. "I'm not going to the funeral."

He snorted. "I know you heard the lieutenant general."

I braced myself, hating that I had to admit this--to him, of all people--but knowing I didn't have a choice. "Captain, I... I don't want to hurt anyone. And I don't care what that man has to say about it."

"Mila," he paused to rub at the stubble on his face. "I don't think you're responsible for the riot. At least not entirely."

I shook my head, because the problem wasn't Asher blaming me for the deaths of sixteen rioters... "I'm not going."

"You can't stay in bed forever."

"And why not?" I asked, and turned away from him, listlessly staring at the wall. "You can't let me die Captain Rawlings. You literally can't survive without me."

He moved toward me, pressing the hard length of his body along my back. "At least you've changed your mind about becoming my bed slave."

"No, but I'm glad we can agree that the decision is mine."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night darling," he whispered with lips pressed against my ear, his breath heavy with the scent of smoke and alcohol.

"Charming," I muttered, shifting away.

"Actually, I don't hate the idea of staying in bed until the lieutenant general comes to collect us..." He gripped my thigh, rubbing light circles with his thumb. I tried to wriggle free of his grasp, but found myself facing the edge of the bed. I stiffened when I realized how easily he'd maneuvered me into making the decision to get up, as the only other option was to remain cradled in the shell of his body, feeling him harden against the curve of my bottom.

"Fine!" I snarled, and tried to throw the blankets off—but his arm tightened around my waist, pinning me in place. "I'll go to the funeral, just to get away from you. But anything that happens is on you, captain."

"Are you sure, pet?" He murmured, pressing his arousal into me. "We've got some time before we have to be ready. And I've got half a mind to punish you for eavesdropping on a private conversation." He slipped his hand down to my knee and flipped me onto my stomach, his weight effortlessly pinning me to the mattress.

I shivered, regretting the impulse to start an argument while I lay nearly naked and vulnerable in his bed. "No you're right captain," I whispered, my voice cracking nervously as the particulars of my dream came rushing back. "Time is growing short, especially if you want to paint my face—"

He interrupted me with a startled bark of laughter. "I always want to paint your face Mila." He pressed his lips against my jaw, kissing me, his deep groan making gooseflesh prickle the back of my neck.

"Well I'm sorry my face isn't beautiful enough without being painted, but—"

"Mila, I want to paint your face because you're beautiful," he said, and ground his throbbing, pant-clad erection into me.

I gasped, breath catching in my throat, completely overwhelmed by the arousal permeating the room. "I-I don't understand," I stammered, desperate to keep the conversation going, to keep him distracted.

"I know you don't pet. That's what makes it so fucking sexy."

It was my turn to laugh. "I should have known you like your women ignorant."

He slipped his arm across my chest, his hand coming to rest on the opposite shoulder, securely wrapping himself around me. "Oh?"

"Yes, I imagine it's easier to train a sex slave if she doesn't understand what you're talking about."

"You're not wrong," he replied, using his free hand to force my thighs apart. "But you're no sex slave Mila, so allow me the pleasure of educating you."

"You know, I think I prefer ignorance after all," I said, my voice shrill, painfully aware I hadn't been provided undergarments. "They say it's bliss."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged, pushing my shirt up, exposing me. "But bliss pales in comparison to ecstasy." The rough skin of his hand, kneaded my bottom, spreading me indecently. A hot wave of arousal rushed to my core, and I trembled, hating myself for reacting to him.

His hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing my delicate folds. "Captain, please!" I cried, arching my back to avoid his touch. "Not today. The funeral..."

He shuddered, and I could feel the battle within him, could feel him trying not to ignore my heartfelt plea and ravish me. "Get dressed," he hissed through clenched teeth, and rolled away from me.

I scrambled to obey but my legs were slow to respond, weakened from my stay in bed. I got tangled in the sheets and tripped, landing in a sprawled heap at the foot of his bed. I cried out as my knees connected with the carpet, the friction rubbing them raw in an instant.

The captain sighed, his eyes dark and foreboding. "Are you okay?" I looked away, face flushed with embarrassment as I methodically peeled the sheets away, trying to preserve my shredded dignity. "Mila?" His voice--though still rough with his unspent arousal--softened, and he moved toward me. "Let me see."

"I'm fine," I snapped, flinching back from his touch.

He ignored me, and pulled me toward him with a firm grip on my ankle. "You've broken the skin here," he murmured, fingers gently prodding my knee, his free hand resting on my upper thigh.

A smile almost formed on my lips. "I'm not dying, captain."

He chuckled, and his eyes roamed over my face, expression suddenly serious. "Heal yourself."

My jaw slackened. "No."

"Why not?" He asked, every fiber of his being focused on me.

I hesitated, and tried to pull away. For some reason, the thought of using my power in front of him felt too intimate—not something I was keen to incubate. "Captain, I'd be more comfortable brushing Carina's perfect, glossy hair, than healing myself in front of you. No thank you."

He snorted, no doubt amused by my comparison, and leaned closer, invading my personal space—as was his habit. "Then let me try. I did it before, when we—"

I interrupted him before he could remind me of my stolen virginity. "It's a scraped knee captain, not a deadly bleed."

"And I want you to wear a knee-length dress." He touched my lips carefully, mere inches from my face. "Besides, I'd rather your knees were scraped during more... amorous activities."

Even being painfully ignorant of anything sexual, I understood his reference to fellatio. I bared my teeth, reminding him how dangerous such an experience would be for him. "I wouldn't recommend it."

He eyed my teeth, expression thoughtful. "Someday..."

"Nope."

He smiled, and got to his feet. "I can always file them down, but I'm not sure that's necessary. I think there's enough room."

I laughed to hide the fear. "There may physically be enough room captain, but I think you'll find me less than cooperative."

"Then I guess it's my job to convince you otherwise."

I made a small, incredulous sound in the back of my throat. "Ah, so now you're back to wanting your women willing, are you?" I asked, not bothering to keep the bitter edge from my voice. "Forgive me, sir, but your actions speak louder than words."

He shifted uncomfortably, surprise flickering briefly across his face—but it was only visible for a split second before he was able to mask his reaction with anger. "I don't need you willing Mila."

"Yes, you've said. Because I'm nothing more than a slave, isn't that right captain?" My voice was strong, condescending, and I struggled to my feet, momentarily looking down on him. "But it's different now, isn't it? There's a flaw in our bond, captain. And that knowledge makes me dangerous."

He watched me for a moment, his face unreadable before he stood, looming over me. "Come on, my dangerous little wild cat." He held out his hand, seemingly unruffled by my threat. "We'll continue this conversation after I've put my cousin to rest."

I swallowed my response, and the surge of sadness that accompanied his words, focusing instead on the very real threat of losing control of my Empathy and inciting another riot. "I don't want to be near anyone captain. What if I..."

"You'll focus on me Mila."

"What? How could that possibly help?"

"Maybe I can share the burden? Push your emotions into me like you did before."

My mouth hung open as I considered the captain's offer, completely at a loss for words. If I remembered the demonstration correctly, what he was suggesting would probably be a good way to compound the effects of my Empathy, rather than being a coping mechanism. But he had a startlingly firm grasp on the ins and outs of my abilities—which probably wasn't a trait I should encourage in my greatest enemy.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," I replied after a long pause, and changed the subject. "Will they... what about Sasha?"

"She was a slave Mila." He brushed a stray lock of hair away from my face. "And she killed a general."

My lip trembled as I tried to hold back the tears. "But she deserves a proper Tritan burial, she—"

"It wasn't my decision, Mila."

"But—"

"I'm sorry."

I stumbled back, as if the impact of his words had been a physical blow. "You're sorry?" I cried, voice cracking, sadness immediately blossoming into anger. "You can't possibly know what the word means."

He frowned and crossed his arms, sitting on the edge of his bed. "And why would you say that?"

"Because if you knew, you'd also know you can never begin to apologize for the things you've done," I spat, no longer talking about Sasha's burial arrangements. "If you were sorry, captain, you'd make an attempt to undo the thing you're apologizing for. But that's not even possible, is it?" I was in full form, a completely irrational female gearing up for a rant of epic proportions. "Your apology means absolutely nothing to me, captain, because we both know it won't change the past, and you're not sorry enough to prevent the same thing from happening in the future."

He sighed, and rubbed the stubble on his face, suddenly looking far older than his twenty-eight years. Silence dominated the room for a moment, and when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. He stood, and retreated to the depths of his closet, silently giving me the win.

I frowned—I didn't feel like I'd just scored a point, didn't have the rush of satisfaction that should have accompanied a victory, slight as it may have been. It took a moment, but I soon realized I felt guilty for giving the captain a piece of my mind, and hadn't liked the exhausted look on his face as I'd spoken.




The Last Tritan Ch. 10



Annoyed with myself, I took a deep, steadying breath. Why did I have to continually remind myself that Captain Rawlings was my enemy? It wasn't something I could afford to lose sight of, and I certainly couldn't let my guard down, only for him to slip inside and expose the cracks. I stood and began pacing, trying to clear my head, but nearly tripped over a pile of dirty laundry.

Surprised, I took a closer look at the rest of his lodgings. There were several days worth of plates and uneaten food stacked in a leaning pile by the door, three empty bottles of wine, an entire platter of barely touched fruit, papers and documents scattered all over his desk, and clothes--both clean and dirty--littering the area. It seemed the good captain didn't do confinement very well, and I had to wonder how he'd been able to face his superiors without apologizing profusely for the mess.

A tentative knock at the door distracted me, and drew the captain out of his closet, buttoning a black dress-shirt one handed, and carrying a length of black material and a dainty pair of sandals. He handed me the dress without saying a word, and placed the sandals on his cluttered desk, his face an unreadable mask. Without making eye contact, I took the clothing he offered me, and headed to the bathroom as he opened the door.

"Flawless timing, as always Alicia. Come in," the captain said, pulling a formal black and gold coat over his shoulders. "Get Mila ready for the funeral."

"Yes sir," Alicia murmured, watching the captain with hungry eyes.

"I think I can dress myself, thanks."

The captain turned to face me, a condescending smirk curving his lips. "I won't be long," he said, pointedly ignoring me, then turned, and closed the door behind him.

I cursed, repressing the urge to fling the shoes at the door where his head had been, and instead, turned to face Alicia. "This is absurd. I'm more than capable of dressing myself."

"Of course you are Priestess," she said, and set her makeup case down by the door. "But the captain asked me to help you, so here I am."

"And whatever his lordship wants, he... Oh," I sighed, and rubbed both hands over my face. "I'm too tired for this."

Alicia smiled, and took the length of silky black material from my hands. "It's been a trying couple of days." She touched my arm, and made eye contact, trying to portray her sincerity. "I'm sorry for your loss." I shifted away uncomfortably, unsure how I should respond. "Sasha was a woman of many talents, and a personal friend. I'll miss her."

Genuine tears filled the pleasure slave's eyes, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "How did you know her?"

"You mean aside from the fact that we were both slaves belonging to cousins?"

Almost against my will, a smile graced my own lips. "Yes, aside from the obvious."

"She saved my life," she said simply.

I waited for her to continue, but she turned away, busying herself with her makeup case. "And?" I prompted, aching to hear a happy story, desperate to chase away my grief, if only for a moment.

"Talk and work, Priestess. Take this off," she said, and tugging at the thin, white t-shirt I was wearing.

I coughed, again surprised by her indifference toward nudity. "What? No, I'm not getting naked in front of you."

"Oh come on Mila. Don't be a prude." She put her hands on her hips, looking every inch the harem leader. "You're not hiding some never-before-seen treasure under that shirt."

"Then you shouldn't be so eager to see me naked," I snapped, defensively crossing my arms over my chest.

She sighed, and turned away. "Better?"

"Marginally. Hand me the dress, and don't turn around."

"You're going to need help getting it tied," she said, sounding exasperated.

"Fine, just let me get—" I made a funny little 'umph' sound, as I tried to both hold the dress to my chest, and wrap it around my waist. "Let me get my naughty bits covered up, and then—" I yelped as I tugged one side too hard exposing my breasts to the air, and struggled to fix it as fast as possible. "Then you can turn around."

"This is ridiculous."

I ignored her, and straightened the dress until I felt confident it would conceal my nudity. "Okay, I think I'm ready. You can turn around."

She took one look at the state of the wrap, and smothered a laugh. "A valiant effort, Priestess."

I glared at her as she began rearranging the silken folds, coaxing them to hang artfully off my thin frame. "Tell me how Sasha saved your life."

"I got shot in the first battle for Elora. Not by an Elite, of course. There wouldn't have been enough of me left to save." She finished securing my dress, and stepped back to admire her work, a thoughtful expression on her face. I was about to push her for more, when she continued. "My father shot me when the Caledonian's kicked in our door. Said he'd rather I were dead, than serving some Caledonian cur. As if it were his choice, and his alone."

My eyes widened as shock rippled through me. "That's horrible."

"No," she said, a devious smile gracing her lips. "He was a terrible shot. Only managed to leave me writhing in agony before he turned the gun on himself. The bastard."

"So, Sasha wasn't there, was she?" I asked, uncomfortable with the notion of a parent ending the life of a child. "I didn't think Priestesses were present during a battle."

A wistful expression came over her features. "The captain carried me to the general's tent. Said he wouldn't watch an innocent woman die if he could help it." She shrugged half-heartedly. "Sasha stopped the bleeding, healed my wounds, and I've been with the captain's company ever since."

I watched her for a moment, trying to understand her perspective. "You're in love with him," I said after a few quiet seconds.

Her lips twitched, and she opened her makeup case. "I was. For a long time."

Too curious not to ask, I pressed on. "But not anymore?" She shook her head, still smiling. "What changed?"

"The Caledonians have a strict social class, and would never allow an Elite officer to be with a slave of a conquered nation." She grinned, her eyes twinkling merrily. "Well, that and you can only burn a candle for a man for so long, before you realize your feelings aren't going to be returned."

"You're a strange woman, Alicia," I said, shaking my head.

She laughed. "This coming from the woman who lived in the forest for five years, with teeth like that?"

"A fair point."

"Anyway," she said, organizing several different makeup brushes from largest to smallest. "I owed Sasha a debt, though of course, she would have disagreed with me." She smiled sadly, her dark brown eyes glistening with tears. I looked away, regretting my volatile relationship with my mentor. "Over the years we became friends, and I'm going to miss her every day, for the rest of my life."

I cleared my throat, deeply affected by the other woman's emotions, for the first time seeing her as more than a simple pleasure slave. "I'm sorry, Alicia... that she's gone," I said, my vision blurring with unspent tears.

She nodded, and wiped at her face. "I left a box here," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "The last time I was here. Have you seen it?"

I frowned, trying to catch up with the new direction the conversation had taken. "Your makeup box?" I asked, my voice heavily laced with sarcasm as I gestured at the heavy, beige case sitting at her elbow.

She rolled her eyes. "No. Not this case Mila." She laughed, and pushed her hair back from her face. "I had a smaller one. Black, about this big, tarnished buckles?"

I looked around the room, slowly dredging up a memory of her carrying two cases when she'd helped get me ready for that fatal demonstration. "I think I recall you leaving it beside the captain's desk. That's the first place I'd look if I were you."

"Good idea," she said, looking relieved. "I'd hate to lose it. Now let's see what we can do about your hair, and have some lunch, shall we?"

*

*

*

Half an hour later, Alicia had twisted my hair into an elegant rope hanging fashionably over my right shoulder, had done my makeup to emphasize my features--but allowed for tears if my grief should become overwhelming--and had set out a gorgeous platter of fruit. I had to admit, I was impressed.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in days," I said around a mouthful.

"That's because you haven't. At least, not more than a few bites here and there." I nodded, remembering only vague glimpses of the captain trying to convince me to eat, but not much else. "You've lost weight," she said, watching me from the corner of her eye.

I shrugged, and popped another handful into my mouth. "Seems like the logical progression."

She laughed girlishly, and picked through the selection of fruit in front of her. "I wish I could stay in bed for two days and lose a few pounds."

"Why?"

She laughed, and shook her head. "Because skinny is sexy, Mila. My God, it's like you're not even from this planet."

I blushed, for no other reason than she'd illuminated a vulnerability of mine, and had had the audacity to laugh. "I don't want to be sexy," I snapped, and sank my modified teeth into the juicy flesh of an apple.

"Of course you do. Every woman wants to be sexy," she said, and I had to concentrate on chewing, intellectually knowing this was not an argument I wanted to have with a woman whose worth was based solely on her looks. But the fact that she'd assume the true would be the same for every female in the world--without exception--made me unexpectedly sad. Alicia continued, oblivious to my mood. "And more importantly, Mila, that's what every man wants. A beautiful, obedient woman he can show off—"

"Are you kidding me?" I cried, realizing I wasn't capable of keeping my temper in check for long. "What about what I want? For that matter, what about what you want Alicia?"

"We're slaves Mila. You want what he wants, and the sooner you can come to terms with that, the better off you'll be." She stood, and began the complex task of packing up her makeup kit. "Besides," she said with a raunchy smirk. "You lucked out. Captain Rawlings is remarkably good at what he does." She slung her bag over her shoulder, and turned to leave, ignoring my outraged splutter. "Enjoy his attentions while he's focused on you. He'll get bored soon enough." And with that snide parting shot, she closed the door behind her, leaving me in peace.

"A girl can dream," I whispered, but it was a poor choice of words, and my face flushed hot as I remembered his hands... his lips... conjured from my own twisted imagination.

I shook my head, angry and feeling destructive, and headed toward the bathroom, intending to ruin Alicia's effort to make me 'presentable'. I stepped on the sleeve of the captain's jacket, and yelped as an angular button jabbed into my foot. Cursing under my breath, I stooped to clutch at the source of the pain.

My new vantage put me at eye level with Alicia's mystery case, carelessly shoved beneath the captain's desk, hidden by the general mess the captain had accumulated over the last two days. She forgotten it again. "Idiot," I said, chuckling to myself, the pain in my foot soothed by her single track mind. She'd implied that the case held something important, but maybe she didn't know what the word meant? Or better yet, perhaps she thought I'd be kind enough to put it in a safe place for her, until the next time she was called upon to work on me.

A smile curved my lips. If there really was something important in this case, it was fair game. She'd forgotten it twice, after all. She mustn't actually need it... I could think of it as a gift...

I gasped, my fingers frozen on the tarnished clasp as Sasha's final words came rushing back, 'I've had a gift delivered to the captain's room, sweet one... I think you'll know what to do with it.'

"Oh my God," I whispered, because it was clear Alicia was far more intelligent than I'd given her credit for. Of the two of us, it was clear to me that she wasn't the stupid one. Everything she'd said today had been important, was a piece of the puzzle she'd been subtly hand feeding me—she and Sasha had been close, but Alicia had owed her friend a life-debt. Sasha must have cashed it in before her death, and this case was the result.

My hands shook with excitement as I pulled it toward me, fingers poised to flip the dull silver clasps.

"Hmm," came a deep, male voice from the door. "What an enticing view."

I squealed, and kicked the box back underneath his desk, snatching the jacket as I stood. "Captain!"

"Mila," he retorted, slowly moving toward me, flames flickering in his eyes.

"You nearly scared the Priestess out of me," I quipped, defensively clutching the rumpled cloth to my chest.

He chuckled, and pried it from my hands. "What are you doing?"

"I..." Caught red-handed, my face heated as I scrambled to think of a logical cover. "I stepped on your jacket, and there must have been something sharp in the pocket, because you know," I mumbled, fidgeting under his intense gaze. "It hurt, and..."

He took another measured step toward me. "And?"

"And I was going to... you know... destroy it," I continued, fumbling with my words. As lies went, it wasn't half-bad, being that it was partially true—I had stepped on a sharp button, and had been feeling destructive only moments before.

He laughed, and I jumped, my heart in my throat. If Asher found the box, whatever secret Sasha had died to tell me would be lost forever. "You've got a bit of a temper, don't you?" He asked, and moved even closer, completely violating my personal space. My mouth went dry as the backs of my thighs connected with the desk. Trapped. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. "Let me see your foot."

I blinked stupidly. "M-my foot?"

"You said you stepped on something, and given that you were about to destroy an inanimate object in retaliation, I'd assume there must be a wound."

"Nope, I'm just an irrational female with a temper. So if you'll excuse—" I squeaked when he lifted me by the waist and sat me on the edge of his desk, slipping between my thighs before I had the chance to react. I tugged at the hem of my dress, trying to stop it from riding up. "What are you doing?"

"Inspecting my property for damage." His strong hand encircled the back of my neck, his thumb pressing gently against my throat. I stilled, keenly aware of my vulnerability, but left with no easy way to defend myself. Besides, there was the gift to consider, and as long as he was distracted by me, he wouldn't be wondering if I'd been lying or not.

He kissed the shell of my ear, making me gasp as gooseflesh erupted all over my skin. "Last time I checked, I step on things with my feet, not my—"

"Hm," he groaned against my ear, and a fresh wave of shivers raced through my blood, making my sex clench with unwanted desire. "Are you asking me to go lower baby?"

"What?" I gasped, placing a hand on the hard muscles of his chest. "No, of course I'm not. I only meant—"

"It's okay, Mila. You've got a foot kink. I can get into it."

"I certainly do not," I denied hotly, as he slid his hands down my sides. They came to rest on my seated bottom, and he squeezed, simultaneously nipping my earlobe with his teeth.

He moved lower, caressing the backs of my thighs through the thin fabric of my dress. "No?" He asked, shifting lower still, slipping past my hemline to connect with bare skin. He pushed my legs farther apart and angled them toward my chest, forcing me to put my weight on my hands, or fall. "But Mila, how would you know? Has anyone ever kissed you here," he asked, positioning my left calf on his shoulder, as he pressed his lips to the inside of my thigh.

He released my right leg, and I immediately used it for support, all the muscles in my body taut with tension. "N-no," I stammered, distracted by the sensation of his short facial hair against such delicate skin.

"And here?" He asked, as his tongue trailed along the back of my knee, quickly followed by a gust of cool air. I shook my head, entranced by the dark fire behind his eyes, seduced by the sexual tension in the air—and trying to ensure he didn't find Sasha's gift... Of course.

He continued, scraping his teeth along the inside of my calf. "What about here?"

I whimpered, terrified that he would find out just how affected I was by this, praying he wouldn't discover the slick heat building at my core. "No," I whispered, watching his every movement.

The captain gently lifted my leg off his shoulder, taking my ankle in one hand as the other clutched at the inside of my thigh. "And how about this spot here?" He murmured, as his lips made contact with my ankle. Without waiting for an answer, he kissed my toes, pausing to pay attention to each and every one, licking and nibbling as he went from largest to smallest.

I gasped, part of me fighting the urge to wriggle against the ticklish sensation, the other biting back an involuntary moan. "Captain," I whimpered, terrified to let this go any further.

"Mila." His voice was deep, husky with arousal, and when I didn't, or rather, couldn't respond, he continued. "I don't see anything here, shall I inspect the other foot?"

His thumb circled lazily on the sensitized skin above my knee, but my mind had cleared, at least partially. The captain had just offered me a choice, and I pounced on the opportunity. "No," I whispered, and took a deep steadying breath, reaching for a confidence I didn't quite feel. "That's the one I injured," I said, even though it wasn't.

He pressed a final kiss to my ankle. "Lucky guess," he murmured, and reached for one of the dainty black sandals he'd left on the desk, gently slipping it into place. I trembled as he laced them up, his fingers tracing a delicate pattern against my skin.

When he picked up the other shoe, and motioned for my neglected right foot, I shook my head. "I think I can manage from here."

His lips curved in a devastatingly handsome smile. "Humor me." And damn it—I did, leaning back to give him access, my head cocked to the left as he repeated the process of lacing the remaining sandal.

When he was finished, he let my leg fall, his hips still cradled against the heat of my core, eyes burning into me, lips full and moist. I cleared my throat, attempting to break the spell he'd woven around me. "Don't we have somewhere to be?"

Disappointment flickered across his features and he stepped back, adjusting the sizeable bulge at the front of his slacks. When he turned away, I slipped off the desk, running a trembling hand over the folds of my dress, trying to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be.

Terrified Asher would see me, I glanced down, subtly checking to see if I'd managed to hide Sasha's case—and very nearly cursed aloud. It was clearly visible from this angle. If the captain looked this way and noticed it...

"Well come along then," he said a moment later, his voice brisk as he headed toward the door. "I guess it is bad form to show up late to a funeral."

I pushed it back with my foot, hoping I could return it to its original position. The captain paused at the door, watching me with raised eyebrows, and I knew I'd taken just a moment too long. I made a show of fiddling with my hair to cover my hesitation, and took a deep steadying breath, hoping I hadn't just been caught in the act. "What will happen to Sasha's body?"

He sighed, and started walking, motioning for me to follow. "She'll be buried with Harper."

Relief surged through me, and I hurried after him. "Oh. That's seems... odd," I said, and sent one final glance over my shoulder. I could still see it, but there was nothing I could do now but hope it would be swallowed by the clutter. "For a slave, I mean."




The Last Tritan Ch. 10



"His request," he said, watching me from the corner of his eye. "And that's privileged information, Mila. Keep it to yourself."

I nodded, my anxiety level plummeting as the bedroom door closed behind us. For now, the gift was safe. As we descended the stairs, I worked to get my emotions under control, and then asked, "If that's a secret, why tell me?"

He shrugged, and opened the front door, ushering me ahead of him. "Because you needed to know she'd have a proper burial."

I blinked back unexpected tears, more affected by the thoughtful gesture than I'd ever admit. "Thank you, captain." It wasn't a proper burial by Tritan standards, but it would have to do.

He laid a hand on the naked skin of my lower back, as Marco pulled up in the captain's sleek, black town car. "Don't thank me yet," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. "Everything comes with a price." And just like that, my unshed tears dried up, burned away by the captain's rampant jackassery.

I glared at him, and shimmied away from his touch. "I'd appreciate it if you informed me the next time you decide to arbitrarily tax me, captain. In some cases, the cost is just too high."

His only response was a deep, masculine chuckle that followed me as I stepped into the vehicle.

*

*

*

Only a few minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Tilcot Manse, which had been transformed into a somber monument to its late owner. Great swaths of black cloth were draped over the three-story building, each one tinted with just a glimmer of gold, while a hundred slaves--also dressed in black--lined both sides of the cobbled walkway. It was an impressive display of wealth and dominance, and I shivered, terrified of what would happen when I was exposed to so many grieving people.

"Why didn't we walk?" I asked as Marco opened the door for the captain, needing to distract myself.

Asher smiled, and exited the vehicle. "Your ignorance is charming Mila."

I rolled my eyes, but followed him out the car. "How does that answer my question?"

"It doesn't." He watched as Marco got back into the driver's seat, and pulled away from the curb. "This is a formal affair," he said with a sigh when we were alone. "And we wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to show off our wealth and status, would we?" I started to speak, to voice my disgust, but something in his demeanor stopped me. "Especially at a funeral," he continued under his breath, and I had the distinct impression the captain was disgusted by the entire affair.

Presumably back from parking the car, Marco sidled up to the captain, and said, "You ready, sir?"

Asher nodded, and started to walk, his long legs setting a pace so rapid, I had to jog to keep up. Which wasn't ideal, given the shoes the captain had made me wear—the formerly dainty straps started digging into the sensitive skin on my feet, and I knew there would soon be blisters if I had to keep this up much longer. And it was a long driveway. But I am nothing, if not stubborn, so I shifted my weight to my toes and picked up a light trot to keep pace, deciding to heal any blisters when I had a moment to myself.

The captain led us to a massive courtyard I'd never been to, lined with row upon row of occupied chairs, the people and furniture all dressed in traditional Caledonian black and gold. Dozens of slaves stood at the ready, patiently waiting beneath a wrap-around balcony supported by thirty or so elegant white pillars. From each of these pillars, hung a basket of exotic flowers, artfully spilling over the edge of their containers, creating the illusion we'd been transported to someplace tropical.

The intended focal point, however, was a carved marble fountain depicting a woman in the throes of passion, her back arched, head thrown back in ecstasy, needlessly pouring a vase of water over her naked chest. But the fountain had been outdone by an enormous casket stamped with the Tilcot coat of arms. It was partially concealed by a neatly folded Caledonian flag, and a truly spectacular cascading flower arrangement.

But before I could process anything, a light breeze filled my head with the heavy scent of countless combined perfumes, and my feet stopped moving of their own accord. There were so many people here, each of them filled with a potent emotional cocktail, each of them tempting me to have just... a little... taste...

"Mila," the captain barked, and I blinked, startled by his proximity.

I took a step back, suddenly feeling the need to flee. "Captain, I can't—"

"Yes you can, pet," he whispered, matching my retreat, his hand darting out to cup the back of my neck. "Because you're going to be focused on me." His thumb stroked my jaw soothingly, causing my face to flush. We were far from alone. "And you're going to tell me if you think you can't handle it, aren't you Mila?"

While the patronizing lilt to his voice immediately rubbed me the wrong way, I couldn't help but wonder if he could help me through this. After all, the very last thing I wanted, was a repeat of the demonstration, and the captain was remarkably good at... distracting me. I hesitated only a moment longer, hating that I had to rely on him for anything. "Yes."

His smile was predatory. "Yes, what Mila?"

"I'll tell you," I hissed. "If I'm about to lose it, and spark another riot."

He pulled me toward him, and my hands instinctively came to rest on his chest as he buried his face in my hair. "You really don't want to test me in public, Mila," he whispered against my ear, and I shivered. "There's appearances to consider after all. Your punishment would have to be particularly... inventive."

I felt the blood rush out of my face. Aside from his usual sexual intensity, the captain was right—while he may tolerate my belligerence in private, it would be colossally stupid to antagonize him in front of his peers, where he would be expected to publicly punish, and humiliate me. I swallowed my pride. "My apologies, sir. You'll be the first to know... if I can't handle it."

"Good girl," he whispered, and his grip tightened for a moment, then he stepped back, and continued walking down the aisle. Several people stopped him to offer their condolences, and Marco excused himself, finding a seat beside Gabe along with several other non-Elites.

Asher graciously thanked his well-wishers, and placed a hand on my lower back, pushing us to the front row. There was a woman sitting in a wheelchair closest to the aisle, her back to us, shoulders shaking with unrestrained sorrow. She was clutching a newborn baby to her chest, whispering soothingly through her tears.

The captain placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and said, "Tyra." When she turned, he embraced her warmly--careful of the infant--and she sobbed into his shirt. I took a second look, surprised by the change in the late general's wife. Or rather, widow. Her face was gaunt, eyes rimmed in red, lips chapped—and yet, her grief did not lessen her beauty, only lent her a fragility that somehow made her more appealing.

"Asher," she choked, and her sorrow beat at me until sympathetic tears formed in my own eyes.

"How is he?" The captain asked, gently pulling away from her to stroke the baby's tiny, bald head.

"Father-less," she replied bitterly, but patted the chair next to her. "But he's been fairly quiet so far. Sleeps most of the time." Asher made a happy sound, and the ghost of a smile spread across her face. "I can't believe they wouldn't let you out to see him! It's barbaric."

"Yes, it's been a rough couple of days, hasn't it?" He asked rhetorically, and seated himself between Tyra and a large Elite I'd never seen before.

A young Priestess knelt at the man's feet, eyes cast down. Seeing her made my blood boil, and I clenched my teeth, knowing now was neither the time, nor the place to voice my opinion about slavery. "What did you end up naming him?" The captain asked, his eyes flicking toward me in warning.

Tyra's smile was watery. "Samuel Harper Tilcot. My mother convinced me he should have his own name, so he wouldn't have to walk in the shadow of his father." She pressed a hand to her mouth and had to master her anguish before she could continue. "So he could be his own man."

"Smart woman," the captain replied quietly. I shifted awkwardly, unsure what I should be doing, as he had taken the last chair.

The motion drew Tyra's eyes to me. "What are you staring at, slave?" She sneered, gently rocking her child.

"I—"

"Mila," the captain interrupted, and pulled a pillow out from beneath his chair. "Kneel." His expression brooked no argument--and for once, I happened to agree--but I couldn't possibly sit between the captain and the general's widow. She was just so full of emotion, her very presence was a temptation I shouldn't be exposed to. My eyes darted her way for an instant as I hesitated, not wanting to be disrespectful at a funeral, but knowing sitting so near a grief stricken widow would be too much for me.

Seeming to understand my dilemma, Asher moved the pillow with his foot, pushing it between himself and the Elite on his left. I knelt hastily, brushing against the other Priestess as I settled myself, and muttered an apology.

The Priestess smiled with tears in her eyes, and I stiffened, waiting for the impact her emotions would have on me. Of course she'd be sad too, Sasha had been her leader, and for the Priestesses, this funeral would be about her, not the general. But my nerves were already strung tight, and I just couldn't deal with her... wait. I frowned, and touched her arm, concentrating on her emotions.

I couldn't sense anything. Her wall. Of course! She was a young Priestess, probably my age or less. She'd have a sturdy wall, and wouldn't have developed the skills to experiment with taking it down at will, as Sasha had. I latched onto her, feeling an icy numbness settle over me like a blanket, reveling in the opportunity not to feel.

"You must be Mila," she whispered, startling me. "I'm Carly. They said you were with..." She coughed, and wiped her eyes. "They said you were with Sasha when she died." I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "Did she... suffer?" I opened my mouth to say yes, to admit her death hadn't been easy, but stopped myself. Was I supposed to lie? "Oh Goddess, I hope she didn't suffer."

"It was quick," I said instead, answering her social cue.

Her Elite started speaking to the man on his left, and she shifted closer to me, her voice audible only to my ears. "I wish we could perform the proper death rights for her, but I heard they'd buried her in an unmarked grave. It's just so sad," she finished, and sniffled pathetically.

Well. Apparently it was decision time. On one hand, I happened to know Carly's information wasn't even remotely accurate, and I'd just been presented with the opportunity to give Sasha a proper Tritan funeral—though I wasn't exactly sure how we could pull it off. But on the other hand, Asher would surely know I'd been the one to tell them...

"Her body is in the casket with the general," I whispered so quietly, I wasn't sure at first if she'd heard me. But after a shocked few seconds, she nodded, ever so slightly, and slowly moved away from me. She waited for the count of thirty, before she leaned forward, and caught the eye of the Priestess kneeling on the left of her Elite, subtly communicating my message.

And so the information spread from one Priestess to another, until the woman farthest from the center stood, presumably feigning the need to use the facilities, walking past the row of Priestesses on the opposite side of the asiel.

I smiled to myself, still doubting they could pull off a Tritan burial for their fallen Head Priestess, but content in knowing I'd done my part. Asher idly stroked my hair as he spoke to Tyra, and an icy frisson of dread slapped the contented smile off my face. Earlier he'd said everything comes with a price, and I had a sneaking suspicion I'd pay dearly for divulging what I knew about the general's casket...

The lieutenant general entered the courtyard from the opposite end, causing a hush to spread through the crowd of grievers. He cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping around the gathered people, seeming to make eye contact with each and every person present. Lastly, his eyes settled on Tyra and the captain, before he began to speak, "We are gathered here today, to say farewell to a great man. General Harper Tilcot—" Tyra cried out, heart-wrenching sobs shaking her frame as she desperately clutched her infant to her chest. "He leaves behind a beautiful wife, and newborn son..."

My ears started buzzing—Tyra's anguish was eclipsing the strength I was stealing from Carly, breaking through my borrowed wall and seeping through the cracks. The captain's hand tightened on my neck, and he pulled me toward him, encouraging me to lean against his leg for support. I concentrated on breathing through my nose, trying to block Tyra out and focus on the captain.

He was sad, yes, but it was closer to regret, and I found myself wondering what had happened between the two cousins. Harper had been much older than Asher--probably late forties--and I couldn't imagine them growing up together with such an age gap. But maybe Asher had looked up to his older, ambitious cousin who hadn't given him the time of day... or maybe something more sinister had happened?

What if Asher had been in love with Tyra--they certainly seemed to know each other well enough--but the general had swept her off her feet, needing a young wife to bear his children? Judging by the way Carina had started sniffing around the moment Asher had acquired a Priestess, it was probably safe to assume Tyra could have ditched the captain in favor of his older, more powerful cousin...

I continued to amuse myself as the lieutenant general droned on and on, and then the next man spoke, and the next, until the captain was stroking my hair and whispering, "Almost finished, Mila. It's almost over."

I sighed, and adjusted my knees, which were beginning to ache from holding one position for so long, when Carly caught my eye. She nodded sharply as the present speaker informed the crowd, "The slaves will be bringing refreshments around momentarily, please feel free to enjoy the courtyard and—"

A delicate power surged through the air, and the Priestesses began to hum as one. Baffled, I watched in awe, as the casket adorned with the Caledonian flag, and flowers started to smoke. For a long moment, it seemed nothing more would happen, and they wouldn't be able to pull it off. But then flames burst through the wood--almost too bright to watch--as they consumed the casket in a blaze of glory.

A Tritan burial. Tears spilled over my lashes as I stared into the flames, sure that for an instant, I'd seen the bodies of two entwined lovers before the fire reached a new level of intensity, and it really was too bright to watch. I shouldn't have been able to stand so close, but there was no heat—no doubt another gift from the Priestesses. And with every ounce of fuel depleted in a matter of seconds, the flames hissed and spit, then died out, leaving behind nothing but ashes, the shocked faces of the Caledonians, and the mournful song of the Priestesses.

Without uttering a sound, Tyra slumped in her wheelchair, unconscious. Asher managed to catch the baby before he tumbled out of the limp hands of his mother, but only just. White-lipped with fury, the lieutenant general reclaimed the podium, dragging his Priestess behind him by the scruff of her neck.

"I want every man who owns a Priestess in the dining room right now." His eyes burned into the bowed heads of the women in question, until they came to rest on me, as I was still watching the proceedings with wide, shocked eyes. Quickly, so as not to draw his wrath upon myself, I bowed my head, and tried my best to shrink into the ground. "And bring them with you, gentlemen."

The crowd started muttering, their shock and outrage beginning to rise as the Priestesses stood, eyes cast down, calmly awaiting their punishment. Asher's hand came to rest on the back of my neck, adding just a little more pressure than necessary. "Marco," he said, handing the baby off to his subordinate. "Please get Tyra and Samuel settled. I expect this meeting is going to be rather long. Don't wait up."

"Yes sir," Marco replied, and turned to do as he was asked, without so much as looking at me.

"Walk," the captain snapped, propelling me forward, his anger so heavy, I could taste it. I did as I was told.

"So," the lieutenant general said in a deadly calm voice when we were all tightly packed into the large dining room. "Which one of you started it?"

Silence dominated for a moment as the Priestess shifted nervously. It seemed no one was eager to be punished for this, assuming it was probably going to be rather severe... we did burn the body of a general, after all. But what we'd done for Sasha had been right, and I wasn't ashamed of it.

I stepped forward. "I did."

From the corner of my eye, I saw the captain stumble forward, his handsome face pale. It didn't matter. I'd already decided to take the blame for this, and though my punishment would surely be harsh, it was my decision to make. Slaves didn't make their own choices, after all.

"Ah, yes," the lieutenant general drawled, and seized my jaw in his large hand. He stroked the side of my face with his thumb, and I wrenched my head free of his grasp, lip curling in disgust. "The wild priestess. Still not quite broken in, is she Captain Rawlings?"

"No sir," the captain said in a quiet voice, arms crossed over his chest, knuckles white.

Without looking Asher's way, the lieutenant general chuckled. "Would you like me to take over her training?"

"No sir."

"Are you sure, captain? It certainly doesn't seem like you're—"

"She's lying," Carly shouted, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. "I started it."

The lieutenant general rolled his eyes. "Did you now? Somehow I find that hard to believe."

Carly folded her hands behind her back, and looked Lieutenant General Hastings straight in the eye. "It's true, sir. I overheard a conversation between you and the Advisor, and learned the Head Priestess was going to be buried with General Tilcot. I just couldn't let it happen."

"Oh really?" He sneered.

"I was there too," said a new voice from the back. "I overheard the same conversation."

"Me too!"

"So did I!"

"We were there too!"

A ripple of nervous energy passed through the Elites, and a victorious smile spread slowly across my face. We may still be slaves, but we had power—and numbers. Perhaps all hope wasn't lost...

A slow clapping shook me from my fantasy of leading the Priestesses to freedom. "That's it, huh? You're sticking your story?" Silence. "Fine. How should we handle this gentlemen? Publically? Privately?"

"I think anything other than a public punishment will be met with outrage," said an unusually short Elite at the front of the crowd. A murmur of agreement swept through them, but Asher's eyes remained fixed on me, his face an expressionless mask.

"Kill them all!" Tyra shrieked from the door, accompanied by a distressed Marco holding her arm. The infant, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.

"Mrs. Tilcot, please. This is a private meeting, so if you'll—"

"This is my house Killion! You can't tell me what to do in my own house!"

The lieutenant general--Killion--took a tentative step toward the hysterical woman. "Tyra, you need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down," she snapped, spittle flying from her lips. "What I need, Killion, is to see these ungrateful little bitches dead. Every single one of them."




The Last Tritan Ch. 10



He reached out to her. "Tyra—"

"No!" She screamed, and slapped his hand away. "Sasha killed him, you know she did! After everything he did for the little whore. And now his son will grow up without a father." Her breath was coming in heavy pants, her skin taking on a waxy sheen. "You asked me what you could do to make it better, Killion? That's it," she said, pointing a trembling arm in the general direction of the Priestesses. But her eyes locked onto mine. "I want blood."

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Ok, my beautiful little crazynoodles! It's time to vote and comment, because I wrote most of this chapter while under the influence of heavy narcotics, and it had to make several trips to beta and editing land before it became the product you saw here!! And you already know how sulky I get if you guys don't shower me in love and affection. Come on now! A girl needs her weekly dose of stranger danger, direct to the vein. So hook me up, people. Don't be shy. ;)

And now we wait for chapter 11! If you follow me on Facebook and Twitter (WaterBurnXx), you'll know that I'm pretty amped up to write this next chapter, so hopefully it won't be such a long wait between now and then! But no promises... especially if you don't vote and comment. I've been known to hold a mean grudge.

WaterBurnXx



The Last Tritan Ch. 11



Welcome back! I'm sorry this took longer than I thought it would (getting of hearing that yet??) I just wanted to quickly thank my team (FA_JF, LBGrant, Jennyb2492, and SP... in no particular order). I'm so dependant on these ladies that it wouldn't be out of the question for them to list me on their tax forms...

And without further adoooooooo..... Chapter 11!!

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"I want blood."

A chilling silence filled the room for the space of three heart beats—and then, Lieutenant General Killion Hastings started to laugh, his mirth cruel and unforgiving in light of the tension in the room. "Don't be absurd Tyra. Losing a single Priestess is a tragedy." He stroked a single, long finger down her cheek. "I won't entertain the thought of voluntarily killing any of them, regardless of the crimes they commit."

"How can you say that?" she cried, clutching at his formal jacket with desperate fingers. "Murder is an offense punishable by—"

"You've had a terribly difficult day, Tyra," he soothed, and turned to face the Elites. "There's absolutely no proof the late Head Priestess killed anyone. And as far as I can tell, the whole mess was a terrible accident."

"An accident!"

"Well of course it was, you foolish woman. His weapon must have misfired." He paused to chuckle, making pointed eye contact with several Elites who happened to know the opposite to be true. My Chains sprang to life, my jaw snapping closed as the captain prevented me from speaking. "Priestesses simply don't have offensive capabilities. It's what makes them such perfect counterparts to our own gifts."

"Killion I swear to—"

Again, he interrupted her with an abrupt wave of his hand. "You're in shock my dear Mrs. Tilcot, and I think it's past time that you get some rest." He nodded at Marco who approached warily, the distinct outline of a handprint raised on his cheek.

"Get your filthy hands off me!" she screeched, taking a clumsy swing at Marco's face. He easily caught her wrist and wrapped his arms around her, grimacing as she wailed at the top of her voice. "This isn't over, Killion," she declared, filling my head with the rage of a lunatic.

"I'll make arrangements to meet with you in private," he replied, seeming to misinterpret the meaning of her words. She began uttering a string of horrific curses as Marco literally dragged her from the room. The lieutenant general continued speaking as if he hadn't noticed her rather unladylike outburst. "That will be all Mrs. Tilcot."

Frozen by the Chains, I watched as they left but couldn't repress the uneasy tingle as it ran down my spine—there was a woman with an agenda, if I'd ever seen one. And it appeared the Elites were developing a nasty habit of discounting what a woman was capable of, regardless if she happened to be Caledonian or not. Normally, I'd be thrilled Tyra's eyes were filled with murder and I'd try to bend it to my will. But this felt... dangerous, in a way I'd never encountered. If a Mountain Lion was stalking you through the forest, it wasn't malicious, nor was it personal. The big cat was merely hungry, and you probably looked and smelled a lot like dinner. But Tyra had been frothing at the mouth, possessed by a rage that entirely bypassed rational thought and went straight to bloodthirsty maniac. And she'd been looking directly at me.

"Now," the lieutenant general said, stopping in front of the gathered Priestesses. "What are we going to do with the lot of you? Killing you obviously isn't an option." Carly placed a delicate, comforting hand on my arm, but I flinched away, ever uncomfortable with the contact others seemed to crave.

"I'd imagine anything other than a public punishment will be met with outrage," said an Elite located at the back of the room.

"Yes, but there's our reputation to consider!" This, from a man standing directly in front of me, his eyes glued to Carly's beautiful face. "A public punishment would give the impression that we aren't in complete control of our slaves."

Colonel Viridien snorted. "We can't have that, now can we?"

"No, Conrad, we certainly cannot." The lieutenant general began pacing, his arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed in concentration. "Appearances are everything these days."

"And what of the public opinion, sir?" asked the same man from the back of the room. "This is starting to feel a lot like rebellion."

The lieutenant general stopped and turned to face the dozen or so Elites gathered before him. "And I won't push things further by creating a spectacle of our Priestesses. Are we not the ruling class of the great and powerful Caledonia? Don't the citizens follow the rules we lay out, or suffer the consequences we decide upon?" He paused to survey his Elites, a confident tilt upon his lips. "We were born with the power of rule, gentlemen, and as such, each of you shall decide upon an appropriate punishment for your slaves. The day someone tells me how I should punish my disrespectful slave is a dark day indeed." He gestured at an older Priestess, who immediately separated herself from the crowd. "But I want a detailed report of their punishment on my desk by the end of the week. Dismissed."

The Elites stepped forward, each man claiming his Priestess before they evacuated the room—no doubt the Caledonian dogs were excited at the prospect of punishing their slaves.

Asher's hand settled on my forearm, his expression stony. "Come along Mila. You and I are going to have a little conversation." I nodded, and swallowed hard. I'd put myself in this position, and knew there would be consequences for my actions. But I still wasn't sorry. He guided me to the front door, his hand unforgiving on my shoulder.

"Hold on, Captain Rawlings," the lieutenant general called in his hypnotic voice. "We've got a meeting."

"Ah, yes. I forgot. My apologies," Asher said, spinning me around, his grip tightening unconsciously on my shoulder.

"Not to worry, it's been a rather dramatic evening, hasn't it?"

Colonel Viridian chuckled. "Now that's an understatement."

"Have a seat," the lieutenant general said, motioning at a large dining room table. The captain didn't hesitate to pull out a chair and sit down—but I did. While seating myself at the table as an equal would be a good opportunity to turn my nose up at their stupid cultural rules, I couldn't help wondering if I'd already pushed my luck too far today? Shouldn't I remain standing quietly behind the captain, like a good little slave?

But then again, what did I have to lose? I was already in trouble for my part in the funeral pyre and was presumably about to be interrogated for any information I might have about the late Head Priestesses' motivations for killing the general.

I sat.

"Mila," the captain hissed, his anger clear in the hard line of his mouth.

"Well aren't you a bold little thing? No, Captain Rawlings, she's fine," the lieutenant general said, waiving the captain off and taking a seat directly across from me. "I have a few questions for you, Priestess." I stared back at him, trying to keep my Empathy in check while bracing for hard questions I couldn't answer. "You spent a lot of time with Sasha before her death, correct?"

I ground my teeth. "Yes."

He smiled, and touched my hand, which I promptly jerked away. "I'm very sorry for your loss. Her death must have been a terrible shock for you, especially considering the stress you're under... er... adjusting to your new life." While his tone spoke of understanding and patience, I was immediately suspicious, refusing to be wooed by his sympathies—this was nothing more than a ploy to gain my confidence. But what if I played along? What if I let the lieutenant general see my fear and think he had me cornered?

Tears pooled in my eyes. "I just can't believe she's gone," I replied in a quiet voice, allowing thoughts of Sasha fill my head. "And the general's wife blaming her for everything... it just doesn't make sense." I sniffled, and wiped at my eyes, fixing my gaze on my lap.

"Tyra's got a rough road ahead of her," the lieutenant general soothed. "And this is just protocol, you see, but I have to ask if there might be some truth behind Tyra's words?"

My eyes flew to his and I blinked, tilting my head to the side. "Truth, sir?"

"Did Sasha tell you how she did it? Killed the general, that is." My mind raced, as I tried to remember what I might have said while semi-conscious after the riot. A good lie was based on truth and consistency, after all, and I needed to do this right. My hesitation prompted the lieutenant general to continue, tenting his fingers beneath his chin. "I realize you're the last person who'd want to help us, after everything you've been through, but just think what this could mean for your fellow Priestesses. Think of the history and knowledge that would be lost to future generations if your sisters learned to do what Sasha did."

The history that would be lost? How about the years of war and slavery the Caledonians had inflicted on this continent, the cultures they'd destroyed and the lives they'd ruined? He sure wasn't making it easy to play the terrified, compliant slave. "She..." I scrunched my nose in concentration, worrying my lower lip, the very picture of youthful innocence. "She mentioned something about a wall. But I don't know what she was talking about. And she... she died before I could ask her." I choked back a sob, and hid my face behind trembling hands... to conceal dry eyes.

"Breathe pet," the captain murmured soothingly, stroking the back of my neck, portraying the outward appearance of 'concerned Master'—while his suspicion beat at me like a drum. It seemed he wasn't fooled by my innocent act, though for now, he was content to play along.

"Did Sasha give you anything before she... passed on? Something to help with your training, perhaps?" The lieutenant general's voice was as gentle as a summer breeze and I had to repress the urge to giggle. We'd arrived at the purpose for this interrogation rather abruptly, and he hadn't bothered to sugar-coat his question past, 'befriend crying female.'

"No sir," I whispered, and twisted my hands in my lap, looking to the captain for reassurance. "Why would she give me anything? I'd only spent a few hours with her in total. Surely not enough time to make any sort of lasting impression."

The lieutenant general frowned and the captain squeezed the back of my neck in warning. Perhaps I was laying it on a little thick... "It may be as insignificant as a slip of paper, or an item she wanted you to have. Think Mila, you need to be sure. The lives of your fellow Priestesses depend on it."

I found his doomsday tone comical but I swallowed my pithy retort for the sake of the unopened box I had stashed beneath the captain's desk. "No sir. I haven't seen any gift from Sasha."

He regarded me for a moment longer, his dark eyes trying to see past my simpering exterior, seeking the wild Priestess he'd no doubt heard rumors about. I lowered my eyes and leaned into the captain's shoulder—my best impression of submission. "Very well, Mila. Your cooperation has been most welcome, if a little unexpected," he said and produced a manila file, unfolding it on the table before him. "Now, Captain Rawlings. I'm merely filling in until the Capital send a new general north," he paused, eyes dancing over the words before him. "But from what I see, you've got a rather impressive record with both the Northern and Western branches."

Asher nodded slowly, confusion scrawled across his handsome face. "I spent six months in the West before I was sent North, sir."

The lieutenant general's eyebrows rose and he regarded the file before him again. "That's no small feat, son. The Empire thanks you for your dedication, I'm sure. But..." His flicked toward me and he continued to read from the file. "What am I reading here? You're unable to use your weapons without harming your Priestess? Can you explain this?"

The captain cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. "Yes sir, that's why she was being trained by the Head Priestess." He stroked my hair, conscious of the elegant coil cascading over my shoulder. "From my understanding, Mila's gifts went unnoticed before Tritan fell." While that wasn't entirely true, I held my tongue, not wanting to acknowledge my father's possibly selfish political ambitions. "And then she spent five years on the run, where I imagine learning to control her gifts was secondary to causing as much trouble as possible for the slavers."

"Ah yes, we heard about the Wood's Menace, even in the Capital." I seethed as the men laughed—I'd lost count of the refugees whom I'd given a second chance, and the slavers I'd incapacitated in the process. None of them had been laughing after I'd finished with them.

"Sasha had expressed concern that Mila wouldn't be able to handle the strain of battle," Asher replied, and I nearly choked on a hysterical laugh. 'The strain of battle' indeed! I'd nearly died when he'd taken a shot at the rebels... but if Asher had some reason to make light of my condition, who was I to stop him?

"Forgive my ignorance, but what you're describing bares a rather striking resemblance to the way Sasha herself died."

"Except for the fact that Sasha was the most gifted Priestess we had, sir," Asher countered. "I'd imagine she knew things the other Priestesses could only begin to imagine."

The lieutenant general cursed. "We don't have nearly enough information to be sure about any of this!"

"And the only one who could have answered our questions, killed herself," the colonel said, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun.

The Elites were silent for a few minutes, each man considering the situation as I wondered idly why they didn't seem concerned with divulging their secrets in front of me. I'd repeatedly demonstrated my willingness to fight their system, at any cost. I chalked it up to arrogance and hoped it would be the key to their downfall. "Anyway captain," the lieutenant general continued. "There isn't exactly a place for an... impotent Elite at the forefront of battle. You'd be a liability," he said kindly, closing the file. "It pains me to say it, especially considering your exemplary record, but unless something has changed over the last few days, your services might be more useful back in the capital."

Asher smirked and activated my Chains, forcing my jaws closed. "And if I told you Mila was able to learn enough of the basics before Sasha's death, sir?"

"Well, that would change everything captain," the lieutenant general replied, leaning forward with interest, apparently failing to notice the way my veins pulsed with molten gold.

"The simple fact that Mila is still breathing, is testimony enough that she's learned to protect herself."

"Oh?"

The captain looked to me, his lips twitching as I used my Empathy to send him a wave of cold fury. "She was with Sasha when she died, sir, and we made it through the riot mostly unscathed."

"You fired your weapon?" the lieutenant asked sharply.

Sensing danger, Asher bowed his head in sadness. "I did." Of course, I couldn't be sure of anything that had happened during the chaos of the riot, but I was reasonably certain the captain wouldn't have dared to fire a shot. Not with me clinging to life by a thread, and not after he'd nearly died himself to separate me from Sasha's flickering spirit. Asher was lying.

The lieutenant general sighed, crossing his hands over his chest. "Well, that can't be helped now can it? At least we can assume you can use your weapons without fear, correct?" Asher nodded, a smile curving his full lips. "Then this is welcome news!" He reopened the file and began scribbling as fast as he could, excitement pouring off him in waves. "It's far easier to promote from within the ranks than it is to bring someone in, after all. You've got intimate knowledge of the territory and the loyalty of your men. Invaluable, really."

The captain sat forward, eyes gleaming. "What are you saying sir?"

Colonel Viridian smiled and said, "There's been a recent opening in the ranks, hasn't there? And our Elite force is limited by the availability of the men."

"How does Major Asher Rawlings sound to you?" the lieutenant general asked, a confident smile on his face.

The captain--or rather, major--stood, his hand extended. "It sounds amazing, sir. Thank you."

They shook hands. "Fantastic! Then it's settled. There will be a brief ceremony tomorrow to make it official, where the Curator will present both you and Colonel Viridian with the badges of your new rank, and then we'll celebrate with dinner."

"Ah, colonel," Asher said in a warm voice. "Am I to understand congratulations are in order for you as well?"

The colonel smiled, and took Asher's offered hand. "As of tomorrow, it will be Brigadier General Viridian to you, son."

"And I won't soon forget it," Asher quipped, slapping his superior on the shoulder.

The lieutenant general stood, and headed toward the door. "That will be all for today, gentlemen." He returned their salutes. "I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and don't forget about that report. We wouldn't want our Priestesses getting the idea they can get away with a stunt like that, would we?"

"No sir, we certainly wouldn't," the soon-to-be major replied, his eyes burning into me.

The colonel smirked and rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Yes, about that. I'd better collect my girl." He left the room without looking back.

Asher released me from the Chains as soon as we were alone, standing directly behind me. "So," he said, and pulled my chair back from the table. "You're quite the accomplished little liar, aren't you pet?"

"Speak for yourself," I snapped, shaking off his touch. "And will you stop calling me that?" He pulled me to him, pressing his groin into my backside. "Why are you complaining anyway? I got us out of trouble,and you got a promotion because of it. You should be thanking me captain."

He snorted. "You got yourself into trouble Mila. And it's major now, didn't you hear?" he asked, placing his hand on my shoulder and guiding me toward the door.

"It's not official until tomorrow," I retorted, and pushed the door open, hesitating when we entered a hall I'd never seen before. Tyra was still roaming these halls after all, and the look in her eyes was not something I'd soon forget.

"The ceremony is only a formality."

"Well, either way I don't envy you, major."

He turned to the right, opened yet another door and ushered me through it. "Oh? Considering the trouble you're in right now, please Mila, do explain."

I swallowed the sudden urge to run from him as fast as I could and said, "I don't recall telling you I'd learned to protect myself."

"And yet my logic stands. You survived Sasha's death and the riot, my dear. It appears the late Head Priestess' fears were unfounded."

"That's a bold assumption, considering it could very well mean both of our lives if you're wrong." In spite of my ominous words, a half-smile curved my lips and I turned my head to face him, still moving through the mansion. "Sasha's last act, Major Rawlings," I said, and touched his chest. "Was to shield me from her death."

"What are you saying?"

"Just that I'm a hopelessly terrible Priestess. I think Sasha used the word, 'abysmal', but I don't know for sure."

He frowned, and captured my wrist, halting our progress. "Are you forgetting I was there beside you, Mila? I know how close you came to following her." He touched my lips, causing my heart to hammer traitorously in my chest. "It was me who dragged you back from the brink, my wild little Priestess. And I can do it again."

I tried to pull away, knowing I was losing this confrontation. His grip only tightened. "Are you willing to bet your life on something so intangible?"




The Last Tritan Ch. 11



He shrugged. "I already have. Besides, we've got some time before the fighting resumes. There's a customary grief period after the death of a general."

"Fine," I muttered, frustrated. "Stall all you want. It's your funeral."

"Oh Mila," he whispered, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Do you really want to have this conversation right now?"

I gasped, sensing an odd combination of lust and anger pouring off him. "W-what conversation?"

His hand circled the back of my neck, his thumb trailing along my jaw. In spite of the seemingly tender caress, I shivered, as helpless as a snared rabbit. "I know you were the one who started the fire."

A sharp bark of laughter burst from my lips. "I did not."

"Maybe, but at the very least, you were the one to divulge the whereabouts of her body." I sighed. There was no sense in denying it--I'd accepted I'd be facing a harsh punishment before I'd spilled the beans to Carly--so I said nothing, dropping my eyes in defeat. "That's what I thought," he said, and resumed guiding me out of the building.

He was quiet as we began the short walk back to his house and I followed along meekly, not wanting to push his temper further. I knew every step I took brought me closer to a turning point—toward what, I didn't know. But I could feel it as surely as I could feel the sun on my back and the tight straps of my dainty sandals cutting into my feet. Sure, Asher was angry--I'd done my absolute best to piss him off since he'd bound me--but there was something else there too. Was he frustrated with me? I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

I rolled my eyes, keenly aware I was spending too much time inside his head. "I wasn't always like this, you know," I said out of the blue, feeling an inexplicable urge to explain my actions.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "A belligerent pain in the ass?"

I grimaced and fought to suppress a laugh. "I'm still not sorry."

"You have a thing with apologies, don't you?"

"Why would I apologize if I don't mean it? I was able to give Sasha a proper Tritan burial, and I don't regret it." A slight smile curved my lips. "I'd do it again, if given the chance."

"Even though you and the rest of the Priestesses are going to be punished for it?"

I shrugged. "Even then."

He grinned, the look in his eye making me think of a dangerous predator. "I bet I could come up with something to change your opinion."

"I'm sure you could," I conceded. "But being truly sorry for your actions is totally different than being forced to regret them."

He laughed then, though it wasn't the humorless chuckle I'd come to expect from him but a deep, masculine sound that sent goosebumps racing down the back of my neck. "Come on Mila, because of you, I have a detailed report to finish by tomorrow. Shouldn't you at least feel bad about it?"

"Right," I drawled, crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously. "I'm sure you're going to absolutely hate that."

"Hm," he groaned, and placed his hand on my shoulder, the gentle squeeze making my feet falter. "Was that sarcasm, my little lunatic? Don't you think you're in enough trouble, or do you feel like pushing your luck?"

"And here I was, assuming my feelings didn't matter." Chuckling, he moved to walk beside me leaving his hand on the back of my neck, and I watched him discretely from the corner of my eye. "You don't seem all that angry," I said cautiously, not wanting things to be different, but curious about his sense of calm all the same. "Especially considering my efforts."

"Honey, I'm so far past mad it's almost funny."

"Oh good," I replied and exhaled theatrically. "Then perhaps you'd consider not punishing me? I'd even be willing to help you forge your report as payment."

"Careful Mila," he crooned. "You probably don't want to start making deals. Especially ones you can't afford."

He guided me up the steps to his town house, letting his hand wander over my exposed skin. "I literally don't have a response for that."

"That's probably for the best. You're remarkably good at making things worse for yourself."

Asher pushed me toward the stairs, his excitement for what was to come next nearly drowning my anxiety. "Can we postpone whatever horror you've cooked up? I'm starving."

"You're always hungry," he replied, but hustled me up the stairs regardless.

I clutched at the railing, dread making my heart pound heavily in my chest. "Oh please, it's been hours since I ate!"

"I'm sure I can fill you up," he teased and swatted my bottom, surprising me enough to make me loosen my grip on the railing. Seconds later, we were standing before his bedroom door, and Major Asher Rawlings motioned for me to enter with an extravagant flourish. "Mila. After you," he drawled, but the lecherous gleam in his eyes betrayed him—if Asher was a proper gentleman, then I was a refined lady and Mountain Lions had collectively decided to become vegetarians. Since the latter was far more likely than the former, I flashed him a rude gesture and crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to enter the room.

I'd tried my absolute best to prepare myself for whatever punishment he came up with but as the moment drew ever closer, I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my spine. My heart beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and for an eternity, I remained frozen outside the door, either unable or unwilling to cross the threshold and voluntarily meet my doom... That is, until I noticed the state of Asher's bedroom.

Gone were the stacks of dirty dishes, the piles of laundry, and the empty bottles of wine. The window had been thrown open, allowing a refreshing breeze to chase away stale air as the evening sun illuminated the deep color of Asher's handsome desk. The bed had been dressed in clean sheets--which were expertly folded down, of course--and a platter piled high with food waited on the bedside table.

However, my attention hadn't been caught by the impressive and extensive amount of work someone had obviously done while we'd been at the funeral. No, my blood had gone cold as my gaze came to rest on the battered, leather case with tarnished buckles sitting on top of the desk. In plain sight. Romantically illuminated by a dusty shaft of sunlight which drew the eye directly toward it. Sasha's gift.

"Holy crap," I said, and stumbled forward without thinking, fingers itching to snatch the case.

"Yes, Beau's talents are rather impressive, aren't they?" he asked, misinterpreting my expletive and closing the door behind him with a soft snap.

I spun, trying to use my body to block his line of sight. "So, about this punishment," I said, walking backward until I connected with the unmistakable silky texture of polished wood.

He watched me with a curious frown, slowly unbuttoning his formal jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Surely you're not hoping you can talk your way out of it?"

Moving slowly in an attempt to keep my actions natural, I searched the desktop with shaking fingers. "Of course not," I replied, blindly finding all sorts of things that were not Sasha's case. "That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?"

"Quite," he replied, and took three large steps toward me, coming to a halt mere inches from my chest. Towering over me, his dark eyes roamed my face, coming to rest on my lips. His head dipped forward and my breath hitched—if kissing me would keep him distracted long enough to get him away from the case... well. I'd have to suffer through it.

The heat of his body seeped through the thin material of my dress--though he had yet to lay a hand on me--and my eyes fluttered closed in preparation of his lips on mine. I sensed him shift closer still and my head tilted back ever so slightly, lips parting of their own accord.

His arm brushed past me and I heard the distinct clink of glass on glass. "Are you all right, Mila?" he asked, collecting his decanter and a short tumbler from which to drink. "You looked a little flushed, darling."

My breath hissed through clenched teeth and I suppressed the urge to put as much distance as possible between us, conscious of Sasha's gift. Rather than tell him I was fine--which was obviously not the case--I eyed the amber liquid as it filled his glass. "Does that help?"

He placed the decanter on the desk behind me, allowing his chest to press against mine for a moment. Without breaking eye contact, he took a long, slow swallow, and shrugged. "It depends on the ailment."

"Stress?"

"Temporarily."

I nodded, and took the glass from his hand, ignoring the way our fingers touched as I put it to my lips and drained the remaining liquid in a single swallow. "Ugh." I shuddered as it burned all the way to my stomach, pressing a hand to my lips in an attempt to hide a disgusted grimace.

"Please, help yourself," he chuckled, and retrieved another glass. "So, what's got you all stressed out Mila?"

"It's no great mystery Mr. Rawlings." I prodded his muscular chest with my finger. "But if you must know, it's probably got something to do with the man who's currently violating my personal space."

He poured me another drink. "Oh, I'm positive he hasn't even begun to violate your personal space."

I couldn't help myself—I giggled, knowing I was bordering the space between 'completely hysterical' and 'raving mad.' I took a calming breath and pressed the cool glass to my lips before speaking. "I think I understand what you meant. After a certain point, it just becomes funny, doesn't it?"

"Which?"

I swirled the amber liquid and said, "Life." My breath hitched, and quite suddenly I was trying my best not to cry. "I'm just so..." Another burning sip in an effort to banish the dark cloud swirling above my head.

"Oh come on pet, your punishment won't be that bad. You might even enjoy it," he quipped, and brushed a lock of silvery Tritan hair behind my ear. "What's got you all hot and bothered?"

While his words were crude, his actions compelled me to continue speaking. "It's Sasha..." I trailed off, struggling to master my emotions. "I'm just so..."

He swallowed and licked his lips. "Sad?"

Our eyes met. "Angry."

A frowned marred his attractive features and he tossed back the contents of his glass. "I don't understand. I thought you liked Sasha?"

I wrapped my arms around my torso as tight as I could, trying to keep my emotions bottled. "I did. Of course I did." I licked my lips, struggling to find the right words.

"Forgive me Mila, but the female mind is a complex and dangerous—"

"She abandoned me!" I cried, cutting him off. "She left me to deal with all of this—" My arms swept in a wide arc, encompassing his body. "Alone." Frustrated tears pooled in my eyes, blurring his face.

Asher sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sasha made her choice."

"It was the wrong one!" I cried, and regretted it the moment the words were out of my mouth. To his credit, Asher merely waited for me to continue, eyebrows raised. "I... I mean, obviously I don't know what this life was like for her... I just can't believe killing herself was the only thing she could think of... Stop looking at me like that!" I groaned and twisted my fingers. "Don't you think I know how... how selfish this sounds?"

He rubbed my arms, both warming me and making goose bumps race across my skin. "It's okay to be angry Mila," he murmured, his voice low and calming.

"No! You don't get to comfort me," I snapped, suppressing the urge to anxiously pace around the room. I glared at him, but my righteous anger couldn't withstand the intensity in his eyes, and my gaze dropped to the floor. "You're right," I acknowledged, picking at my cuticles. "I'm being a lunatic... and this—" I gestured at myself. "This isn't me. I'm usually not so... petulant." A tear slid down my cheek and I scrubbed it away with the heel of my hand. "I just feel like... like she betrayed me... and our people, by giving up. Like we weren't worth fighting for."

"Mila," he murmured and tilted my face back, making eye contact before I could twist my head away uncomfortably. "You missed most of the war while you were living in the trees." He wiped at my cheek with his thumb. "It didn't go well for your people."

"That doesn't mean you just give up! If anything, that means you should fight harder. Fight for vengeance."

He ignored me. "Sasha did a lot of good for Tritan slaves, Mila." He took another long draft, swallowing the fiery liquid without so much as a grimace. "But she had the unfortunate luck to fall in love with Harper Tilcot, and frankly, I don't blame her for seeking such a dramatic exit."

We lapsed into silence for a moment, still standing close enough that his knees could brush mine if I moved in any direction. "How am I supposed to do this alone?" I whispered, feeling remarkably light headed.

"I take it you're talking about destroying The Program?"

"I was going to say 'finish my training'. Why would you—"

He chuckled and finished his drink. "You could use a lesson in subtly, Mila." He refilled our glasses. "As soon as you learned about The Program, I knew you'd be plotting ways to put an end to it."

"What makes you think that?" I asked in an unnaturally high voice, and took another sip to conceal my heated face.

He snorted and continued speaking as if I hadn't asked such a silly question. "I can only assume you told the other Priestesses about Sasha's final resting place, because you were hoping to get me, and therefore us, sent back to the Capital?"

I coughed—that was a good plan, and I wished I'd been the one to come up with it. But why ruin his high opinion of me? "Of course," I said, and looked away. "But then why tell me in the first place? I'm obviously not trustworthy."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, and paused for a moment, regarding me thoughtfully. "Maybe I wanted something dramatic to happen."

"Seems awfully risky," I replied, swirling my drink. "It almost backfired, didn't it?"

He laughed, and stroked the side of my face, the warmth of his hand causing a shiver to race through my blood. "If all of your little plans end up with me getting a promotion, by all means, scheme away darling."

I rolled my eyes and took a sip, now finding it remarkably easy to swallow the potent liquor. "I can promise you, that was not my intent."

Asher shrugged and regarded me with over bright eyes—it seemed I was not the only one feeling the effects of drinking on an empty stomach. "Tell me Mila, what would you have done if we had been sent to the Capital?"

"I'd have figured something out," I replied with a coy smile, and drained my glass.

"Oh really? Do you have any idea what it's like for slaves in the Capital?"

"Of course I don't. I've never been there."

"Your particular brand of obedience wouldn't be tolerated. I'd have to break you," he said, and touched my lips.

His finger lingered for a moment and I shivered under his heated gaze. "It wasn't so long ago you were promising to break me," I replied, proud that my voice did not waiver in spite of his proximity.

"What can I say? I find your resilience..." He took a deep breath through his nose and said, "Intoxicating."

I laughed, and pushed at his chest playfully. "Oh come on Asher, that's probably just the alcohol speaking."

"Ah," he groaned. "And there's my name on your lips. I was wondering when you'd slip up."

I gasped, and took a defensive step back, bumping into the desk. "What? No I didn't..." But had I? My lips were tingling and I had an insane urge to lean into his touch as it slid down my arm. When the hell had his touch gone from hated to... expected?

He licked his lips and took a half step toward me, his arousal bumping my stomach. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes issuing a challenge he did not need to voice. But I'd been cornered--expertly, in fact, though he probably didn't realize my predicament--and I could no longer afford to feign indifference. No, the consequences of denying him now, could leave the contents of Sasha's gift forever out of my reach. I couldn't allow that to happen—not while I held the power to distract him.

Seeking a courage I did not feel, I tossed back the remainder of my drink, and placed a trembling hand on his chest, marveling at the heat pouring off him. He set our empty glasses on the table, allowing his free hand to snake into the elegant coil at my nape, dragging me closer to him. With a groan he tilted my head back, cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine, kissing me with the unrestrained passion I'd come to expect from him.

I surprised myself by tentatively kissing him back, feeling my lips move against his as if I'd had years of experience, not a few days. He smiled against me, breath warm and spicy as a giddy excitement danced in the air between us. He slid his hands down my spine and gripped my bottom with both hands, grinding his erection into me. I gasped and he lifted me onto the desk, stepping smoothly between my spread thighs.

To brace myself, I leaned back—and my hand landed firmly on top of the case, a startling reminder of the precarious position I was currently in. Asher deepened the kiss, his tongue darting into my mouth as one hand cupped the back of my neck and the other remained firmly planted on my lower back. I groaned and twisted away, taking a shaky breath as his lips moved to the frantic pulse in my neck.

I needed a second to think! This was happening too fast—my senses were being completely swamped by lust, and the alcohol was impairing my ability to think straight. I shouldn't have consumed so much so quickly, and on an empty stomach. But I couldn't take it back, and with Asher kissing and licking my earlobe, it didn't seem important. So, I did the only thing I could think of. With a clumsy push I swept the case off the desk, hoping Sasha's gift didn't contain anything fragile as it thumped onto the floor.

Various pens, papers and other writing utensils went with it, and Asher chuckled against my ear. "So it's like that, huh?"

"Like what?" I asked breathlessly, subtly checking to see where the case had landed.

Rather than answer me, he pulled the tie at the nape of my neck and tore my dress away from my body, exposing my chest. Helpless, I watched his face, my breaths coming in short, sporadic bursts. Knowing he'd seen it all before was irrelevant, because this time I was giving myself to him—I had an ulterior motive, of course, but he didn't know that, and a part of me felt like I was trusting him with my deepest secret.

For a moment he did nothing but look, admiring my breasts with a hungry gleam in his eyes. And then his head dipped forward, and he took my nipple into the heat of his mouth, nibbling the sensitive bud with his teeth. My back arched as I tried to both pull away from the shocking sensation and lean into him. His arms wrapped around me, one hand settling between my shoulder blades as the other pulled me toward the edge of the desk, making the perfect cradle for his hips.

He ground into the heat of my core as he continued to lave my nipple, and I could feel his hands shaking where they touched my skin. "Wrap your legs around me," he whispered, his eyes glazed with passion.

Unable to shake the urge, I said, "No." But couldn't stop a small smile from tugging at my lips.

He growled and jerked my bottom off the desk, supporting my weight with his hands on the globes of my ass as he carried me toward the bed. I squealed and clutched at his shoulders, not used to being carried by anyone, let alone a man intent on bedding me. He dumped me unceremoniously onto the mattress and I scrambled to cover my partial nudity, clutching my disassembled dress to my chest.

I'd successfully used my body to direct his attention away from the gift, but was now faced with the full force of his arousal. He watched me with the eyes of a predator, slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt, his gaze never leaving my face. When he dropped the shirt on the floor, a dark smile curved his lips and he unbuckled his belt one handed. My heart squeezed and I backed away, our brief moment apart giving me a chance to think more clearly.




The Last Tritan Ch. 11



I should have been preparing for a fight, should have been desperately trying to find a way out of this—but all I could think of was the moment he'd forced me to climax with his lips. I'd seen so much sadness, lost so many people... why was I determined to make my own life more difficult and depressing than it needed to be? Didn't I deserve to lose myself in a moment of pleasure? Hadn't I... earned it?

Asher stepped out of his pants and knelt on the bed, lewdly stroking his erection through his underwear. A perverted little shiver raced through my veins, his unapologetic sexuality making blood rush to my core. He'd been right—I was in so much trouble, I was beginning to fear I'd never get out.

Knees spread wide, one hand still firmly gripping his manhood, Asher reached for my ankle, confidently jerking me toward him. I yelped as my bottom came into contact with his groin, my dress sliding indecently high on my hips. He spread my legs, draping each one over his thighs and settled himself against the damp heat of my core. And with my arm still wrapped protectively across my chest, I was without a means to protect myself—though I hadn't actually protested his advances, and it was quickly becoming obvious my reluctance was merely a ruse to save my pride.

His hands traveled along the length of my thighs, and when he reached the top, he kneaded my bottom with both hands, spreading me beneath the fabric of my dress. "Move your hands," he whispered, his voice hoarse with arousal, eyes fixed to the space between my legs.

Caught in the moment, I started to do as I was told—but stopped. Was something going to happen between us? Sure. I might even be willing to admit the prospect excited me... if only to myself. But submit to him? "No."

He grinned. "Ah, yes. Ever defiant." And almost before he'd finished speaking he'd lunged for my hands. Without thinking, I slapped him as hard as I could. His head snapped to the side, and with a deep growl he wrestled my arms above my head, securing both of my wrists in an unbreakable, iron grip. With his free hand he forced my head back and kissed me hard, rocking his throbbing erection against me.

I groaned, and he took advantage of my parted lips, forcing his tongue inside my mouth, tasting me. "I'm going to fuck you now, Mila," he whispered, filling my lungs with his breath. Unable to speak for fear of what I would say, I merely concentrated on breathing, focusing on the simplicity of 'air in, air out' as he began to pull my dress away from my skin, unwrapping me for his viewing pleasure. When the heat of his mouth enveloped my nipple, I didn't gasp in pleasure... no. He'd just caught me as I was working on 'air in'. Nothing more.

He sat back and pulled my dress away from my body, releasing my wrists and leaving me completely exposed to him. Instinctively, I tried to hide from his heated gaze, tried to cover my breasts with my hands. "Wait," he said, and activated my Chains, the burning in my wrists and throat nothing compared to the heat pulsating between my thighs. "I just want to look at you."

I tried to speak, but my mouth was bone dry. I swallowed, trying not to fidget under his intense scrutiny. "Why?" I asked, barely recognizing my own voice.

He smiled and wrapped his large hands around my waist, squeezing gently but with enough force to make me feel small and fragile. "Because you're wild and beautiful..." He paused to make eye contact. "And you're mine."

I wanted to say something pithy, something like, 'I'll never be yours,' but I couldn't. I was laying naked in his bed, legs spread and vulnerable before him. Arguing at this point was starting to feel a lot like denial. Was I his? Yes, I suppose, but only because of the sales receipt that made it so. Did I have any trust in Asher? Any loyalty? No. Those were qualities that had to be earned, and after everything he'd done, I wasn't sure if forgiving him was even possible. But I needed to escape the sadness of this life--if only for a moment--and Asher was the perfect vessel for doing just that.

Correctly interpreting my silence as a form of submission, he tangled both hands in my hair and kissed me. This time I didn't hesitate—I clawed at his shoulders, desperate to experience the ecstasy of his touch, to lose myself. He groaned, gently sinking his teeth into my bottom lip, his erection straining to break free of his underwear. I hooked my legs around his waist and tried to pull him into me, tried to sooth the burning ache between my thighs.

"Fucking hell," he gasped and pulled away, supporting his weight with one arm, and using the other to struggle with his boxers. When his cock sprang free, a tiny spark of doubt gave me pause—if I didn't already know it was possible for that thing to fit inside me, I'd be terrified. But I was quickly passing the point of caring, and Asher was rubbing the thick head of his penis against my slick opening.

He looked to me then, his eyes seeming to ask, 'are you ready?' I licked my lips in response and he settled his weight over me. Using his thumb to turn my face away he pressed a kiss to the delicate skin of my throat, the rasp of his facial hair raising a fresh wave of goosebumps on my skin. I gasped as he began to push, slowly parting my folds, giving me time to adjust to this intimate invasion.

I placed a hand on his forearm, digging my nails into his skin as he stretched me. It wasn't exactly painful, but it was intense, and I had to stifle the urge to writhe beneath him. When he pulled back I nearly cried out, almost begged him not to stop—but a moment later, his hips surged and he thrust even deeper, forcing the air from my lungs.

"My God, you're tight," he said, pressing his forehead against mine. "And so fucking wet. I don't even need to ask if you're enjoying this, do I?"

I blushed, ashamed of myself for needing this. "Shut up."

He caught my chin and looked into my eyes. "I can't think of anything sexier," he said with conviction. He moved inside me, pushing deeper, filling me to the brim and catching my shaky breath with his lips. When he stopped, it was because he could go no further. I was half expecting a repeat of my first time, but he waited for me to adjust to his girth, trembling with the effort.

"I'm so..." I trailed off, not sure what I was trying to say. Instead, I snaked a hand between us and touched my belly, wondering if I could feel him inside me.

He laughed and flexed his penis, making it jump against my hand. "Can you feel that?"

Could I feel it? Good lord, it was all I could think about! But the only thing I managed to say was a feeble and breathless, "Yeah."

"Touch me," he whispered, a desperate edge to his voice. Unsure of just how to do this, I ran my hands over his ribs, sliding them down until I came into contact with the taut skin of his ass. He shivered and pulled back, leaving me empty and aching. Rather than complain--which would put me in serious danger of sounding needy--I dug my fingernails into his ass.

"Mila—" His hips jerked and he sucked a breath in through his teeth, slamming into me as deep as my body would allow. The contact sent lightening to my brain, and with a moan I arched my back, trying to chase the pleasure. "You naughty little thing," he murmured and pulled out. "Is this what you need?"

My breath caught as be began thrusting, picking up a torturous rhythm, making sure to grind his pelvis against my clit with every powerful stroke. He kissed me, lips and tongue dancing furiously against mine, stealing my breath and dragging desperate little noises from my throat. "Oh my God," I whispered, breaking away from his lips. He leaned back and circled my clit with his thumb, simultaneously pinching my nipple. But this new angle was so intense that I yelped and sat with him, frantically muttering, "No, no, no, no..."

"Shh," he soothed, running his hands down my back, and supporting me as I straddled his thighs, impaled on his cock. "We're not quite ready for that." And then he was gently rocking against me, using his grip on my hips to move me back and forth, slowly building the tension inside me until I wanted to beg him to stop, terrified of what would happen when it became too much.

But before I could gather my wits his hand began to wander, easily slipping between my cheeks and prodding the sensitive puckered skin of my ass. "Whoa!" I cried, trying to escape his touch. "What are you doing? That's nasty."

He dipped his head, and sucked my nipple into his mouth, pinching it with his teeth. "No it isn't," he replied, and rubbed his finger around the base of his cock, collecting my wetness. "I'm going to take you here, Mila," he said, and ever so gently pressed against the tight ring of muscle, though he didn't try to push any further. "But not today."

I shook my head, trying to deny that he'd ever take me there but he picked up the pace, positioning into me with a ferocity I couldn't hope to match. The only thing I could do was hold on, completely lost to the moment, drowning in a lust so tangible I could taste it. And just when I thought I couldn't take any more, he began to gently rub his finger over my tightly puckered ass. What had been the promise of forbidden pleasure--a moment of selfish indulgence--had become so much more. And I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help it. I wanted him to push me over the edge, I wanted to scream my release and forget everything that had happened. But...

Asher sucked my nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, and the decision was taken out of my hands. All of my muscles flexed at the same time as pleasure burst through my system, rendering any thought of resistance completely irrelevant. Hell, even the natural instinct to draw breath into my lungs was a distant memory, a hopeless second to the all-consuming ecstasy of Asher's touch. I tried to cry out, tried to voice what was happening to me, but the sound got stuck in my throat.

He groaned, and buried his cock as deep inside me as he could possibly go. "Oh God baby, I'm coming," he whispered, voice cracking under the strain of his release. I could feel his climax on my skin as clearly as I felt my own, could feel the pulse of his cock as he unloaded jet after jet of his seed into my very depths. And in that moment, I knew we were both slaves to my Empathetic senses, each forced to experience the release of the other until the pleasure began to feel like pain.

Stars blackened my vision and I sank my teeth into the hard muscle between his neck and shoulder, the only form of expression I was capable of in that moment. I was desperately overwhelmed by the experience, hoping to break away from it all before I lost consciousness. He flinched at the pain, but continued to rock his hips against me, clutching my quivering body to him, gasping for breath.

We stayed like that for a while, me astride his thighs, cheek pressed to his shoulder as a thin trail of blood trickled down his back from my bite, both twitching from the occasional aftershock. When my heart rate returned to a normal pace I leaned back, trying to wriggle free of his grasp.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, a devilish smile on his face.

"Let me go, I'm all sticky."

He chuckled, and I felt his cock jump inside me, not as big as it had been a moment before, but not quite exhausted either. "I don't think so," he murmured, and slipped his hands under my thighs. He then proceeded to dump me onto my back, following me down in a single, fluid motion, and making sure to keep his manhood buried inside me. "I'm not finished with you yet."

"You're joking," I cried, placing a restraining hand on his chest—for all the good that would do me.

"Afraid not," he replied, and accented his words with a gentle thrust of his hips, proving just how serious he was. "The temptation of your delectable little pussy is..." He licked my lips and pressed his face into my hair, gently nipping my ear with his teeth. "Something I'm finding impossible to resist."

The heat of his breath tickled my ear and I shivered beneath him. "Asher please, I'm s-so sensitive." I gasped as he ground his pelvis into my clit, seeming to take delight in the way my muscles flexed around his girth.

"Ah, and then there's the way you beg, darling. Simply irresistible."

I opened my mouth to explain what I was begging for, but he silenced me with his lips, burying his fingers in my hair and pinning me in place. With his weight pressing me into the mattress and my legs splayed weakly around his surging hips, I was helpless to do more than take it, my resistance nothing but a foggy memory.

Every cell of my being was alive, responding to nothing in the world except his touch... his lips... his voice. This very bedroom could have been lit by a blazing fire and I wouldn't have noticed. I was completely lost to my Empathy--lost in him--but it didn't matter anymore. Not when he groaned like that, kissing me with such desperate abandon and clutching at my hair as if he couldn't get enough. I knew the feeling—I wanted this more than anything I'd ever wanted before... I couldn't even remember why I'd been resisting in the first place.

"That's it, Mila," he whispered and slid his hand down the length of my torso, squeezing when it came to rest on my hip. "My God, this feels incredible."

His words—spoken in a desperate, splintering voice—caused my core to quiver in desperate need, and I moaned, feeling my muscles tighten in the sweet anticipation of a climax. I was moments away from release... needed just... a little... more... "Yes," I rasped, my breath catching, back arching, as I tried to press my throbbing clit into his pelvis, making desperate little noises in the back of my throat. And then he kissed me, and it was enough to force me over the edge, enough to send me spiraling helplessly into bliss.

"Oh God," he groaned and stopped moving, buried to the hilt within me. But it didn't matter, I was already too far gone. My muscles pulsed around his girth, grasping at his cock in a desperate rhythm. He pressed his forehead against mine chanting, "don't move, don't move, don't move," under his breath as I writhed beneath him—evidence that the effort not to continue was quickly becoming more than he could handle.

A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he trembled above me, eyes squeezed closed as he tried to stop himself from coming too soon. Gasping for breath as I came down from my high, I watched the progress of the little drop as it traced the line of his jaw. Almost without conscious thought, my tongue darted out, rasping against the stubble of his beard. He tasted like salt and sex, and I wanted... more.

I leaned in for another taste, belatedly noticing that his eyes were glued to my face, a look of complete shock scrawled across his features. My face heated as I realized what I'd done, but to his credit, Asher didn't give me the chance to second guess myself. He pulled back with no warning, only to plunge into my depths with a renewed ferocity, pinning me to the mattress with his hand on my hip. Hypersensitive, my body tingled under his expert touch, completely open and inviting to his invasion.

He was striving for completion now, pounding into me with reckless abandon, no longer concerned with prolonging our joining. I could feel the tension building within him, could feel the way his hips jerked erratically, and the tell-tale thickening of his cock. But most of all, I knew he was almost there because his all-consuming need to climax was pushing my overtaxed system toward yet another mind blowing orgasm. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the need coursing through my brain. When he cried out, I was lost, tumbling into oblivion right beside him.

*

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I don't know how long we lay there trying to recover. All I remember was the horrible sinking feeling in my stomach as I slowly came to understand what had just happened. What I'd done. How could I possibly come back from this? How could I look in his face and pretend like nothing could break me? I'd just shown him exactly how vulnerable I could be—all for a box I hadn't even opened. For all I knew, Sasha could have given me the recipes to her favorite Caledonian dishes, hoping to encourage me to accept my new life. With tears pooling in my eyes, I pushed Asher away, desperately needing to flee.

"Mila," he said, and grabbed my arm.

I strained against his touch. "P-please, I... I need to pee."

He watched me with guarded eyes for a moment and I looked away, not sure if I could bear the thought of him comforting me. "Don't be long," he said after a moment, releasing me.

Without looking back, I fled, rushing toward the en suit bathroom, hoping I'd get there before the tears began to fall. I closed the door behind me, slamming it harder than I'd intended in my haste. "Oh, God, what have I done?" I moaned, pressing the back of my hand against my lips.

I stood there for a moment, trying to focus on breathing and not what had happened between us. Because the truth was, I'd never experienced anything quite so... profound... in my entire life, never felt so connected to another human being. But for such a life affirming moment to occur at the hands of my captor, left me feeling unbalanced and confused. How could something so wrong feel so incredibly good?

I pushed away from the door, intending to wash my face at the sink, but froze when my reflection came into view. My lips were swollen, red, and tinged with a light blue, speaking of the intensity with which he'd kissed me. My hair--which had been in an elegant coil for the better part of the day--was now hanging loose around my face, a wild mass of silvery blond chaos. My pupils were dilated, eyes shimmering with both tears and excitement—a perfect reflection of the turmoil roiling within me. And to top it all off, my cheeks were stained with the remnants of several orgasms, as if I needed a reminder me of the control Asher had over my body.

I grit my teeth and made an attempt to wash away Asher's touch--and the sticky evidence of our combined passion--determined to pull myself together. I'd fought him for a reason, and that reason was currently sitting on the floor amongst a pile of stationery and miscellaneous junk from Asher's desk. After all I'd done to protect Sasha's gift, I couldn't take the risk that he'd find it while I tried to master my emotions and hid in a bathroom. Patting my face dry, I took a deep breath and braced myself for a possible confrontation, turning the doorknob as slowly as possible.

What I found on the other side of that door however, stopped me in my tracks, utterly stupefied. Asher was sprawled across the bed, an arm slung carelessly across his eyes. The rumpled bedclothes were draped carelessly over his body, partially concealing his nudity as the taut muscles of his stomach moved rhythmically, his every breath accompanied by the distinct sound of snoring.

I stifled the urge to laugh—my own mind was so full of stress and wild emotions that the thought of sleep hadn't even occurred to me. And there was Asher, sexually sated and sound asleep, leaving the proverbial door wide open for me to check the contents of Sasha's gift, completely at my leisure.

An excited grin spread across my face, and I moved silently toward the pile of refuse from Asher's desk, my fingers itching to open that damn case. Stooping, I gingerly picked it up, my eyes darting around the room, seeking a place where I could open my bounty in relative privacy. Aside from the closet--which had no door--the bathroom was my only real option. Clutching the case to my chest, I backed away cautiously, leery of disturbing the last remaining obstacle in my path.




The Last Tritan Ch. 11



With trembling fingers, I flipped the latch, locking the bathroom door, and sank to the floor. Barely able to contain my excitement, I pulled at the tarnished silver buckles, holding my breath as they popped open with ease. This was a momentous event, and I felt like I shouldn't be opening the case without a full string orchestra playing in the background. But alas, there was only me—a constant, if lonely, aspect of my life. I opened the box.

Inside, there was a rather large leather bound book, marked with nothing more than the Tritan symbol for Priestess. I'd been hoping for a weapon of mass destruction, and couldn't deny I was more than a little disappointed by the thought of Sasha assigning me homework from beyond the grave. Nevertheless, I propped the massive tome against the case and turned to page one.

The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia

I frowned. The worship of Milithia had gone out of fashion nearly five hundred years before my birth, and I'd had no idea the Priestesses had ties to the long dead Goddess. Though now that I thought of it, I'd heard more than one Priestess beseech 'the Goddess' in a moment of need—I just hadn't had a reason to connect the dots until now.

The more important question however, was why Sasha had given this book to me. I was without a doubt, the worst example of a Priestess who may have ever existed. Sasha herself had been the first to point out my many shortcomings as her disciple. Surely one of the more experienced women would have been a far better choice? Perhaps I was meant to deliver the book to someone else.

I flipped through the delicate pages with careful fingers, searching for an answer. What I found only confused me further. The first half of the book appeared to be a comprehensive list of former Priestesses, which was immediately followed by several hundred blank pages—presumably for future record keeping. The second half read like a story, stitched together through many generations of Head Priestess, each adding a lifetime of wisdom to the pages. I knew this, because each new chapter was written in a different hand, though it was clear the authors had attempted to follow the same basic outline.

I closed the book with a heavy heart. It could literally take years to read this, and longer still to fully comprehend the collective message of these women. And as I sat on a bathroom floor, reading in secret, it was clear time was a luxury I couldn't afford. If Sasha had meant me to be the protector of Priestess history, she'd been a terrible judge of character.

With a heavy sigh, I placed The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia back in its case, and froze. It wasn't sitting flat, and that could only mean one thing—Sasha had left me something else. I set the heavy book on the tiled floor, mindful of its great age, and reached into the bottom of the case.

I pulled out a black silk bag, my heart pounding with renewed excitement. It was a simple task to pull the drawstring and empty the contents into my palm, but I found myself staring stupidly at the unveiled gift. General Tilcot's prized set of Tritan Chains sparkled in the dim bathroom light, and I very nearly flung them across the room in frustration.

For some of Sasha's last words to me had been, 'I've had a gift delivered to the captain's room, sweet one... I think you'll know what to do with it.'

She couldn't have been more wrong.

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Okay, my crazynoodles!!!! This is THE chapter I've tortured you with for so long. I hope none of you read that on your way to work (ahem, LBGrant ;) But now it's your turn. Let me know what you thought, via comments or emails, voting (any number of star is humbly appreciated... though if it's below a 5 I'm desperate to know WHY. You know... in the general interest of improving myself, and all that jazz. ;) or you can follow me on Facebook and Twitter (under the handle WaterBurnXx), where my thoughts go to die, and are reborn in the immortal glory that is the interweb. Singularity—hizzah!!

These are all the people who made a guess at the contents of the gift... and yes, I asked a tricky question, because there were TWO things in the box.

The people who got at least one part right:

sapprire

lioness_71

Asa

Soji

cantfightfate

ellienora35

jen81287

FA_JF

Jennyb2492

LBGrant

MickeyMouse113 - special points for getting both right. =D

These guys guessed, but I managed to fool them:

caesarion

sdf963

Masterfuljim - but extra points, because you made me snorgle

pheobecharmed

redheaDD

Okay, that's it gorgeous babies!!!! I'm outta here. Chapter 12 is beckoning... NOW VOTE DAMN YOU. And comment. Unless your fingers are all sticky... in that case, be kind to your keyboard... 



The Last Tritan Ch. 12



Hey there internet friends! I'd apologize for the wait, but it's been crazy in my life lately, and there really was no helping it. It also strikes me as amazing how much work other people put into making The Last Tritan what it is. The amount of work FA_JF and SP had to do to decipher the color drawings and scribbles I sent them for this chapter in particular, would make your beautiful little heads spin clean off your shoulders. A measly box of truffles seems like poor payment indeed! A warning for you, while this chapter has loads happening, it's a lot of internal dialogue. Prepare yourselves for strained eyes. 

Enjoy! (And know that this chapter was supposed to be twice the length, but every time I add two major plot points into a single chapter I have nightmares of Chapter 4, so I cut in half yet again. Which means there's going to be yet ANOTHER chapter added to the final length, (I think we're somewhere around 35 now, but I learned to count using a box of M& M's, and therefore cannot be trusted). Also, and more importantly, chapter 13 already had 1500 words written (it's the 21 of January right now), and I'm pretty juiced up with caffeine and Baileys at the mo, (if you can't tell by this epic ramble) so things are looking good. 

I stared at the glittering Chains in my hand, simultaneously cursing Sasha's rather ambiguous gifts, and berating myself for being rather dense. General Tilcot had kept his set of Tritan Chains proudly displayed as a constant, sparkling reminder of his greatest triumph—the enslavement of Tritan and her Priestesses. But to me, they were a symbol of the darkest moment in Tritan history... and my own. It took all my considerable will power, not to crush them beneath my feet in a righteous fit of rage. Instead, I clutched them tight in my fist, and stood. 

Intending to pace about the bathroom, I stretched, knowing exercise had always helped clear my head—which in this case, was obscured by a lack of sleep and too much of Asher's fine liquor. An instant later however, my body clenched in an insidious reminder that my distraction may have been the result of another more... pleasurable indulgence. I faltered, distracted by the hazy glow of sexual satisfaction. For as loathe as I was to admit it, my time between Asher's sheets had been nothing short of incredible, though I couldn't help but wonder just how many women it took to achieve that level of proficiency with the female body. Such cringe-worthy thoughts made me unexpectedly grateful that I could cure myself of any sexual diseases he might have. 

Unfortunately, my Priestess gifts couldn't change the fact that I had traded my dignity for something I didn't yet understand—a high price for a slave to a Caledonian Elite. My dignity was one of the few things I still owned, and I'd clung to it, knowing it was one of the few things keeping me going. Until now. I wouldn't be able to meet Asher's eyes without thinking about the heat of his skin against mine, or his lips on my breast. I would always be reminded of the way his voice caught when he begged me not to move, trembling above me, barely able to restrain himself. The manly scent of his sweat as he... 

Stifling a curse, I tore my mind away from the man so I could focus on the immediate future. I had to get out of here. My future undoubtedly contained more debauchery of the sort I'd experienced this night, and if I couldn't figure out what Sasha had been trying to tell me with her gifts, I wasn't sure if I could resist much longer. If only she had been forthcoming enough to write me a note explaining what she would have me do. I'd already flipped through the pages of The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia, and found nothing but Sasha's final entry—a passage written in the Head Priestesses' fine and elegant hand, speaking of seven years of plenty, and two years of horrible drought. But the passage had been dated, proving it had been written before the fall of Tritan, and was certainly not a coded message meant for me. Knowing this, the obvious assumption was that Sasha had not been passing me her mantle as Head Priestess, but had intended for me to pass the history book to another, more qualified Priestess. Not a gift then, but a favor, and one that may very well put me in a great deal of danger. 

On the other hand, instinct left no doubt that the Chains were meant for me. The problem however, was that I already had a set of Tritan Chains permanently fused with my skin—I neither wanted, nor needed another. I took a deep, relaxing breath, making a conscious effort to let go of my anger. Such stubborn, single-minded thinking had been the downfall of Tritan as a nation. It would not be mine. Might there be something special about this set, something unique about their composition that could give me a fighting edge? It was a nice thought, but upon closer inspection of the Chains in my hand and the set fused with my skin, I could see no discernible difference. They were the same shape, size and color... except that there was a fourth, medium sized golden circlet in my hand. 

I felt a frown form on my brow, momentarily baffled by the hole in my memory. Golden circlets decorated both my wrists and throat—a number that by my count, couldn't explain the extra cuff in my hand. But there was something I should remember about it, a fragmented memory lurking in the dark, forgotten places of my mind. Logically, I knew the answer should have been obvious, but I still couldn't quite place it. 

Frustrated, I ground the heel of my palm into my eye, rubbing furiously. A moment later however, my concentration was broken yet again, and I stifled a painful yelp. My eyes were burning with the distinct, unforgettable itch I could only remember experiencing when the wind had blown day-old fire ash into my face, catching me wide eyed and unprepared. I hadn't been able to get to the river fast enough, and had spent the remainder of the day with a cold cloth draped over red, swollen eyes. This newest assault bore an unfortunate resemblance to that miserable day. 

Tears threatened to spill over my lashes and I stumbled blindly to the sink, searching for relief. When I pulled my hands away from my face, I could make out a black, eye-shaped smudge was smeared across my palm. 

"What in the..." Shocked by the stinging pain, it took several long moments for me to realize what I was looking at. But of course, the delay was simply a result of the stress I'd endured over the last few days, which in turn, had caused another seemingly unimportant detail to slip from my attention. Until my eyes had begun to burn with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns, I'd been focused on gaining my freedom, defeating the program, and freeing myself from Asher's grip—wasting energy thinking about something as trivial as makeup, had seemed a colossal waste of effort. 

I slipped all four golden circlets onto my wrist for safe keeping—noting the deceptive cheerfulness with which they jangled—turned on the tap, and splashed cool water on my face, scrubbing at the makeup. Would it have killed Alicia to mention Kohl burns worse than being bound by the Chains? No, of course not. But she wasn't a Priestess, and would never experience the blinding agony of being permanently bound to an Elite. 

A vision of Asher binding me filled my brain, the unwelcome recollection seeming to lead my thoughts in one inevitable direction. After filling the vial in my collar with his blood, Asher had filled the fourth cuff with my blood, snapped it shut upon his own wrist and completed our bond. Being the only thing that connected us, the fourth cuff must therefore be what allowed him to control me. Which meant Sasha had given me a complete set of Tritan Chains because she'd had a very specific goal in mind. 

"Oh my God," I whispered as a horrible possibility dawned on me. Sasha had said I'd know what to do with her gift, but what if I hadn't understood her meaning because she was suggesting something that went against my very nature? Something so alien and perverse that I would never have come up with it on my own. What if Sasha had given me the Chains so I could bind Asher? 

I sank to the floor—shock and disgust causing bile to burn the back of my throat. I couldn't possibly do it. Why would I create a second bond between Asher and I, another point of intimacy for him to corrupt? The morals and ethics that had once defined who I was, had already been compromised in order for me to survive as his slave. A part of my soul was lost and could never be recovered—it would heal eventually, of course, but I'd be growing into something new. Someone I wasn't sure I wanted to be. 

By the same logic, if I couldn't bend to his will, it wouldn't be long before I broke—I had tonight as a perfect example. The temptation to submit to such mind numbing pleasure was both appalling and... strangely irresistible. 

Shaking my head to dispel the distracting thoughts of Asher, I sunk my fingernails into my thighs, needing the pain to center me. I needed to think—rationally, if at all possible. To make an intelligent, informed decision, I had to consider both sides of this dilemma. I had to make an attempt to see things from Sasha's point of view before I crushed the Chains beneath my feet. Or doom myself to a life half lived, filled with the regret of possibilities squandered. 

I closed my eyes, and commanded myself to relax. To answer the riddle Sasha had proposed, I first needed to consider why the Elites had invented the Chains in the first place. What purpose did they serve, what benefits did the Elites enjoy from binding a Priestess? 

To begin with, the Chains marked the wearer as a slave, the golden circlets about the wrists and throat bore a striking resemblance to the iron shackles used on prisoners and regular slaves alike. Furthermore, any Priestess bound by the Chains was no longer the master of her own body, and was subject to the will and whims of the man who wore the fourth bracelet. And if that weren't enough, the Chains essentially turned a Priestess into a living conductor, giving the Elites unrestricted access to the Earth's energy. 

There's an exception to every rule, and as an Empath, I happened to be just such an exception. But what if I could be more? What if binding Asher prevented him from controlling my movements... and allowed me to control his? No longer would I be vulnerable to his sexual advances, or be forced to hold my tongue when he didn't feel my input was appropriate for civilized ears. I could use him as a weapon against the Caledonian scum, and take vengeance for all the harm they'd caused. 

I gasped and stifled an excited giggle, twisting the Chains about in my now sweating fingers. "Breathe Mila," I reminded myself. While the image of forcing Asher to jump to my beck and call possessed an undeniable level of satisfaction, I had to acknowledge that things might not go the way I hoped. There was always the possibility binding him to me could give Asher even more control over my facilities. After all, he was the one with more experience with the Chains and slaving in general. If it came down to a struggle of wills between us, I wasn't entirely sure I'd be the victor. 

On the other hand, if the Chains gave an Elite access to a Priestesses' gifts, might they also give me access to an Elite's power if I wore the fourth cuff? I already had my suspicions that Asher was an irregular Elite, and although he might be capable of using a Priestesses' gifts, perhaps the reverse was also true? Was I not an irregular Priestess, had I not essentially used an Elite's power of manipulating the Earth's energy to modify my canines? Most Priestesses could only sense the Earth's energy—using it to manipulate the world around us was a skill reserved for those with the most training, and the most power. But if that were true, wouldn't that mean the art of healing was actually an Elite skill? 

I forced both hands through my hair, and muttered, "What is happening in my brain?" Having missed out on formal training at the temple, I couldn't help but make wild, semi-educated guesses. This was less than ideal, considering that if I tried to bind Asher and failed, my punishment would be severe. And while I was reasonably certain he wouldn't kill me, things had irrevocably changed between us. I'd crossed into unchartered territory when I hadn't stopped his advances, and I had no doubt he'd use my newfound sexuality to his advantage. For if any future punishment was at all similar to how he'd punished me tonight, I was positive my soul would bear the stains of betrayal and shame until my last breath. 

"Focus!" I hissed, and a moment later heard the tell-tale sound of an interrupted snore. Frozen, I listened for any further signs that I'd woken him, simultaneously cursing myself for wasting so much time huddling naked and alone on the bathroom floor. After straining for a minute or so, and hearing nothing but the frantic sound of my own heart, I reached out to him, delicately checking his level of awareness. Still in bed sleeping—though there was no telling how much longer that would be true. 

I'd already wasted enough time trying to solve a puzzle I was neither qualified, nor experienced enough to answer. The only way I'd find out what would happen if I attempted to bind him with the Chains, was to just do it. And hell, if I was successful in binding him, but nothing happened save forcing Asher to wear the mark of a slave, then that would have to be vengeance enough. Besides, if there was a way to remove these accursed Chains, wouldn't that be the first thing my arrogant, vain master would attempt to do? That knowledge alone might just be enough to spark a little rebellion in the hearts of the bound Priestesses. 

I sighed—decision made. But how to enact my plan? I'd surely waken him if I tried to slip the cuffs onto his wrist, being that they were cold metal. And what of the one around his throat? The collar was obviously made for the slender neck of a woman, and though Asher wasn't as muscle bound as some of his countrymen, I had my doubts it would fit him. Another problem I wouldn't have an answer to, until I made the attempt. 

Since I'd become a slave of the Caledonian Empire, I'd been a pawn to the emotions of those around me, and I couldn't remember a single instant where I hadn't been tempted to do something reckless. But at this particular moment, I was blessedly alone, free to feel nothing but the turmoil within, and not the wild, alien emotions of those around me. I was free to make a plan—something I hadn't done since poisoning slavers with Red Berries. 

Methodically, I slid all four Chains off my wrist, and laid them out before me on the cold tile floor. The collar was easy to identify, not only because of its tiny glass vial, but it was also much larger in size. Two of the remaining circlets were exactly the same—and were therefore the manacles. This could only mean the final cuff was the one I'd potentially wear. The fourth cuff. I concentrated briefly on breathing through my nose, and picked it up. 

Just like the collar, there was a tiny glass vial embedded in the gold. I pushed one end with sweating fingers, and jumped when it popped up obediently, revealing an opening at the top. Shuddering with the knowledge that I'd have to fill it with Asher's blood, I snapped it closed, and slipped the slightly masculine circlet onto my right wrist. Upon doing so however, it became quite clear the fourth cuff wasn't designed for my scrawny wrists. Fearing the bond wouldn't work if the gold wasn't snug on my skin, I pushed it up my arm as far as it would go. And because Asher insisted the only exercise I got was between his sheets, I'd lost a considerable amount of muscle since I'd become his guest. The fourth cuff stopped just below my armpit. I shrugged—it would have to do. 

There was however, one vital element missing—two, if you considered I'd need a sample from both of us. Blood. Not a lot, just enough to fill the tiny vials, and complete the blood exchange. And if my memory was behaving itself, the word 'exchange' was the key. Bracing myself against the pain, I raised my left wrist, captured the limb with my free hand to prevent it from escaping, and sunk my modified teeth into the soft skin. 

Or rather, I tried too. "Holy shit that hurts!" I cursed, and couldn't help but remember all the times I'd bitten Asher. I couldn't possibly feel guilty, could I? After all he's done to me? Seriously? Guilt? "I have to get out of here," I muttered again, and with that, sunk my teeth into the delicate skin on my wrist without flinching. Desperate times, and all that. 

Asher sighed from the other room, and I wondered if my Empathy might be affecting him while he was sleeping. It was certainly possible I mused, as fresh blood seeped from my open wound. Lord knows I wasn't making any significant effort to subdue my unpredictable power, which probably didn't mix well with the heady effects of potent liquor and Asher's overactive sex drive. 

"Focus, damn you!" Hands shaking, I picked up Asher's collar—allowing myself a maniacal grin at the thought of calling it his—opened the glass vial with a soft 'click', and swiped the open end through my blood, filling it. I coaxed a fresh scab to form over my teeth marks, and stood, rinsing the excess blood down the drain. 

If by some miracle, I managed to get all three Chains on the appropriate limbs without waking him, what then? I still needed his blood to complete the bond, and I was fairly certain he wouldn't sleep through my giving him a quick little stab. As if on cue, an erotic flutter in my lady bits reminded me of the powerful, mind consuming orgasm I'd had while straddling his thighs in an erotic embrace. I'd been on the verge of losing consciousness when Asher followed me into orgasmic bliss. The powerful waves of pleasure I'd felt through him as he filled me with his incompatible seed, had very nearly melted my brain. So, I'd done the only thing I could think of in my diminished state. I'd bitten the straining, sweat slicked muscle in his shoulder until I'd tasted blood. 

Until I'd tasted blood! Was it possible that things were finally beginning to go my way? Asher was already bleeding. I repressed the urge to dance around the bathroom in celebration, though it was no small effort. The smile that graced my lips would have inspired fear in Asher's heart, had he been there to see it. I nearly threw open the door in my exuberance, only to stop myself with a jerky half-movement that served to sober me faster than a face to face meeting with a Mountain Lion. 

I had an opportunity that might very well mean the difference between a life of freedom, or my continued existence as a Caledonian slave. If I had to kill the reckless moron within me to do that, I wouldn't hesitate. Especially if my wayward emotions were effecting Asher's subconscious. After all, I wanted the pleasure of waking him myself—when it was too late to stop me. 

Centered, I gathered the Chains—leaving the fourth cuff tightly clasped around my bicep—and silently pushed open the bathroom door. I'd have to leave the Priestess' history book behind for now, unwilling to risk wasting this moment. Asher was still snoring peacefully, completely unaware of the mess I was about to make of his life—but I continued to think peaceful, sleepy thoughts. It wouldn't do to picture him kneeling at my feet in supplication as I took the Caledonian Empire apart piece by piece... Damn it! Fluffy bunnies, heaping piles of fruits and vegetables, my snuggly tree bed, Asher's bed, his weight above me, calloused hands trembling and clutching at sweaty skin... Oh God. I'm in trouble. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 12



A cold sweat broke out on my brow with the strain of remaining neutral, but I'd reached his bedside and no longer had the luxury of a wandering mind. Watching in an odd combination of terror and fascination as his cock began to swell beneath the blankets, proved I was treading a dangerous line with my wayward emotions. If I couldn't control myself for two minutes, this wouldn't work. Even if he didn't have the ability to control my actions with his thoughts, I hadn't a hope in the world of wrestling the Chains onto him if he were to wake at my idiotic fumbling. 

Hoping against hope that concentrating on a single task would cure me of my newfound filthy mind, I held my breath, reached out a trembling hand and touched the man himself. His skin was warm—shockingly so—and I repressed a wild urge to explore him while he slept. Now that the mocking, arrogant tilt was absent from his lips, I could almost admit how good looking he was. Almost. 

With my eyes glued to his face, I pulled his limp left arm toward me, moving with a perfectly glacial speed. When he didn't react, I slipped one of the manacles off my own wrist, unclasped the hinge, and set it loosely about his. As I was afraid to pinch his skin, I didn't close it, but gently held it in place with my free hand. 

Unfortunately for me, the easy part was officially over. My attack was now focused on the arm he had draped over his eyes. But how? Pulling his arm toward me a second time wouldn't work, as it would require him to twist at an awkward angle—not to mention waking him now may very well amount to suicide. Besides, I was too short to reach him from where I stood. Which meant I'd have to be in bed beside him. 

I now found myself facing an odd dilemma. In order to secure the remaining two cuffs, I'd have to abandon the one I was holding, thereby risking said pinched skin. But I could see no way around it, so as gently as possible, I closed the first manacle with a soft 'click'. He continued sleeping, though he was no longer snoring—a sure sign his sleep wasn't as deep as it had been a moment ago. 

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and allowed myself a split second of respite. Only a moment ago I'd been repressing the urge to vomit at the thought of binding Asher and I further, and now here I was, readying myself for just that. Proof you really could talk yourself into just about anything, given the correct motivation. 

Not wanting to crawl over his sleeping form, I slunk toward the other side of the bed, clutching the Chains tight to my skin to prevent them from jingling. Then placing each of the remaining circlets on the unused pillow—that I refused to call mine—so they wouldn't touch, and crawled onto the bed. I was mere inches from his right arm, and had begun to ever-so-gently lift his hand from his face—when he rolled, and still sleeping, dragged my startled body toward him. The Chains tumbled off the pillow, clanking softly as Asher moved. I lost sight of them, but hardly daring to breathe, prayed I'd hear the comforting sound of a snore. He groaned—of course—and with one hand, began to maneuver me closer to the heat of his naked skin. 

"Come 'ere," he murmured against my ear, his fingers toying idly with my nipple. And how could I refuse? There wasn't more than a simmering arousal coming from him, and I guessed he was still mostly asleep. How much longer would that remain true if I fought him? I slid beneath the blankets, and shivered when he tangled his legs through my own, pressing his chest against my back. "'S'good," he whispered, and placed a soft kiss against my neck. 

His stiffening penis slid between my thighs, causing my sex to clench in immediate response. Hell, it was all I could do to remain still, so desperate was the urge to arch my back and snuggle deeper into his arms. But when his left hand slipped down the length of my torso and burrowed between my thighs, I knew I was fighting a losing battle. Asher seemed to agree, as his right arm roped around my shoulder and pulled me firmly against him, shifting and fidgeting until our skin touched in every available location. Except one. 

He freed his hand from between my clenched thighs, and guided his thick cock toward my still slick entrance. "No," I moaned in a tiny, broken voice, torn between a breathy, 'Yes' and my crumbling, failed mission. 

"'sokay baby," he responded, and pushed past any imagined resistance on my part. "I won't." 

"I... I don't understand." 

He flexed his hips, burying himself to the hilt and squeezed me as tightly as he could, groaning in satisfaction. "I'm too tired right now. I jus' wanna fall 'sleep inside you." 

My heart skipped a beat. If that wasn't the cutest fucking thing I'd ever heard in my entire life—oh my God, I have to get out of here. True to his word, Asher didn't push things any further, though my body screamed for him to do just that. And while I tried not to slide along his length, desperate now for release, I felt him soften inside me, unintentionally withdrawing as sleep reclaimed him. I tried to recover my breath, trembling in his slackening arms, as a confusing barrage of emotions assaulted my senses—none of which I felt any desire to explore. 

Any lingering alcohol in my system was officially no longer present. I was now more sober than I had ever been in my life. If I didn't find a way out of this city—tonight—I would be swallowed up by Asher and completely cease to be me. I could clearly see the path Sasha had taken when she'd first been enslaved by the general, and it required no stretch of the imagination to realize I was on that very same path. But I was not a slave—at least not in my heart—and I will not bow to his will, I blatantly refuse to be consumed by him. So, I waited as patiently as I could for the soft sounds of snoring to fill my ears once again, letting my anger simmer quietly in the background. 

If I had any hope at all, I needed to recover the Chains. But that was going to prove difficult with Asher wrapped around me—how much more could his subconscious take before he woke for good? He was a soldier, who I imagine must have learned to sleep lightly. Damn Sasha, and all her peaceful, enlightened wisdom. My life would have been so much easier, if only she'd told me how she'd forced Aiden and Reese to sleep against their will. Instead, she'd insisted I had to learn control before she'd teach me anything that could potentially save my life. And then she'd tasked me with binding an Elite—something she'd been too timid to do herself, which was starkly hypocritical, her being the all-powerful Head Priestess and all. But these thoughts were neither calm, nor relaxing, and were probably best left for a time when I could afford the luxury of screaming my frustration. 

I stretched slowly, trying to imitate the subtle movements of someone drifting into the land of dreams, and pushed Asher's arm off my shoulders. He twitched and flexed his hips, sending a fresh wave of blood to his invasive member, thickening it within me. But a moment later he buried his face in my hair, leaving his right arm under my head, and relaxed enough to allow me a partial escape from his embrace. My searching fingers brushed a band of cool metal resting beside my head. When it slid easily onto my wrist—and with plenty of room to spare—I realized it must be the collar. But I needed to fit him with the final manacle before I attempted to deal with his collar. Where the hell had it gone? 

With a masterfully faked yawn, I swept a hand beneath my pillow and found the missing cuff. And my goodness, how convenient for me that Asher's wrist was extended the way it was, almost as if he was begging me to proceed with my plans. I smiled slowly, as one hand fitted him with another mark of a slave, moving so slowly that I could feel my joints creaking like the branches of an old oak tree. 

But I was only half way to victory, and well past the point of no return. The prudent thing would be to wait until I was sure Asher was indeed sleeping deeply, and not rush ahead in excitement. After all, shouldn't I be enjoying my victory over him—which by my count, included the journey. When Asher had bound me, he'd made a production of it, fully reveling in my terror, prolonging my agony with sadistic enjoyment I'd do well not to forget. He was getting off easy in comparison, and deserved everything he had coming to him. I would not feel guilty for this. That would be the height of stupidity. 

He twitched in his sleep—the signal I'd been waiting for. I sighed and tried to roll in his arms but he stopped me before I managed to get very far, trapping me in a cage of hard muscle. I stilled, feeling my heart beat behind my eyes, terrified that I'd over played my hand. To my everlasting relief, he didn't stir—past confidently cupping my right breast with his left hand and pulling me still closer to his heat. 

Momentarily at a loss for what to do, I couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of our bodies pressed together. It made me feel... cherished... protected, even. Which was absurd, considering just who was doing the cuddling. I was unsure how long I lay there cradled in his arms, waiting for the right moment to make another move, but his penis began to soften. The slow deflation inspired the strangest sensation I could remember experiencing. It wasn't altogether unpleasant—and in truth, the slow withdrawal had felt rather like a gentle, loving caress—it was just odd. And distracting. 

His right arm twitched, and I watched in satisfaction as his new manacle gleamed dully in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. My eyes drifted lower, admiring the thick, sinewy muscles in his forearm—when I was struck by an odd thought. If I could neither roll over to inspect the circumference of Asher's neck, nor inconspicuously collar the man, I'd need another location for the last of his golden circlets. And if it didn't work, well, I'd already lost. 

There's something to be said for improvisation, I thought as I admired my handiwork a few, agonizing minutes later. Asher's right arm was now bedazzled with not one, but two bands of gold. The second was preloaded with a sample of my blood, and rested snug about the widest part of his forearm. I was not however, quite out of the woods—I still needed to fill the fourth cuff with his blood in order to complete our second bond. 

Giddy after too much stress, a profound lack of sleep, and sexual discovery at the hands of a man I hated, I decided to attempt a 'damsel in distress routine'. I moaned and twitched, keeping my eyes squeezed tight, brow furrowed in apparent fear, writhing and bucking against him for added effect. 

Almost immediately, Asher responded. "Shh, baby," he cooed, voice heavy with sleep. "Shh Mila. You're dreaming." 

I gasped and spun to face him, looking up to him with wide, terrified eyes. "Oh, oh! I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean to wake you, I-" 

"Mila, Mila, relax honey. It was just a dream, you're okay." After a moment's hesitation, I pressed my face against his chest, shivering as he ran comforting hands down the length of my back. I used his movement as a cover, stealthily unclasping the fourth band from its home around my bicep and switching it to my right hand. This was going to be the most difficult part of this entire evening. 

I ran the first two fingers of my right hand up his chest—as the last two were busy holding the golden circlet away from his skin—and gently searched for the tell-tale puncture marks I'd left on his shoulder. When I found them, unfortunately already partially scabbed over, I asked, "Did I hurt you?" 

He chuckled. "Not really, but I'd be happy to let you kiss it better." 

A shy smile spread across my face, and throwing all caution to the wind, I leaned up to kiss him tentatively on the lips. He stiffened, undoubtedly surprised by my uncharacteristic behavior. But a moment later, he returned the gesture with a passionate fervor that might have convinced me he hadn't been with a woman in months, if I didn't have infallible witness testimony to the contrary. 

Moaning—for effect, you see—I arched my back, and pushed him away. "I... I want..." 

"Tell me," he demanded, eyes burning with dark flames. 

I licked my lips. "I want to be on top." 

He sucked in a ragged breath, and I felt him throb against me right before he easily propped me up above him. "As you wish, my lady." 

The endearment helped to center me, for I knew Asher didn't see me as anything close to civilized, much less a lady. And how could he? His opinion was based on women like Carina, who was undoubtedly as close to my opposite as I would ever meet. But I leaned forward and captured his lips with mine, allowing his hands to roam wherever they pleased. 

I, on the other hand, was strictly goal orientated. I'd already managed to pop open the tiny vial with my fingernail, and was about to dip it into his punctured skin when his fingers stroked the damp heat of my core. I flinched, and nearly dropped the key to my freedom. 

"So wet, Mila," he groaned, palming my bottom with his free hand. "God, I want you." 

"Hm?" I purred against his ear, licking the rough, salty skin below his jaw—so I could see what I was doing. 

"Your pussy is so fucking—Shit!" he growled, as I scraped a scab away with my fingernail and dipped the opened vial into the fresh blood. "What the fuck?" 

I leaned back, pressing my hands to my face to cover the triumph I knew would be etched on my face. "I'm sorry! I got carried away," I rambled, switching my package to my left hand. "God, I'm so embarrassed." 

"No harm done," he replied, squeezing my hips and rubbing his hardness against my backside. "Just surprised me, that's all. Now, where were we?" I crossed my arms under my breasts, and rubbed my arms. The distraction worked—a little too well, for Asher promptly reached for my nipple with his right hand, and froze. The sight of the Chains upon his skin seemed to have completely baffled his higher reasoning. But it really was much too late by that time, and with a victorious grin, I snapped the fourth cuff closed around my bicep. 

The sudden blinding agony lancing through my arm, had me writhing in misery above him. It was nothing compared to the first time, or what I knew Asher was experiencing, but I still tried to dislodge whatever hot coals had been buried under my skin. 

I let out a ragged breath as the moment passed, and watched as Asher's back arched, watched as the veins on his face stood out in stark relief, his scream trapped inside his throat. An instant later, I got to experience his misery for myself, cursing my Empathy with every single naughty word I'd ever heard. But that too passed, and I staggered off the bed, wobbling dangerously on trembling legs. 

Laughter began to bubble from deep within me, and before I could think of a reason not to enjoy this moment, I was shaking with the soul deep mirth one experiences but a few times in life. I raised tear-blurred vision to Asher's limp form, and embraced another wave of giddy excitement. The man was completely unconscious, but more importantly, his skin sparkled with gold. The mark of a slave. 

I hopped onto the bed, any weakness overcome by my weightless spirit, and searched the headboard for the handcuffs Asher had restrained me with on my second night here. Bound to me or not, he still outweighed me by a laughable amount, and I'd lose any physical confrontation. Besides, I wanted to figure out what I could do with my newfound power. 

And power I had. I could feel it pounding through my veins, connecting me to the Earth in ways I'd never thought possible, and—unfortunately—connecting me to Asher. I regarded him thoughtfully as I ratcheted the handcuffs closed, hoisting his arms well above his head. There was no question he had also experienced a power boost, which I thought rather unfair, given that he was the one who'd started this whole binding business in the first place. Shouldn't there have been a divine punishment for him? He'd probably see this as a mixed blessing, the arrogant pig. Knowing the way things usually went in my life, he'd ride this newfound power to the tops of the Caledonian ranks, blasting the poor Eloran rebels away with his gun. 

"His gun!" I leapt off the bed, dashing toward his desk, wrenched the drawer open, and seized the smaller of the two weapons I'd seen him use. It lit up the instant it touched my fingers, glowing with a green so intense that I had to look away, or risk permanent blindness. "Oh yes," I whispered. "You'll do quite nicely." 

I glanced at Asher, and was struck by how much I could now sense about him. His every tiny, intimate detail was available to me. His body was quickly adapting to the changes the Chains were enforcing, and I knew he'd be awake before too much longer. But why wait? Still holding my newest possession, I jumped onto the bed, stepping carelessly over him and sitting heavily on his chest. He didn't flinch. I laid the weapon beside his head and placed my palm against his cheek, infusing his system with healing energy. 

He sighed, and I felt him relax. "We can't have that, now can we?" I said, and slapped him as hard as I could. His eyes flew open, and he tried to cover his face with arms restrained above his head. "Oh there you are!" I cried. "I'm so glad you're awake. I wouldn't want you to miss this." 

"What the fuck?" he hissed as fury blazed through him. 

"Oh, you're angry. That's good. What was it you said about passion and fury Asher?" He jerked, nostrils flaring as he tried to pull the handcuffs apart with sheer brute strength, which for a frightening moment, I thought might be possible. "I really wouldn't recommend that if I were you," I drawled, and leaned forward to retrieve my weapon. It blazed in my hand, instantly capturing Asher's undivided attention. A look of complete and utter shock was scrawled across his pale face, and I laughed openly. "Oh this? I thought I might borrow it, if that's alright with you." He didn't respond, but instead, tore his gaze away from the gun lighting up the room to inspect his new jewelry. "Pretty, right?" I asked when his eyes returned to me, roaming over my body. I tapped my latest gold band with the muzzle of the gun to aid in his search. "Do you like it? It's not my first choice of body modification," I ran my tongue over my elongated canines. "But there's no arguing with the results." 

I felt his newfound Priestess senses—or perhaps 'previously dormant' was a better description—reach out to touch me. A strangled, confused sound burst from his lips. 

"Can you feel me Asher?" I asked, leaning forward on my hands and knees, my lips mere inches away from his face. "Can you?" In this position, I was hovering over him, my every body part lined up with his. "I asked you a question, slave. I expect an answer." And in the spirit of mimicking his initial treatment of me, I pressed my groin against his, though I had no intention of taking advantage of him. 

Still, he remained silent. 

"Nothing to say? Hm, remind me, pet, what's the punishment for disobeying your Master?" 

He stared back at me with stony eyes. "Are you having fun?" he asked, voice shaking with barely controlled anger, sweat beading across his forehead. 

The smile slipped from my lips, and my reply was clipped, to the point. "No, not just yet." I sat back, and pointed the gun directly at his stupid, handsome face. All I had to do was squeeze and then I'd be free. 

"Well?" he drawled after a few long seconds. "What are you waiting for? I can assure you Mila, you're won't get a better chance than this." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 12



"Shut up." 

"Or are you remembering what happened to Harper when he fired on that poor, defenseless Eloran prisoner? Hm? Shall I remind you?" he asked as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "He died in a puddle of pure liquid energy, and I don't doubt for a second that's what Sasha had been trying to train you against." A ghost of his usual mocking smirk curved the corner of his lips. "But we both know you're too impatient to learn such things, don't we Mila?" 

"Shut up!" I hissed, and wrapped my second hand around the gun, steadying it. 

"Hey, if you're willing to die for your cause, don't let me stop you." 

"I'm not going to die with you," I spat. "I have more than enough power to separate us now." 

He chuckled and closed his eyes. "Just don't shoot me in the face. My mother will want an open casket." 

I snorted. "You have a mother?" 

"Hesitation leads to devastation," he purred, calling my bluff. "It's time to toughen up, darling," he whispered, giving me a glimpse of the extremely satisfying fury he was concealing. "Pull the trigger. I promise you'll regret letting me live." 

But... how could I? He might be an arrogant prick, but he's still a person... has emotions... desires... a mother. And if I couldn't kill a simple rabbit to keep myself alive, how could I justify his blood on my hands? I shook my head, confused. I didn't care about any of that. I'd been through so much to get to this point. But what if he was right? What if I wasn't strong enough to survive his death now that I'd bound us further. How could I throw it all away for a moment of vengeance? I'd be walking in Sasha's footsteps—abandoning the Priestesses to their fate, forever a coward. 

"I thought so," he continued, openly smirking now. "Now, if you're not going to kill me," he said, all business. "Get these handcuffs off me. You and I are going to have a little conversation." 

An outraged laugh burst from between my lips. The nerve of this man, mocking me as if I weren't holding him at gunpoint, naked, restrained, and completely at my mercy! I hopped off the bed, searching the floor for one particular article of discarded clothing. Successful, I climbed back on top of him. "Open up." 

Pure disgust crept across his face. "You're joking." 

I gave him a look that clearly said I wasn't, and waited for him to comply. With an irritated roll of his eyes he opened his mouth, and I stuffed his underpants firmly inside. "There. You sound so much smarter with your mouth closed," I said nastily, and proceeded to blindfold him as well. If I was going to make a serious bid for freedom, I couldn't have him watching as I gathered supplies, now could I? Or for that matter, listening. But how could I stop him from hearing what I was doing? "I'm going to pack. Don't go anywhere," I chimed, and I hopped off the bed. 

There was a small magnetic radio sitting on his bedside table, next to a platter of fruit and sliced meats someone had thoughtfully left out. I grinned, and turned it on. The first sound I heard was what I assumed passed for Caledonian music—but Asher deserved something finer, something... fitting his treatment of me. I continued fiddling with the dials until a horrific screeching filled my ears. Static. Perfect. I placed the radio beside Asher's head, and waltzed toward my temporary headquarters, satisfied only when I felt his pang of supreme irritation. 

The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia lay in its case where I'd left it on the bathroom floor. A cold sweat dampened my brow as I was struck by the magnitude of my stupidity. What if my plan had failed, and Asher had found the book Sasha had spent the last five years hiding? 'All for nothing' wouldn't even begin to describe such a tragedy. But when I picked it up, I also realized I couldn't take it with me—I needed to travel light, with as few items on my person as possible. The heavy bulk of the history book might mean I couldn't bring other, more essential items on my trip. And that might be the difference between starving to death in the forest, or being recaptured before I was out of the city limits. I had no choice—the massive tome had to stay behind. 

I needed to keep it safe in my absence, hide it away from prying eyes, but where? I glanced at the ceiling tiles, and while it appeared like a good place at first glance, I realized leaving an ancient book in a moist bathroom probably wouldn't be the best way of preserving it. Next, I crept toward his desk, hoping to find inspiration, simultaneously checking to ensure he wasn't watching me from beneath my crude blindfold. However, a cursory examination of Asher's desk reminded me of the anxiety I'd suffered knowing the book had been hidden beneath it, and the thought of leaving this priceless shard of Tritan history there made me shudder. I moved away, wondering if there might be a better hiding place in another part of the house—when a small bookshelf by the door caught my eye. 

It was stacked with several dozen books of varying age, size, and color. I approached it, entranced. Could there be a better place to hide a book, than a bookshelf? If I moved a few of the smaller books forward, I could make a perfect little hiding place for my charge behind them. Asher certainly wouldn't be propping his feet up with a mug of hot Caledonian Trup anytime soon. And unless someone else moved in, it might be years before my hiding place was found, if it was found at all. Leaving it in the open like this was a risk, but I couldn't see a better alternative. 

With a new goal in mind, I started rearranging books, making a pile of the smallest and pushing aside the larger, deeper books. Before long, I'd done exactly what I'd set out to do, and the Priestesses' book was safely guarded by its younger brethren. Content, I stood and checked on Asher, who was still attentively listening to my choice of music like the good little boy he was. 

Having come from an educated family, I couldn't stop myself from perusing his bookshelf, finding that my mind was hungry for knowledge after my abstinence from society. I knew there was probably a better time to do this, but I was only looking, it wouldn't take more than a second or two. My eyes landed on a smallish, gold flecked book entitled, Two Thousand Years of the Empire—Condensed. Vol. 4. Part 1. My first urge was to rip it to shreds and toss it into a blazing fire, but I left it where it was, untouched. Indifference is the antithesis of love, and all that. 

Next on my hasty list of thing to do, was find some suitable clothing. Though I was still wandering around naked, I couldn't very well wear the simple dress Asher had forced me to wear when I was on the run. It was impractical and would probably end up slowing me down. No, what I needed was a sturdy pair of pants, something in which I could move freely, and would offer some measure of protection against abrasions. 

While I didn't expect to find anything that might fit me—other than the one-size-fits-all slave dress I'd been wearing—I entered Asher's closet. He couldn't possibly expect me to wear nothing but that stupid wrap for the rest of my days, surely he'd have some sort of outdoor wear for the colder months? But of course he doesn't, I thought savagely as I inspected his things. Knowing what I did about the man, I'd been expecting a closet loaded with row upon row of expensive, luxurious clothing. What I found however, was quite the opposite. 

There were a few sparse shelves, neatly lined with military uniforms, pressed shirts ranging in color from white to black, shoes, boots, a small backpack, and a few simple items of jewelry—a watch, a few odd pairs of silver cuff links, and a necklace with a pendant. This last item caught my eye, and I picked it up trying to make sense of it. At first, I'd thought it was an ancient Tritan symbol for Priestess, but upon closer inspection, it became clear it was slightly, though distinctly different. That curvy bit there swirled in the opposite direction from the symbol I'd grown up with, and the lines were bolder, more aggressive. But I'd already gone to the trouble of hiding The Recorded History of my Ancestors and all Their Confusing Teachings, and now really wasn't the time to linger. Asher wasn't going to remain complacently chained to his bed for much longer, especially now that he knew I couldn't kill him. 

I opened a drawer and found several pairs of stretchy winter leggings. They were meant to be worn beneath work pants, close to the skin so as to limit as much heat loss as possible. They'd be loose on me, but I could probably modify them if I had a needle and thread—ah, yes. Every good soldier needs to know how to sew. Such a skill undoubtedly came in handy both for stitching tattered clothing, and torn flesh—especially if one didn't have a Priestess to do the mending for him. I tossed the small sewing kit onto the floor behind me, and stepped into the leggings. 

I was surprised by how soft they were, and if I weren't busy keeping part of my attention focused on Asher, I probably would have taken a moment to enjoy the way they felt next to my skin. They probably looked ridiculous on me, but it was a start. Next, I started riffling through his shirts, searching for something small enough to fit me—unsuccessful, but I grabbed a black t-shirt and pulled it over my head. 

I was immediately wrapped in his masculine scent, and I cursed under my breath. I hardly wanted to wander around the countryside smelling like the man I was trying to escape. Maybe Beau wouldn't mind doing a quick load of laundry before I left? I chuckled and picked up the backpack, stuffing a few extra layers of clothing and the sewing kit inside. 

The only female footwear I could find was of the elegant, fashionable sort, so I picked up one of my dresses, tore it in half and proceeded to wrap my feet and calves with the soft fabric. It was a little thin, so I repeated the process with another length of silky, black fabric, and secured the material with two belts I found hanging beside a uniform. I admired my handiwork—not nearly as sturdy as my trusty tree bark boots, but they were certainly better than trying to run in high-heels. 

When I turned to leave, my eyes got caught on a worn leather jacket. It was old—that much was obvious—and appeared to be well cared for. He'd probably had it for years, and it must be important if he took the time to bring it all the way to the front lines. Asher would probably be devastated if it went missing. 

I emerged from his closet with a half full pack slung over my shoulder, and a victorious smile on my face—just as the radio clattered to the floor. He'd already gotten rid of the makeshift gag and was without the blindfold. I stumbled to a halt as he struggled to sit upright in bed, though he was thankfully still restrained. 

"Find anything interesting?" he asked, fidgeting suspiciously with the cuffs. 

I drew the gun, squinting as it came to life. "Don't move." 

"And what, pray tell, are you planning to do to stop me?" 

I answered his question with one of my own. "How did you do that so quickly?" I asked, gesturing at my lame attempts to blind and silence him. 

"I'm more flexible than I look, darling," he replied, though the endearment did a poor job of masking the contempt in his voice. 

"I should have known you'd have experience being handcuffed to your bed." 

"Extensive," he snapped, the look on his face making my mouth go dry. And I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not—he didn't seem the sort to willingly give up control to a bed partner, but then, I didn't actually know him well. Anything could be true. "Untie me," he commanded, voice tight. 

"No," I said with a derisive snort. "I'm leaving Asher, and there's n-nothing you can do about it. If there was," I continued, my voice losing the irritating little quiver. "You'd have frozen me in place ages ago. But that little party trick of yours doesn't work anymore, does it?" He glared at me, confirming my suspicions. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry to see it go, but I'm sure it was nice while it lasted... at least for you." I stalked toward him, anger rolling off me in waves. "I imagine you're going to come after me, but I feel obligated to warn against such an unwise path. It's dangerous out there, in the wild." I stroked the side of his face, contemplating the benefits of trying to force him to sleep, but ultimately decided against it. Knowing my luck, it would probably backfire, and we'd both wake up well after the sun had risen—or end up in comas. I decided to settle for a head start. 

He didn't speak, but regarded me with fierce dark eyes, his fury eclipsed only by a strange sense of... what could that be? Ah yes. Shame. I hadn't sensed it from him before this moment, and therefore hadn't recognized it at first. I grinned. Being marked as a slave probably wouldn't be good for his reputation, the poor baby. And my goodness, imagine what that might mean for his chances with the ladies? I'm sure Carina wouldn't be thrilled about my little art project. 

"Okay, I'm off. Thanks for the good times and the memories Asher, but I've got people to see, Empires to destroy. You know, important things." I skipped toward the door, checking out his bookcase for tell-tale signs that something didn't fit, but to my relief, it looked exactly as it had before I'd tampered with it. Which included the title Two Thousand Years of the Empire—Condensed. Vol. 4. Part 1. On a whim, I picked it up. "You don't mind if I borrow this, do you?" 

"By all means," he replied in a civil tone, though I thought I could detect a slight tremor in his voice. 

I grinned, and tucked it under my arm. "Thanks." The significance of trading the history of my own people for that of my enemy wasn't lost on me, but it couldn't hurt to know a little more about the Caledonians—could it? Maybe there was something in this book that could help me learn to control my new Elite power. Besides, it wasn't over a thousand years old, and didn't weigh more than I did. I glanced around the room one final time, checking to see if I'd forgotten anything important. 

"Oh, and Mila?" he called politely. 

Out of habit, I turned to face him. "Yes?" 

"Enjoy it while it lasts, pet. I assure you we'll be seeing each other soon." 

"Hah," I snorted, determined to get the last word. "Try not to starve to death while I'm gone," I replied, then blew him a kiss, pranced out the door, and locked it behind me. 

*** 

There you have it! Does this count as a cliffhanger? I hope not, I honestly don't TRY to do it... it's just the natural stopping point in each chapter, I swear. Now, do your part and shower me in love and affection, or chapter 13 will never see the light of day, and I'll wither alone in my basement, like the troll I am.



The Last Tritan Ch. 13



Wow, believe it or not, this chapter has been finished for three weeks. There have been unforeseen circumstances that I probably should have foreseen... but here we are. Sorry for the wait, it was a frustrating one for me this time too. Thank you so much to FA_JF, SP, jennyb2492, and LBGrant for their support and general awesomeness. They make my world go round. We're in love. ;) But anyway, I have some exciting news that I can't tell you about. You'll have to guess why I'm excited, or use telepathy. Either or. 

Enjoy. Xx 

With a satisfied sigh, I flicked the lock and closed the bedroom door behind me. It locked from the inside, which meant it wouldn't stop Asher from opening it—assuming he could get out of the handcuffs I'd used to chain him to the bed. No, I'd locked the door in the hope of stalling whoever came to his rescue. If they didn't have a key, they'd have to break it down. If it were Marco, the locked door probably wouldn't slow him down for more than a moment or two. But if it were Beau, she'd have the enviable task of calling reinforcements—and the more people who saw Asher naked, tied to his bed, and without slave, the better as far as I was concerned. 

Recovering my freedom was an intocicating experience, and took a concentrated effort not to run through the halls shouting for joy. Asher's pride was damaged—hopefully beyond repair—he couldn't use the Chains to control me anymore, and to top it all off, I could now use an Elite's weapon, though I hadn't been bold enough to fire it yet. I'd even had the perfect opportunity to test my new skill on the man I hated most. But I'd failed to take Asher's life—for the second time. 

No matter, I was more powerful than I'd ever been. Who would have guessed the Chains were both blessing and curse? All I had to do now was get out of the city without being stopped. If all went well, I'd soon be able to offer my services to a small group of rebels who'd undoubtedly be happy to help me. After all, I was an Elite now—or perhaps a more accurate description would be an Elite Priestess, as I was still in possession of my ability to sense the Earth's energy. 

"Sonofafucking—" Asher's cursing was perfectly audible through the door. He unintentionally thrust his rage and humiliation upon me, and I barely resisted the urge to enjoy his predicament just a little longer, but it was time I left this place—maybe running through the halls wasn't such a bad idea after all? Gathering myself, I moved toward the stairs, descending on silent feet and allowing my senses flare out around me. 

Asher was a blinding pillar of strength so bright, I couldn't focus on anything but him for a precious few moments, hypnotized by his light. My body was flush with an intoxicating surge of power, but I had to consider the alarming possibility that the scales had merely been balanced between us. Though I'd hoped to become his superior, I was beginning to fear I'd done nothing but opened a two-way exchange between us—both adopting his Elite strength, and giving him the power of a Priestess. 

With a ridiculous amount of effort, I forced myself to turn away from the locked door and what lay behind it, deliberately placing one foot in front of the other. There was someone in the kitchen, but with Asher's distracting presence in the background I couldn't tell who it was. The only thing I could sense was a vague impression of a man, with no tell-tale Elite power signature. With the lord of the house due to wriggle free of his restraints any second now, I couldn't exactly hide in the hall and wait for whomever it was to go to bed—I'd have to risk a confrontation and hope for the best. 

The weapon in my hand lent me a confidence I'd never experienced before. But that said, kicking the door open and entering the kitchen with guns blazing wasn't how I wanted to begin this conversation. Instead, I kept my deadly left hand lowered and positioned slightly behind my back, finger resting along the gun's muzzle. 

With a steadying breath, I slipped into the kitchen. Marco was sitting at the table, a bottle of amber liquid laid out before him. His eyes met mine as he registered my presence, though I could tell it took a moment for my identity to register in his foggy brain. Hammered drunk—just the way I like them, apparently. 

"Marco," I said, adopting the appropriate slave-girl expression. "You're up late, sir." A bleary eyed glare was my only response, and I had to assume he was either trying to place my face, or genuinely angry—neither response matched what I knew about the man, and I was momentarily taken aback. 

"Ah, Mila," he finally spat, getting to his feet. "Just the woman I didn't want to see." 

"I'm sorry?" I asked, honestly confused by his hostility. 

"Yes, you should be." 

"I think... am I missing something?" 

He took a long pull from the bottle and swallowed with a comical grimace. "Well it's all your fault, isn't it?" he replied, gesturing at me with the bottle. In my surprise, my eyebrows must have been swallowed by my hairline, but Marco didn't wait for my rebuttal. "The riot? Yeah, he told me about your little problem, Priestess. Made me promise not to tell anyone, for all the good that will do." Another drink, though he managed to spill a generous portion down the front of his shirt. "And do I get a promotion for my troubles? Do I get a week off to fuck my slave into submission?" 

An outraged sound burst from my lips. "We weren't—" 

A humorless laugh interrupted my rebuttal. "Of course I don't! I get summoned to a disciplinary hearing, and—" he stopped mid sentence, staring at me as if he'd actually realized I was standing before him. "What in God's name are you wearing?" he asked, not bothering to suppress his disdain. "No wait, let me guess. Playing a sex game with the good captain? Sorry," he said, raising his bottle in a mock salute to the ceiling. "Major." 

Just in time to distract me from Marco's drunken line of questioning, Asher flexed his power on the floor above me, making a valiant effort to free himself. "Yes, he's into some pretty weird stuff. Marco listen," I said hastily, rubbing at the sudden ache in my wrists—Asher must have been trying to pull the handcuffs apart with sheer brute force. "His Almighty Highness ordered me to order you, to get us some food." 

"Tell the lazy prick to get it himself," Marco replied, cradling his bottle in loving arms. And then Asher shouted from the upper floor and my heart stopped in my chest. Without conscious thought, my finger brushed the trigger and my shooting hand drifted upward, ready to take Marco down regardless if I were mentally prepared or not. "Keep your pants on!" Marco shouted back, simultaneously unaware of the danger he was in, and misinterpreting Asher's call for help. Chuckling at some private joke, he hefted himself out of his chair and headed for the fridge, angst momentarily forgotten. "What's he want?" 

Sweating freely now, I graced Marco with a flick of my eyes before I said, "Fruit and veggies. Oh, and lots of nuts. As much as will fit in this backpack." I tossed him the bag in question, and tried my best not to look guilty. Thank whatever Deity was watching over me that I'd found him drunk and without the desire to question such an odd request. But true to form, I had but a moment to give my thanks—before Marco started stuffing my pack with the contents from the fridge. Including an entire frozen ham. "Don't put that in there," I squealed indignantly. 

"A man needs meat, wild cat." 

Fantastic. Everyone loves a joker. "But it's going to get ham-goo all over the vegetables." 

"A little protein won't hurt you," he replied, eyeing me lecherously. "But I bet the major is taking care of your protein needs now. Isn't he?" 

Asher shouted again, and this time, I could almost make out his words. Engaging a drunken Marco in witty, whorehouse banter would have to wait. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about," I said, unable to make eye contact. 

Marco chuckled, giving me a knowing wink. "Oh, I'm sure you don't, wild cat, I'm sure you don't." 

With a satisfied grin, he handed me the backpack, which was now full to the point of bursting. Included with my supplies were several different types of sauces, two bottles of rum, half a cabbage, three hot peppers, a bunch of tomatoes, a head of lettuce, and the aforementioned ham. I'm sure I'd never seen a stranger combination of food, and I told him so. 

"Then tell the captain he can pack his own picnic. He doesn't pay me enough to—" 

"You forgot the nuts." 

He grabbed at the front of his trousers, cupping what was surely an impressive package. "I've got all the nuts you need right here. If Rawlings can't satisfy you, all you have to do is ask, honey." 

I blushed furiously, but pressed on. "Gross. You know I meant walnuts. Or possibly almonds, if you have them." With a healthy dose of condescension, he touched his forehead and pulled a massive bag of mixed nuts from the cupboard. 

I held out my hand when he turned to face me, but he hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. 

"Marco!" Asher shouted in the following silence, the crack in his voice audible through several layers of brick and mortar. The former frowned, and his eyes traveled over my body, seeing my choice of attire through suspicious eyes. Whether it was the backpack filled with food that tipped him off, or Asher's desperate call, Marco drew his gun—letting the bag of nuts fall to the floor with a dull thud. "Don't move slave!" 

A smile spread across my face, slow and confident. "You're a little slow on the uptake Marco," I remarked calmly, drawing my own weapon. "And the look on your face right now is priceless, by the way." 

"That's not possible," he whispered, gaze fixed upon the blazing Elite weapon in my hand. 

"Oh this?" I asked innocently, flicking my wrist to the side. "It's pretty right? And I think mine's bigger than yours. Well, maybe not bigger in the literal sense of the word, but unquestionably more powerful." 

"Mila, put it down," he ordered, but the effect was lessened somewhat by the trembling in his voice. 

I laughed. "And why would I do that?" 

"Mila—" 

"We seem to have a little stand-off here. Only, I've got you at a disadvantage, don't I?" I took a step toward him, driven by the terror I could see in his eyes. "You can't shoot me, because my death would also mean the death of your commanding officer. But there's nothing stopping me from killing you, is there?" 

"Easy—" 

"Give me your gun," I said. When he hesitated, I allowed the Earth's power to surge into my weapon, making it quiver in my grip. "Don't make me ask twice, Marco. Beau has enough to do around here without mopping up your bits and pieces, wouldn't you agree?" 

"What in the name of sweet, ever loving fuck is happening right now?" he whispered. 

"I'm leaving," I said simply. "Now, give me your gun before I use you for target practice." I sneered as he slid it across the counter. "Good boy." Shock brushed along my senses—undoubtedly Marco's—causing me to hesitate, right hand darting out faster than a cat's paw to stop his gun from sliding onto the floor. When was the last time I'd sneered at someone, honestly enjoyed their helpless panic? Was it a matter of my Empathy being influenced by Marco's ugly attitude toward me earlier, or was it something more? A product of bonding Asher and assimilating his toxic Elite energy? Shaking my head, I opened a drawer at random and deposited his weapon alongside some assorted cutlery. 

"Why would you think that's a good idea," he asked stupidly. 

"Because I'm not giving you the opportunity to steal it back from me." 

We stared at each other until the distant sound of Asher cursing broke the tension. "What now?" Marco asked, raising his hands in surrender. 

"I-I don't know. I've never taken a hostage before." 

"I'm a hostage?" he asked weakly, face visibly paling. 

I nodded, but answered him with a question of my own. "Where does Beau sleep?" 

"Are you mad?" he demanded, his sharp bark of laughter belying his poorly concealed panic. "I'm not telling you that. Beau's innocent—" 

"Innocent," I hissed. "We are talking about the woman who gleefully handed me over to her master, completely ignoring my desperate pleas for help? The same woman who couldn't wait to see me bound and humiliated, who couldn't—" I took a deep breath, trying to control myself. Now was not the time for this argument. "I'll ask you once more. Where does she sleep?" A flick of my wrist brought his attention back to my weapon. 

"So you can kill her? I don't think so." 

"While it's touching that you're willing to die for a slave, I feel obliged to point out I haven't said a word about killing her. I just don't want her setting his royal highness free too soon. You understand." 

He watched me for a moment, as if weighing his options. "The slave quarters. Next to the bathhouse," he said, apparently deciding my reasoning was sound. Although he looked nervous with sweat dripping steadily down the side of his face, I couldn't sense Beau's presence anywhere near me. And because time had an unreasonable habit of continuing to pass, regardless of my wishes, I was forced to take him at his word. 

"What's the fastest way out of here?" I asked, the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind. However, I couldn't be sure if it was brilliant, or a terrible, unnecessary risk. 

"You—" his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "You won't get far before he finds you. You know that right?" 

"Spare me the lecture Marco. Just answer the question." 

He took a shaky breath, his skin turning a sickly shade of green. "By car." 

"Good. Now pick up that bag of nuts—toss them over—thank you—and start walking." 

"Why?" 

"Because you're going to lead me out of here." 

"Like hell I am." 

Asher's power flared insistently and his rage burst through my veins, hastening my decision making process. "Aw, honey, I wasn't asking. Walk." 

Obediently, he turned, hands still raised. "Taking me as a hostage is a horrible idea, Mila. I'm a trained soldier with plenty of combat experience, and I'm much stronger than you. With that weapon, or without it, you're going to need to sleep eventually. And when you do—" 

"You're making an awfully good case for your untimely demise." 

He ignored my threat. "You'd be better off tying me up and leaving me here." 

"That's a fantastic idea," I replied cheerfully. "Should I even bother restraining you, or would you rather I just lock you in the room with your master? I did leave him in a rather compromising position. I'm sure he'd like you to free him as quickly as possible." 

And as if on cue, Asher could be heard cursing and struggling above us, demanding Marco get his, "lazy ass upstairs right this second!" 

I smiled, though I wasn't feeling particularly amused. "No, you've got to come with me, Marco. But no hard feelings, right?" 

"Fine," he snapped, the intensity of his anxiety making me sweat. "And where might we be going?" 

An ominous thump from Asher's room made it clear I'd overstayed my welcome. "Why, take me to the garage and Asher's fancy black car." 

*** 

Leaving Asher alive—or at the very least, conscious, uninjured, and extremely pissed off—seemed like an especially stupid thing to do. We both knew he'd be coming after me as soon as circumstances would allow, but what alternative did I have? I couldn't injure him without taking the risk that I'd also incapacitate myself in the process. No, in binding Asher I'd knowingly sacrificed any chance of permanently separating myself from him—if there had indeed been a chance after he'd initially bound me. 

Cursing my inability to keep Asher out of my head, I did my best to focus on the present. Following my hostage through the halls needed my full, undivided attention. If we were unlucky enough to run into someone before we got to Asher's garage, Marco wouldn't have to say a word to give us away. His muscular back was rigid, his gate stiff and unnatural, fists clenched at his sides—his posture screamed 'prisoner'. 

"Will you relax?" I snapped. 

"Put the gun away, and I'll see what I can do," he retorted, but rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. 

I jabbed him in the lower back, and said, "With such long legs, I'd assume you'd be able to move faster than a ninety-year old." 

"There's just no pleasing you, is there wild cat? I can't walk faster and look relaxed." 

"I'm not stupid Marco. You're stalling." I swept the back of my free hand over my brow, damp with anxious sweat. "You think giving him a few extra minutes is going to make a difference?" 

He didn't deny it. "The thought may have crossed my mind." 

"I'm getting out of here one way or another, and if I have to use you as bargaining chip, I won't hesitate. I just—" My throat tightened and I coughed, clearing it of the sudden sticky emotions. "I just want to go home. And if you help me, I'll let you go." 

"I hate to break it to you, wild cat, but Tritan fell five years ago. And unless you're thinking of squatting in the forest like a wild animal, this is your home. Now," he said, adopting an air of superiority I wouldn't have thought possible from someone who'd been taken hostage by said wild animal. "Why don't you give me the gun, and—" 

"If I'm not looking at a vehicle in one minute, I'm going to shoot you and take my chances." 

I could have sworn I heard him growl. "Have it your way," he said, yanking the front door open, then took a sharp left. I was pushing my senses to the limit, searching for any unwelcome guests, while trying to predict any act of rebellion from Marco. And I was already feeling the strain—my face was hot and sticky, and my shooting hand had begun to shake. I needed to rest, and soon. 

"Thirty seconds, Marco," I called in a sing-song voice, though it sounded false, even to me. 

"Yeah, yeah, and then you'll shoot me. I get it. We're almost there. Relax, will you?" I grit my teeth, trying not to shoot him anyway for his insolent tone—I was the one with the gun after all. But he was being honest, and a moment later opened the door to Asher's modest garage. "Your chariot." 

"Perfect," I breathed, feeling for the first time that I might actually get out of this nightmare alive. I motioned toward the driver's seat. "Get in." 

"What? No," he said with hands raised, taking several steps backward. "I took you to the car, now you have to—" 

"Have you forgotten which of us is holding the other hostage?" He glared at me. "Good. Now get in." 

"You sure you want me to drive?" 

"Obviously," I replied, and gestured wildly at the car. If Asher wasn't free by now, he would be soon. 

"As a general rule, you want your getaway driver to be sober." 

I cursed under my breath—I'd forgotten Marco had been well into a bottle when I'd found him in the kitchen. Keeping my mind focused on several different things at once was no easy task. "I'm willing to take that chance." 

"I don't know why you wouldn't just get in the car and leave," he reasoned. "Trust me Mila, you don't want me as a hostage." 

Impatience blazed through my system—but it wasn't my own. I could feel his anticipation... he was so close, almost free. "I don't want anything to do with you, Marco! But unfortunately for you, I can't drive. So if you're finished—" 

"You can't drive?" he asked, eyebrows raised in question. When I didn't respond, he had the good manners to laugh in my face. "Is that why you're taking me hostage? This is a wonderful plan, wild cat. No, really, I applaud your strategic genius." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 13



"I don't know why you're surprised," I snapped, pushing him toward the driver's door. "You're technically the reason I never learned." 

His voice rose an octave in surprise. "Me?" 

"Are you, or are you not a soldier of Caledonia? The nation of slavers who destroyed my homeland, stole our people, technology, and resources so you could make a profit? Forgive me, but learning to drive wasn't a priority, as I spent the last five years scavenging for food!" My face had heated in my passion, and I had to take a deep breath before I could say, "Get in the car, and keep your hands where I can see them." 

He did as I asked, though I continued watching him for suspicious movement. I rushed to the passenger door, keeping my gun trained on him through the tinted glass, tossed my pack in the backseat with my free hand, then settled myself in the front. What I hadn't counted on, was how tight the cabin of the car would be—Marco's forearm was a scant few inches from my thigh. I was well within reach, should he decide disarming me was the best course of action. 

Trying to keep as much distance between us as humanly possible, I pressed my back against the cool glass. "Let's go," I ordered. He hesitated, eyes flicking to my gun, which was still aimed at his midsection. A dramatic sigh was his only response, but he touched a small black button, causing several dials on the dashboard to light up. A message scrolled across a screen—magnetic engine engaged—which I found extremely helpful as the car had yet to make a sound. Without direct confirmation, I'd wager it would be impossible to know whether or not the car was ready to drive. And then, with a smooth and steady grace, we rose a few inches off the ground, proving my earlier observations inaccurate. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Luxury indeed! 

Marco caught my eye, and raised his brows in question. "Well?" 

"Well what? Start driving." 

"I realize you want me to drive, wild cat. I heard you the first six times. But where would you like me to go?" 

I dug my fingernails into my palm, trying not to lose my temper all together. "Take me to the Elorans." 

"Ah. Should have guessed," he said conversationally, sliding Asher's sleek car out of its parking space. "They're in a completely hopeless situation, about to suffer a crushing defeat and become a nation of slaves for their trouble. But I get why you're feeling drawn to them." 

Inspite of his intoxication, he expertly guided us through the narrow streets, accelerating to a nauseating speed. "Oh? And why is that?" I asked, glancing in the rear-view mirror for any signs that we were being followed. 

"Because your situation is equally hopeless. Possibly more so." 

"That's weird," I replied, allowing my power to surge into my weapon. "I sure don't feel helpless." 

"Don't get me wrong," he replied, with a cautious nod at the brilliant, deadly thing in my hands. "That's very impressive. I've never seen anything like it. Here's your gold star, and a complimentary pat on the back—" 

"Don't touch me." 

"Metaphor, darlin'." He pushed sweaty hair off his forehead, and continued. "I can't help but notice the way your face flushes every time you threaten to kill me." 

Without bothering to slow down, he cranked the wheel to the right, and the velocity nearly launched me into his lap. "Be careful!" I cried, scrambling to right myself, belatedly searching for my seatbelt. 

He continued speaking, completely disregarding my complaint and accelerating through a straight section of road. "Has anyone ever told you you're a terrible liar?" 

Assuming the question was rhetorical, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to quell the sudden onset of Marco-induced nausea. "Please slow down," I whispered, giving up on the tangled mess that had once been a seatbelt, and resting my hand on his forearm. "You're going to get us both killed." Letting him drive really had been a terrible idea, and I tried to draw the alcohol out of his system using my Priestess skills, making myself feel dizzy and intoxicated in the process. 

He ignored me. "You see wild cat, I don't think you have the balls to shoot me. I think," he said, this time whipping the car to the left. "You're bluffing." 

I opened my eyes and my vision was filled with a battle scarred field—and it just so happened to be one I recognized. "An interesting hypothesis, Marco," I said, pressing my lips together. This was the same field where Asher had first tried to use his Priestess-powered weapon, nearly killing me in the process—which meant the rebels weren't far from here. "But you're only going to get one chance to test that theory." 

"One chance is all I need," he retorted, and before I had a chance to respond he slammed on the brakes, leaning into me as the car veered off the road. We hit the ditch with a shocking amount of force—and my face slammed into the dash, a sickening crunch and a comical geyser of blood proof I'd broken my nose. 

Dazed, I pressed my hand to my face, trying to staunch the flow and getting a mouthful of tangy, copper liquid for my trouble. Coughing and spluttering, I said, "You did that on purpose!" The nasally sound of my voice was almost enough to inspire hysterical laughter. Intent on confronting him, I looked to my left—before realizing he'd already exited the vehicle. 

He yanked open my door, and said, "Don't be silly. Didn't you see that cute little kitty?" 

Blinking slowly, I tried to find my weapon—and located it tucked securely in Marco's holster. "You saw a kitten?" I repeated staring up at him, mouth gaping open. 

Hauling me out of the car, he tossed me into the damp grass and twisted my arms behind my back. "Sure did. And just a secret between you and I," he said, viciously pinning me to the ground with his knee. "I really like kittens. I'd never forgive myself if I killed one." 

I grunted, trying to adjust as he settled his weight over me, tying my hands together. "An interesting fact," I replied, pouring energy into my broken nose in an attempt to repair the damage. "Not sure I give a shit, but interesting nonetheless." 



"Oh come on wild cat, don't be like that," he said and lifted me bodily off the ground, guiding me with a hand covering my bound wrists. "So your escape attempt failed. You don't need to sulk because of it. The major expects a certain amount of rebellion from his slaves. I bet he isn't even angry with you," he teased, marching me in the direction from which we'd come. 

"I'll take that bet," I replied under my breath, because I happened to be in possession of irrefutable evidence to the contrary—Asher's fury was pumping through my veins, clouding my vision with every breath I took, and making semi-rational thought a chore. 

"Suit yourself," he replied, giving me an insistent shove, his rough palm rasping against the delicate skin inside my wrist. 

The skin to skin contact gave me an idea. "There is one thing you've overlooked," I said and let my fingers wrap around his, clinging to him as if I needed the extra balance. 

"Oh, and what's that?" 

But of course by the time he'd asked, it was already far too late. "I don't need a weapon to kill you," I murmured, then secured my grip on his fingers, and unleashed the entirety of my attention upon him, filling my mind with all things Marco. His life force consumed me—his healthy, virile energy a living, breathing entity inside him. I reached for it, clasped it in imaginary hands and beckoned it toward me, pulling it away from him. When his strength began to wane, I felt it—but I didn't stop until his grip slipped and his long legged strides faltered. Marco sank to his knees, and I began to laugh as confusion seeped from his every pore. It was soul deep and life affirming, only appropriate if one threw back their head and gave it the freedom to do as it liked. 

"Whas... whas happening?" he slurred. "Whater you doing?" 

Breaking our contact, I turned to face him, looking down my nose at the man. "I'd drain you dry, if I didn't think you might be useful in the future," I hissed through clenched teeth. Stepping over my bound hands, I patiently undid the knots, watching dispassionately as he struggled at my feet. With my hands now free, I swiped at the blood covering my face, palpating my nose to see if it had healed straight. Success, as far as I could tell, though couldn't be certain without the assistance of my reflection. 

Pushing aside my vanity, I reached for my gun, which was still tucked into the waist of Marco's pants. He couldn't muster the energy to protest, so I gave him a gentle shove with my foot, laying him out on the damp grass. "I don't need a weapon Marco, but it does a really wonderful job of getting my point across without my having to resort to other... more drastic measures." I turned toward Asher's car, and frowned—the front end was partially buried by rich, dark earth and large clumps of grass. "I don't suppose this is salvageable," I mused, giving it a frustrated kick. 

"I tolja I'd make a—" he broke off, breathing heavily. "A terrible hostage." 

"Yes, well just to be sure," I replied, and aimed at the twisted metal frame of Asher's car. "Can't have you thinking I'm scared to use this baby, can I?" 

"Oh no, Mila don't!" Marco cried, struggling valiantly to get to his feet. 

I grinned, enjoying his distress, and though I knew it was wrong—squeezed the trigger. The resulting surge of energy that rushed through my system literally knocked me off my feet, sending me sprawling on the wet grass, dazed and confused. Blackness sparkled at the edges of my vision, adding to the disorienting tingle in my lips. And for a terrifying moment, I thought I was going to wet myself, such was the intensity of the sensation rushing through my blood. Miraculously, I managed to preserve my dignity—tattered though it may have been—and staggered to my feet, wobbling like a drunkard. 

There was a smoking pile of white hot metal where the car had been, not to mention the sizable crater beneath it. Marco's face was slack, and there was an ominous green tint to his otherwise healthy bronze complexion—I understood his distress. 

What on earth had possessed me to do such a thing without conscious thought toward the consequences? Knowing what I did about Sasha's suicide and the general's death, I could surmise it was nothing short of stupid to have fired that weapon. The unprecedented nature of the two way bond between Asher and I should have been enough to give me pause, but I'd gotten carried away. The danger, I thought, would be to continue making the same mistake until I ran out of luck. 

"The car," Marco moaned. "Why woulja do that to the car?" 

Shaking off the feeling of narrowly avoided disaster, I rolled my eyes at his perfectly male reaction. "You parked it in the ditch at speed," I reminded him. "How far is it to the rebel camp?" 

Gaze still glued to the smouldering wreckage, he shrugged. "They move around a lot. Could be a fifteen minute walk—" he swallowed thickly. "Or it could be halfa day's drive. Maybe more. There'sa lotta ground t'cover between here and the coast." 

"Yes," I replied with a smile. "Forested ground. Now," I said, and laid my hand upon his cheek, returning a portion of the energy I'd stolen. "Get up. It's going to be a long walk." 

The infusion made him sigh, but with a grunt he stood, and said, "You'll move faster without—" 

"Really Marco, how many times do we have to have this conversation? Just accept that and—" Triumph flooded my brain, quickly followed by seething anger, and the overwhelming desire to punch something as hard as I could. Considering I'd never done such a thing in my entire life, I could only assume one thing—Asher was free. A cold sweat blossomed on my skin, making me shiver in spite of the heat in my cheeks. "Move," I whispered, nudging Marco with the muzzle of my weapon. 

"That might be easier if you'd undo whatever Priestess juju you've—" 

But the sound of Asher's voice interrupted him, mid-sentence. "You'd better run fast and hard, Mila." 

"What—" I whipped around with a startled yelp, gun singing with power, expecting to find him standing right behind me—but there was nothing there. 

"You're not going to be happy when I get my hands on you again," he continued. The man was so close I could almost feel the heat of his breath on my neck, the vibration of his voice in my chest—the only problem being the distinct lack of a physical presence. 

I swallowed hard, eyes darting wildly around the field. "D-did you hear th-that?" 

"Hear what?" Marco asked, trudging ahead of me. 

But I shook my head, lips pressed into a thin, tight line. The stress was obviously getting to me. "Start running," I ordered, panic crackling in my voice. "You can take a break when we get to the tree line." 

"Running will only make it worse," he said, but saluted, and began a shambling jog. Though I wanted to sprint ahead of him and lose myself in the trees, I kept pace, trying not to hear the laughter echoing inside my head. 

* 

* 

* 

Okay, that's all for now! I know it was a bit of a short chapter, but hold it against me!! It's technically the second half of 12, but needed to be separated for pacing. 

Now. Vote, comment, shower me in love and affection, and most importantly, read the comments below... :) I'm really quite excited about... something... :) 

Ta ta for now, you gorgeous internet muffins. 

WaterBurnXx



The Last Tritan Ch. 14







The Last Tritan Ch. 14



"Fuck!"

Marco's frustrated shout shattered my newly restored sense of calm, and for the second time in as many minutes, I nearly tumbled from the tree in fright. Before I could tempt Fate further, I descended with an exasperated huff, and said, "Have you still not lit that fire?" The small clearing at the base of the willow smelled of sweat and man—an aroma that sent my mind directly to an inappropriate place, in spite of his unwashed state. But courtesy of the late hour, my flushed cheeks were invisible to my hostage, for which I was profoundly grateful.

"Oh, come off it Mila. You could be more useful," he snapped, and threw the spindle at the ground.

I could feel his fury seeping into my mind, and tried with all my strength to will him to be calm. Having had three days to clear my mind of the toxic influence of the Caledonian people, I was loathe to relinquish my newfound sense of calm, and silently gathered the fire kit. To my surprise, Marco had been much closer to success than he'd thought—the fire board was hot to the touch, and had a faint smell of charred wood. With an ease born of years of practice, I set the spindle into the small, burned hole Marco had partially started.

For all of my experience, it still took more than fifteen minutes to accomplish my task, and cost me a swollen aching right hand. But when I finally did, there was a tiny glowing ember burning on the piece of bark beneath the fire board. Without looking away from my fragile charge, I scooped up the tinder nest, and carefully deposited the ember in a cradle of fuel. Cupping the delicate bundle in loving hands, I began to blow.

I fed it a cautious supply of air—for I was wary of smothering the ember in what it craved most—and then increased it with a growing confidence. And before long, my hands were filled with a cheerful glow, which I promptly settled in its final resting place at the bottom of the fire pit.

"Fuck me, you made that look easy," Marco said, flopping down gracelessly beside me. I shrugged and gathered a small handful of the prepared kindling, placing it in a careful, prearranged pattern. Trying to be helpful, Marco followed suit, apparently intending to toss sticks into the small flame at random.

"Easy," I admonished, placing a hesitant, finger on his forearm. "You see the shape of the flame? Like a triangle?" He nodded. "The hottest part of a flame is at the top, so if you stack the wood like this," I said, placing the sticks in an A-frame. "It won't matter if your wood is a little wet. The heat will dry it out as it starts to burn," I said, pausing to gather handful of slightly larger kindling. "Keep building the fire until you've got a decent bed of coals, and then you can start cooking."

Marco continued carefully adding wood to our tiny fire, every fiber of his being focused on keeping the light burning. "Thank you," he murmured, eyes intent on his task. And because I wasn't interested in fostering any sort of friendly relationship between us, I held my tongue and supervised as he worked.

*

*

*

Twenty minutes later, our small campsite was filled with the smell of charred ham. Marco had flat-out refused to eat until he was certain the possibility of food poisoning was completely eradicated—which led to him crunching away at a lump of charcoal, pretending to be satisfied. Normally, what Marco did, or did not put into his mouth would have been no concern of mine. But the smell of cooking flesh—oh gods the smell! It was clinging to the back of my throat, burning my nostrils and making my brow prickle in nauseous sympathy. The effort not to vomit was quickly becoming the only thing I was capable of concentrating on.

I pressed the back of my hand to my upper lip in an attempt to suppress my sense of smell, and closed my eyes. It wouldn't do to let Marco see me as anything other than the master of my natural environment—he was a soldier after all, and I had to assume he'd jump on the first sign of weakness. The only thing I knew that could prevent extreme nausea—at least in me—was to put my digestive system to work. With trembling fingers, I pulled my big bag of nuts out of my pack and popped a few into my mouth, chewing quickly.

"So, do you have to do all of that every time you want to light a fire?" Marco asked around a mouthful.

An amused smile curved my lips, in spite of my upset stomach. "No, not necessarily," I replied, crossing my legs beneath me. "I normally try to keep a fire going continuously. Though to be fair, I had a stationary base of operations when I was living outside Tritan, and I never had to worry about taking fire with me if I traveled."

"I have to know," Marco said, rubbing greasy fingers on his trousers. "How did you manage to evade detection for so long? Being stationary means you would have had to leave all kinds of evidence lying around. I mean, even if you were careful, I can't imagine you would have lasted for so long without being found out. How did you do it?"

"Come on Marco," I said playfully. "A girl's gotta have her secrets. Besides," I continued, adding more wood to the small fire. "If I tell you, I'll have to come up with a whole new system."

He stared at me at length, then made an aggravated sound in the back of his throat. "You know this isn't going to last, don't you? He's going to catch up to you eventually, Mila. You have to know that." Rather than answer him I tossed another almond into my mouth, and concentrated on chewing. "You can make things easier on yourself, you know. Surrender. He'll go easy on you."

I snorted at this, and said, "Do you honestly believe life as a slave would be easier for me, having spent the last three days with me? Out here?"

He thought for a moment, never breaking eye contact. "I've spent the last three days with a runaway slave who spends most of her time choosing paths and making decisions that accommodate her hostage." He popped another blackened chunk of ham into his mouth.

"Well played, sir," I replied, laughing at his hundredth bid for freedom.

"Seriously Mila, most people take a hostage to get themselves out of a sticky situation, then ditch them as soon as it's safe. Hostages are a fuck-tonne of work—"

"You're telling me."

"The longer you try to force me to stay, the bigger the likelihood I'll get the drop on you."

"Have you forgotten what happened the last three times you tried that?" I retorted.

"You're doing a commendable job of pretending you're not terrified, Mila, but I see the way you look over your shoulder. That coupled with the fact that you won't heal that wound on your hand, tells me you're too scared to use your power." While he didn't necessarily move, the air had quickly filled with a palpable tension. "I wonder what would happen if I—"

"Go ahead, tough guy. Try me." I didn't blink, didn't move, hardly dared to breathe as Marco and I stared each other down, both wondering if the other was bluffing.

"Getting me to lead you out of the city was smart," he allowed, eyes flickering ominously in the light of the fire. "A little amateur, sure, but effective nonetheless. But you're making a mistake keeping me with you. You'd be moving much quicker if I wasn't slowing you down, admit it."

I shrugged. "Without question."

"Then help me with the math, Mila. Because this—" He gestured at the space between us. "Just doesn't add up."

What could I say? He was right, I was out of my depth. I had nothing more than a vague plan to 'find the rebels.' But that thought gave me an idea, and I said, "What if my plan is to offer you to the Elorans as a token of my dedication to their cause?"

He laughed, though it did nothing to break the tension between us. "Good idea, Mila. Then they'll kill us both on the spot, under the assumption that we're trying to infiltrate their camp with spies." He crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands in his armpits for warmth. "I think you're lost Mila. You don't know what to do with me now that we're away from the city, and you're afraid letting me go will mean you've failed." I shifted uncomfortably—right again, damn the man. "I've seen how good you are at surviving out here, Mila. If you let me go now, we both know you'll be able to get far enough away that any information I tell Asher won't be worth much."

"You're not wrong, Marco," I acknowledged. "It's just too bad I can't trust a word that comes out of your mouth, being that you're the enemy, and all."

Marco sighed, and finished the last of his meal, noisily licking his fingers clean. "Then let's get this over with, shall we?"

Feeling no small amount of guilt, I stood, and reached for Marco's wrist, wary of the possibility of a counterstrike. As I was currently running for my life, I hadn't had time to fashion a rope from plant fibers—though if I were honest with myself, such a rope probably wouldn't have prevented Marco from escaping for long, if at all. No, as much as I wanted to avoid it, I had no choice but to subdue Marco with my power, as I had each evening since his capture. Which undoubtedly begged the question, if I were hesitating to use my power for fear of Asher finding me, why then was I going to all the trouble of keeping Marco with me? It would be easier to incapacitate him, and slip away while he slept.

But some stubborn part of me hesitated—I couldn't shake the feeling that Marco might be useful if Asher did manage to catch up to me. As a bargaining chip, if nothing else. So I ignored the bitter look in his eyes, and concentrated on the wellspring of strength within him.

Though I possessed neither the elegance nor the grace that had defined Sasha, it was becoming laughably easy for me to drain Marco to the point of exhaustion. He slumped at my feet, the effort to maintain his posture quickly becoming an insurmountable task. Moments later, the comforting, rhythmical sounds of his breathing filled my ears, signaling the onset of artificial slumber. His stolen energy surged through my system and I closed my eyes, trying to ride the wave rather than be swept away by it. It took a minute or so to find my composure, but when I did, I began compulsively tidying our campsite. Thinking about the consequences of toying with Marco this way was something I couldn't bring myself to do.

While it was true my methods were rather invasive, I wasn't a complete monster—I maneuvered Marco's arms until he looked comfortable, then zipped up his light jacket. The luxury of fireside warmth, however, couldn't be entrusted to a mere hostage, so I pushed the "dirt shield" on to the flames, smothering them without so much as a protesting wisp of smoke. He'd have to be grateful the winter season was still several months away.

When I'd done my best to make Marco comfortable, I climbed back into the willow tree, preparing to settle in for the night—barring one important fact. If the past two nights could be taken as precedence, I knew I wasn't preparing to spend the night sleeping. In fact, true sleep had eluded me for over seventy-two hours now—a fact I might have found disturbing if I'd been experiencing any adverse side effects. But aside from extreme boredom during the long hours of the night, I felt totally fine. Incredible, even. I did, however, find myself dozing periodically when Marco was in need of rest or food. And whenever these little cat naps occurred, I often found myself in the company of Asher's threatening, disembodied voice.

It hadn't escaped me that my inability to sleep was due to Marco's generous nightly donation of energy, and at first I'd been worried that he was suffering for it. But every morning he'd awakened refreshed and recharged, alleviating the bulk of my worry with his witty, sarcastic banter. Would I keep watching him for signs that I'd pushed him too hard? Of course. But for now, spending the nights in a state of perfect alertness was an opportunity I simply couldn't pass up. If Asher or his men attempted to gain ground while he expected me to be sleeping, I would be the first to know.

A cool breeze reminded me it was indeed early autumn, and I reached for my pack, withdrawing my brand new leather jacket. The hypocrisy of a vegetarian benefiting from the death—and subsequent skinning—of a living creature didn't escape me, but I hadn't been the executioner. And while that didn't excuse me, I knew there was nothing I could do but give thanks for whatever creature had died to keep me warm. Unfortunately, I didn't remember how easy it was for leather to retain a scent, until I had the jacket wrapped snugly around myself. Asher's masculine aroma clung to the jacket, reminding me of dirty, sweaty things a woman taken against her will had no business thinking about. None whatsoever.

I tried to force my depraved mind to ponder something less stimulating, such as a step-by-step account of baking acorn bread. But that choice—upon further contemplation—proved to be a poor one. In spite of its uncommon presence in modern society, acorn bread was a remarkably simple thing to create. Especially when the baker's pantry was limited to ingredients such as walnuts, berries, and water. Besides, the memory of toasting acorn flour paled in comparison to the captured scent of this damn jacket.

He must have worn it when he was off duty, for I could find no army insignias emblazoned upon the worn leather. And if I wasn't mistaken, I thought I could detect the faint, but distinct, scent of whiskey and cigars. The last time I'd been in the presence of that particular combination was the night I'd gotten him fired—and he'd been drunk enough then to consider Carina's toxic hand in marriage. Though I couldn't actually remember if he'd been wearing this jacket or smoking. I'd been far too busy not noticing the way his hair stood on end, or the way the alcohol made him smell spicy and manly all at once.

With a strangled cry of despair, I struggled to free myself from the insidious grip of Asher's jacket. It would have been less distressing if I'd simply been wrapped in the man's physical arms. At least that way I'd have been prepared to ignore the hormonal side of my psyche, and wouldn't have had to remember how good he smelled... I'd be able to breathe him in until I couldn't inhale anymore...

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I hissed, tossing his jacket to the ground with far more enthusiasm than I'd intended. The thought of voluntarily spending the night with Asher—phantom or not—was absolute lunacy. To escape him for good, my attention needed to be fixed upon a single, uncompromising objective—reaching the rebels. As I sat there in the chilly evening breeze, I realized there was a logical, clinical way to explain my current—for lack of a more desirable word—infatuation with Asher.

Hormones. As much as I wanted to deny it, he'd been the only man to lay hands on me in more than a familial manner. It was only natural I'd be experiencing some sort of artificial attachment to the man, disregarding the fact that we were now doubly bound in both blood and power. I'd certainly seen it often enough in the animal kingdom while I'd been living as a wild thing. The males of most species were intent on one thing, and one thing only—the right to mate. I'd even seen them fight to the death for such rights. And having spent so much time being a part of nature, I'd be foolish to consider myself above it.

But I could become the master of myself, and my infernal base urges. Goal in mind, I dropped from my perch, retrieved Asher's jacket and the small sewing kit I'd taken from his closet. I had some changes to make.

*

*

*

"... and I can't wait to taste you again, Mila. To feel you squirm beneath me, as I punish you, as I fuck your tight little pussy into submission. It won't be long now, pet. Not long at all..."

I yelped, fighting to regain consciousness, trying to prepare myself to either flee, or fight for my life. Marco's surplus energy had worn off just before the sun came up, and I'd snuggled into the arms of my tree, trying to catch a few precious moments of sleep. But I'd been woken—again—to the sound of Asher's deep voice. A cursory search of the area proved I wasn't in immediate danger, but it still took a few minutes for my heart rate to resume a regular pattern.

"Damn you," I muttered under my breath, hoping with all my might he couldn't hear me. But I had to admit, with a yawn, Asher's threats were becoming common-place, and I was fast becoming desensitized to them. This was my fourth day of freedom, and I'd yet to sense any hint of his presence. Maybe, I thought with budding excitement, he'd been ordered not to follow me as punishment for his failure to break my spirit.

Grinning, I glanced toward the sky—the sun had traveled less than the span of my hand since I'd last looked, which meant I'd been sleeping for less than an hour. How long would I be able to go without truly resting? Surely I wasn't the only Priestess who'd discovered this ability, though I couldn't understand why the other Priestesses would choose to sleep, if they knew they didn't have too. The things one could accomplish with an extra eight hours, free of the mundane, human requirement for sleep. I'd spent my extended watch sewing an entirely new form-fitting jacket, complete with secret pockets and protective hood—which I'd scavenged from the cuttings of what had once been Asher's beloved garment. It was perfect, and I would be protected from the elements and curious eyes, both.

Regardless of how much sleep I was getting, I was well and truly awake. Cheerful for the first time in days, I descended from my perch to find a private place to relieve myself, then set about packing up our camp. First I checked for any debris we may have dropped, then gave Marco a firm, but harmless 'good morning' kick. Then I tossed some food in my mouth and pushed on. Marco had cooked the remainder of his ham the previous evening, and I was comfortable leaving the matter of his grumbling stomach to him.

"Why're you so chipper this mornin'?" he asked, stumbling along behind me. Without turning to look, I gave him a quick scan to ensure he wasn't suffering any ill effects of my newfound appetite for his energy. But he appeared to be suffering from nothing more than the strain of sleeping on the forest floor—for which I had little sympathy—and for all intents and purposes, appeared to be a man at the height of health. My good mood was momentarily dampened by wishing I knew a little more of the science behind the human body, but Marco's next comment was the perfect antidote. "And for the love of the Emperor's sweet sweating ball sack Mila, where the fuck did you get that jacket?"

I snorted, and did a quick little spin for him. "I made it. You like?"

"You... When?"

"I'm a magical, all powerful Priestess, Marco. Or have you forgotten?"

He laughed openly, and said, "Har, har, my Lady Wildcat. Always something smart to say."

"Well that's a little better than the alternative, isn't it?"

An exasperated roll of his eyes was my only response, so with a curtsy I resumed navigating the underbrush, leaving Marco to follow. After a few minutes of relative silence, he announced his need to "piss," and with little decorum, stepped off the narrow trail I'd been following. Hoping that the rebels were either the ones who created these tracks—or employed them for easy travel through the forest—I had been preoccupied with scouring the earth for signs of human passage, and didn't immediately understand his words. It was only when I heard the distinct sound of splashing water that I realized I'd misplaced my hostage. Similarly distracted however, Marco hadn't noticed my lapse in concentration, and after briefly rummaging inside his pants, he returned to my side.

"Nothing quite like a morning piss, is there, Lady Wildcat?"




The Last Tritan Ch. 14



While I wasn't sure I appreciated this latest moniker, I knew telling him it annoyed me was the fastest way to make it stick. So I took it in stride, instead sweetly informing him, "The fact that you've never experienced anything better, is not surprising Marco."

And without missing a beat, he said, "Oh yes, I'd forgotten Asher had begun your training in the bedroom. You're a bona fide expert in pleasure, now aren't you?"

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't help the mortified sound of protest that burst from my lips, nor the heated flush that crawled up my neck. But I could refuse to continue this conversation. Although it seemed my actions had spoken far louder than I'd intended, for Marco's deep belly-laugh haunted me for the next two hours of hiking.

It wasn't until the sun had passed its highest point that I saw what could be a sign of the Eloran rebels. And I very nearly missed it all together, for at first glance, the carving appeared to be nothing more than the handiwork of bored youths—it was merely a collection of seemingly unrelated symbols and signs. But upon closer inspection of the tree and its decorations, I wondered if perhaps those thoughts were just a little too convenient. The rebels had been surviving in this area for long enough that I felt comfortable assuming they were savvy enough to encode the directions to their camp. How else had they gone so long without being found out by the Caledonian army? As I had no experience breaking codes, I was now facing a rather odd conundrum—I was both thrilled, and frustrated with the rebel's cleverness. But it was something, and I was excited.

I kept my elation to myself, for I was not so stupid as to draw Marco's attention to the clue. I knew I couldn't keep him as a hostage forever, and had no desire to take his life when it came time to travel solo. No, I would eventually be forced to free him. And if he happened to be proficient with cracking codes, he might then decipher the location of the rebel camp. I would never forgive myself for such an oversight. The decision to continue following the narrow path we'd been walking for the last three days—revelations carefully guarded against detection—was an easy one to make.

"How much longer are we going to walk today?"

"Until I decide to stop. Why are you having such a hard time with the concept of being a hostage? It's not a particularly difficult notion to understand, even for you."

"Oh you know, just giving my commanding officer time to prepare his ambush."

It was my turn to laugh. "Really Marco," I drawled, voice laced with acid. "You're boyfriend isn't coming to rescue you. Don't you think I, of all people, would know if he—" A twig snapped in the brush to my right, and I had the sudden, incomparable feeling that I was being watched. Motionless, I scanned the area, straining my every sense for a sign that we were not alone—only to find the tiny, rapid heartbeat of a small rodent foraging for food, and nothing more.

Marco nudged my leather clad forearm, startling me out of what had quickly become a hyper-aware trance. "Why so nervous, Lady Wildcat?"

To cover my little 'episode,' I grinned, exposing the full wattage of my modified teeth. "You're not the only predator in these woods, Marco. And far from the most efficient."

He shot a nervous look over his shoulder, instinctively reaching for his empty holster. "Wolves are more scared of me than I am of them."

"Funny, I don't recall mentioning wolves," I replied, circling him.

"What else is there? And will you quit that?" he snapped, turning to keep me in his line of vision.

"The forest is full of all kinds of things... things that won't hesitate to pounce if they get hungry enough. We are intruders here, after all." I licked my lips, grinning. "And trust me, they've been watching us since we stepped foot in this forest."

"I'm not worried," he replied with an easy-going laugh that belied the pink stain on his tan cheeks. "I've been trained by the best army on this planet, my Lady. I'm not going down without a fight."

"Mmhm," I hummed. "Says the hostage of a woman half his size."

"Yeah, but you're not playing fair."

I gave up tormenting him, straightened from my crouch, and said, "Right, because the definition of fair is the Caledonian Elites raining death and destruction upon countless innocent nations."

"Naivete doesn't suit you. There's no such thing as an innocent nation. We, at least, have an end goal in mind."

My reply was equal parts bitter and sarcastic. "World domination?"

"Nothing quite so crass, no." The silence that followed was heavy with meaning as if he were hoping to pique my interest and spark a debate. But I had mastered the art of silence long ago, and waited for him to continue, face void of expression. "We want a peaceful planet united under the rule of the Royal Family. Is that really so evil?"

The earnest expression on his face was utterly bewildering, and I snorted scornfully. "You mean to tell me you intend to build a single united nation by enslaving the free peoples of this planet? You can't stand there and tell me your logic is sound."

He shrugged, unperturbed by my objections. "I'm just a soldier, I can't claim to know the politics of the men in charge—"

"Oh, how convenient for you," I snapped, cutting him off.

But my interruption didn't seem to bother him. "Imagine a world free from poverty, hunger, and war. One nation, free to focus on advancing science, technology, health care—" he gestured wildly with his hands, eyes taking on a fanatical gleam. "And why shouldn't it be us who brings this utopia to life? Our Elites are blessed with the power needed to turn dreams into reality. It's our responsibility to act."

It took a moment for me to realize I was staring at him, mouth agape, and even longer to attempt to form a rational counter argument. "You can't— I don't," I spluttered, then noticed the way his eyes had set, the way his lips were pressed into a firm, determined line. There'd be no arguing with him, I realized. He'd been fed a lifetime of propaganda, and likely couldn't hear a different perspective without becoming belligerent. And to make a dire situation markedly worse, the garbage he was spewing contained the battered ring of truth, though it was buried deep within the core of his argument.

The utopia he described would be a wonderful place to live. To dedicate the planet's limited resources to scientific advancement was the noblest cause I could think of. But the thought of accomplishing it by forcing the world to bow at the feet of Caledonia's Emperor, left a foul taste in my mouth. Unwilling to argue, I turned abruptly and forged ahead, steps fueled with a newfound enthusiasm.

At first, I wasn't sure if Marco was following—and wondered briefly if it really was in my best interest to ditch him here and now—but after a few weighted moments the distinct sound of his heavy footfalls continued to crash through the bush behind me. I hadn't been able to muster the energy necessary to engage him in a debate, and yet I found myself filled with a heady desire to punish him for parroting his Emperor's ridiculously closed-minded position.

I poured on the speed, slipping between trees, over rocks, and through brambles without leaving so much as a broken twig in my wake. It took only a few seconds for Marco to notice the change in pace, and before long, his labored breathing and muted curses made me grimace in sympathy. I slowed, but couldn't bring myself to actually stop and wait for him.

Perhaps that is how I came to be standing at the abrupt edge of the forest, staring in shock at a field filled with wheat. Or maybe it was because I'd been focusing on what was behind me, rather than on what lay ahead. Either way, it was clear things were about to change—and drastically. The field stretched on for what must have been half a day's walk, where the terrain made yet another drastic shift at the foot of a mountain.

Now that would be a perfect place to defend, I thought as Marco joined me at the edge of the forest. But I had an unfortunate lack of knowledge when it came to surviving in a mountainous terrain, and the weight—of lack thereof—in my backpack was a concern I couldn't ignore. Would there be enough 'Mila-friendly' food, assuming my quest to find the rebels outlasted my limited supplies?

But when a gentle breeze cooled the sweat on my forehead, it became clear indecision was a luxury I could not afford. The unmistakable scent of fire was thick in the air—and it was coming from the direction we had come. Occupied Elora, and my recently abandoned identity as a slave.

I loosed my Priestess senses—damning the consequences—in the effort to determine whether or not the owner of that scent was who I thought it was. And because the last attempts I'd made to find him with my gift had yielded a reassuring nothingness, I'd been half expecting to find more of the same.

At first, there was only Marco and me, alone in the smoky breeze. But just as I was about to relax, I caught a hint of... something. A tingle of awareness that caused the hair on the back of my neck to prickle, and my heart to move several inches within my chest. It felt like it was flickering just outside of my range—however far that was—so I pushed harder, trying to sense as far away from me as possible.

And it fled, completely disappeared from my awareness in the blink of an eye, faster than I would have thought possible. So I did the only logical thing I could think of in that moment, and tried to hunt it down. For a moment, it reappeared, hovering just where I couldn't see it clearly, teasing me with the secret of its identity. Though I knew the effort was costing me dearly in terms of energy expended, I couldn't help my curiosity any more than I could dig these Chains free of my skin. What—or more importantly, who—was that? How could it elude my Elite Priestess gifts with such ease? I had to know!

But for the life of me, the harder I pushed, the more energy I wasted, and the further away it got, until I was shaking with the effort as sweat dripped into my eyes. And then it was simply gone, having outpaced my senses with very little apparent effort. The tenuous connection broke, and my mind was thrust back into my body with little ceremony or warning. My sense of balance was twisted beyond recognition, and with a startled cry, my knees buckled, and I collapsed on the ground at the feet of my hostage.

To his credit, Marco dropped to the ground beside me, surprise and concern prominently displayed on his tanned face. "What the Hell was that? Are you okay?"

"Idon... dontouch me..." I slurred, trying—and failing—to get to my feet. Letting him see me this way was an obvious mistake, and yet I couldn't seem to gather myself, couldn't summon the will to fight off the encroaching darkness.

"Hey!" he shouted, and slapped me hard in the face. "Stay with me, Lady Wildcat."

His brutish tactics proved successful, for I immediately opened my eyes, shock giving way to anger. "I'm..." I paused to take a deep, steadying breath, counted to ten, and then let it out in a great rush. "I'm fine. Give me some space, will you?" He complied, albeit reluctantly, and I went about putting myself back together. It was slow going but I eventually came back to myself, and when I was sure my voice would behave, I said, "Well, that escalated quickly."

Marco stood. "And what exactly was that?" he demanded, offering me his hand.

I frowned—how did one explain the chasing of a phantom through one's mind? I didn't know where to start, didn't know if our language even contained the appropriate words. He'd think I'd lost my mind! "I just haven't been getting a lot of sleep," I replied, ignoring his gentlemanly gesture of assistance and rose on unsteady feet unaided. "I'm okay now," I continued, brushing myself off as Marco stood beside me.

He eyed me uncertainly. "If you say so."

I nodded. "Let's kick on, shall we? I want to make it to those foothills before nightfall."

"That's bold."

"Oh?"

A confident smile curved his lips. "Crossing this field. It's rather exposed, don't you think?"

With an exasperated roll of my eyes, I countered his question with one of my own. "Don't you find it odd that your Lord and Master hasn't managed to catch up to us in four whole days? And with the resources he's got?" I snorted, and started walking. "It's beginning to sound a lot like an empty threat, Marco. Please stop using it."

His cocky smile evolved into a full blown grin. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Lady Wildcat. Especially if it'll help you sleep at night." And with that he took the lead. Too tired to keep up our banter, I was more than confident letting him have the final word. For now.

*

*

*

By the time we made it through the deceptively tall wheat field, the sun was hanging low in the sky. And with evening now only an hour or so away, I was busy searching for a decent place to camp—and desperately trying to ignore several nagging suspicions in the back of my mind. Marco's behavior was... unstable. One minute he was spouting idiotic Caledonian propaganda, and in the next, he was being a perfect gentleman, showing concern for his female companion.

Why hadn't he taken the chance to make another bid for freedom? I'd been out of commission for at least ten minutes—he would have had plenty of time to tie me up without risking the ire of my Priestess gifts. So... what was I missing? Was my draining him on a nightly basis causing him harm I couldn't detect? Or was it something more sinister? And then there was the matter of my phantom, though I couldn't bear to consider that for more than a few seconds.

It was then—while I wandered the rocky, barren landscape with my attention fixed on the intangible—that I stumbled upon the perfect campsite. Perfect because it was literally set up and waiting for us. "Oh my God," I whispered, startled out of my contemplative musings. "This is it!" I cried. "The rebels have been here, I'm sure of it."

Marco whistled. "You know, my Lady, I think you're right."

"Of course I am," I scoffed, and stooped to inspect a fire pit. Though to my dismay, it appeared to be old—the rebels hadn't been here in a very long time. Trying to quell the disappointment, I stood and glanced around.

We had come to the foot of the mountain—or rather, what I imagined were foothills before the mountain. In amongst the rocks and shale, were several blackened pits, the remains of a large, communal tent, and what could only be described as a smithy. It appeared the rebels had been proactive in their banishment.

I grinned and looked higher. Beyond the camp, there was an imposing rock wall that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. However, time and weather had created the perfect solution to scaling the rock face—a narrow pathway bisected the massive chunk of granite, littered with countless years of debris and vegetation. And beyond said narrow path, I noticed a stately rock ledge from which one would surely have a perfect view of the entire valley.

Intent now, I tucked my pack higher on my shoulder, and headed toward the outlook. If nothing else, I felt the view from above would give me the added perspective I'd been missing. And who knew—maybe I'd be able to see fire, or some other evidence that would point me in the direction of the new rebel camp?

I'd like to say the climb was an easy one, or that I reached the top in a dignified manner. But when I finally crested the humble summit—after scrambling over hip height logs and loose sand—it was with a sweaty, red face, and I was gasping for breath. To my everlasting irritation, Marco patted me on the back, and said, "The important thing, is that you made it," and stretched his long limbs with tireless vigor.

I glared at his back, though was happy to notice he wasn't as unaffected as he tried to appear—his shirt had darkened along the length of his spine in the telltale sign of a man hard at work. "Shut it, you," I snapped, and pushed past him to stand at the edge of the cliff.

When I'd caught my breath, I took a few seconds to simply appreciate the moment. It was an absolutely spectacular view—the sun glinted gold off the wheat in the field as it shimmered hypnotically in the evening breeze. In the distance, the Eloran forest was darkening with the retreat of the sun, setting up a gorgeous contrast that made the wheat look all the prettier. Even the sky seemed to be in the mood to entertain—liberal splashes of pink and purple colored wispy, spiderweb clouds, and a lonely hawk circled overhead, hunting for one last mouthful before seeking refuge for the night. But beauty, in all its forms, is fleeting, and a moment later I was thankful I'd taken the time to soak it in.

"You know," Marco started, standing close enough to my back that I could feel the heat from his body. "I honestly didn't think you'd be able to do it. Find the rebels."

I swallowed, hard. "Well Marco, if you'll notice, I haven't actually found them."

"No, but this is the closest anyone has been in quite some time. Aside from their pathetic little raiding parties, of course."

Something in his tone, coupled with his uncomfortable proximity had me taking quick, shallow breaths. And then I put it together. "You've been using me to find them." It wasn't a question I needed to hear the answer to—he'd been putting up just enough resistance to calm my suspicions, all the while biding his time in the hopes that I'd take him right to them. And I had. If there was a special place reserved for the ignorant and colossally stupid, I'd just bought myself an expedited ticket. He had warned me not to keep him as a hostage. Repeatedly.

He laughed and I felt his breath caressed the back of my neck. "Guilty."

I shivered, my every sense on high alert. "What now? You going to push me over the edge, seeing as I've done all the hard work for you?"

"Come on, Lady Wildcat. Give me a little more credit than that." He paused to brush a lock of hair off the back of my neck. "Besides," he continued, using a warm finger on the left side of my chin to direct my gaze. "Why would I do that, when the Major is but a few short hours away?"

I opened my mouth to ridicule him, but the sound stuck in my throat. On the opposite side of the field, hugging the shadows cast by the forest, were four distinct humanoid shapes.

And though I knew my voice would betray my sudden undeniable terror, I couldn't help the breathless whisper that passed my lips. "Asher."



Okay my lovelies! I'm so very sorry for making you wait so long for this, but there has been an extraordinary amount of teenage drama in my life lately. So much so that I've recently decided childbearing is not for me. I'll have dogs instead, thank you. If I could have sacrificed these two morons to the LitGods to make the writing go faster, I would have. Trust me.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. A metric fuck-tonne of work went into it (hah Canadian here folks!), and I've got several people to thank—FA_JF, LBGrant, jennyb2492, SP, and The Baron. You guys are amazing, and I'm really looking forward to what's coming next... ;)

If you're feeling generous, feel free to vote, comment, or send me an email, and I shall fill your day with hilarity.

Until next time,

WaterBurnXx



The Last Tritan Ch. 15



Welcome back my darlings! It's been a long time, and I'm sorry, but there's been a lot happening. I went to New Orleans, and met the glorious FA_JF, Jennyb2492, and LBGrant, and it was so so so much fun. I can't wait for next year. BUT, going there put a fire under my buns, and I'm not only pumped to get the remainder of "The Last Tritan," finished, but to move on to my next projects! And of those, there are many. I hope to be entertaining your filthy minds for many years to come!! ;) Anyway, enjoy this next installment!! At the time of writing this, chapter 16 is already about halfway finished...

*

My lip trembled as I stared at the shadows skirting the forest's edge. How could I have been so stupid? Had he been there the entire time, lurking just outside of my range so I wouldn't be able to sense him if I tried? And if that was true, how could he possibly know what my range was, when the same certainty eluded even me? Focusing on the dark figures who had paused at the edge of the wheat field, I unleashed the full might of my senses, determined to verify my deepest fear. Maybe it was because I knew where to direct my attention, or perhaps they had simply wandered into my range when Marco and I stopped to inspect the rebel camp—but either way, I was momentarily dazzled by the distinct, unmistakable power signature of a bound Elite. My bound elite.

"Asher," I whispered, taking a step back. The other three figures were unremarkable from this distance, meaning they could be any of the men under his command. But the question remained—how had Marco managed to communicate with Asher from such a distance? Unless... "This has been the plan all along, hasn't it?"

My eyes remained fixed upon the gloomy horizon, but I didn't need my vision to know Marco was standing directly behind me—the back of my thighs were warm with the heat of his proximity. "The plan? I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about."

I snorted, and whirled to face him. "Don't play stupid, Marco. Naivete doesn't suit you," I spat, throwing his earlier words back in his face.

He raised an eyebrow, and said, "Oh?"

I folded my arms over my chest. "You can hear him too."

"Hear who?" he asked, and for the life of me, I couldn't tell if he was, in fact, lying. But true to form, Marco didn't give me the chance to cover my unintentional slip up. "Well slap my ass, and call me Marlene. Who would have known your crusty exterior was hiding a delicate little romantic?"

"I'm not—what?" I squeaked, face flushing hot.

"You've been daydreaming about your master," he crowed, placing his hands on hips and indulging in a deep, booming belly laugh. "Either that," he said, sobering. "Or you're starting to lose it. Hearing voices isn't a good sign, my Lady Wildcat. Not good at all."

I pressed my fingernails into the flesh of my palm and glared at him. If Marco was being honest, then I was the only one who could hear Asher's early morning taunts and threats—and if that were true, how would I know if the voice was real, or not? And... what of my phantom?

My eyes darted to the right. Unless I was content to jump off the cliff and take my chances with gravity, the only available escape route was to Marco's left—a fact I was sure he'd engineered. I shifted my weight to my toes, in what I hoped would appear to be an impatient gesture. "And what would you know about it, Marco? Maybe my voices have important secrets to share, maybe they—" I broke off mid-sentence, diving to the right, and landed hard on my injured palm. But the pain was negligible, and a moment later I was on my feet, tucking my head and preparing to sprint at full speed.

"Not so fast," he said, and his fingers snared the loop of my backpack—catching what felt like an entire fistful of the hair at the base of my skull in the process. In a dizzying display of strength, he jerked me back, forcing the air from my chest in a great, "oomph". Before I had the time to refill my lungs Marco pried my backpack off my flailing arms, flung me to the ground and seized both of my forearms in one large, unyielding hand—careful to avoid contact with my skin.

"Get off me," I wheezed, eyes filling with tears.

"This better?" he asked, and proceeded to straddle my hips. When I tried to wriggle free he pulled my arms down, folding them across my midsection. And then, with an ease born of a man experienced with subduing unruly prisoners—as any good Caledonian soldier must—he balanced the majority of his weight on my stomach with one hand, and rummaged behind my head with the other. Breathing was now physically impossible, but that was a secondary concern—I tried to sink my teeth into his forearm, tried to stop him from doing whatever he was trying to do. But all I got for my trouble was that very same forearm pressing painfully across my cheek and nose—and he pulled my newly fashioned hood over my face, blinding me in the process.

My pulse beat frantically in the thin skin of my lips, and sweat beaded on my forehead as the leather trapped the heat of exertion against my skin. If I had the luxury of succumbing to panic, I would have struggled until I could struggle no more. But a moment later, it became clear simply removing my sight was not his end goal—he began to pull my leather jacket off my body, starting with the material on my back.

He was going to turn my jacket inside out—and leave my arms trapped against my body. "No," I gasped with the last of my air, and wiggled my fingers, desperate to make contact with Marco's skin.

"Not this time, my lady," he growled, and yanked the jacket over my face, accomplishing his goal. The result was impressive—most of my upper body was now bound in leather, and unless Marco was stupid enough to touch my neck or face, I wouldn't be able to overpower him. Not this time. Belatedly, I began to struggle with all my remaining strength, trying to ignore the way my vision sparkled with black stars and the instinct that demanded I take a breath.

It wasn't long before my will to fight had been extinguished through oxygen deprivation. But to my immense relief, Marco backed off, allowing me to gasp and splutter, grateful for the chance to breathe freely. But when he rolled me onto my chest—carelessly, as though he were wrapping a present at the last possible moment—I realized he hadn't let me breathe because he had any regard for my well being. No, he was intent on his goal, and wouldn't stop until he'd done what he had set out to do.

I wish I could say I made it difficult for him, but it was painfully obvious that my efforts to get free went largely unnoticed—he laughed when I tried to kick him, and simply moved with me when I tried to buck him off my back. With my arms pinned beneath me, I couldn't reach him, couldn't use my Elite Priestess gifts to my advantage. I felt his knee pressing into my back as he pulled both sides of the jacket together, forcing the zipper to close from the inside.

"There," he said, returning me to a supine position. "Much better."

"Fuck you," I whispered, wiggling beneath him. His brow was speckled with sweat, and I allowed the sight to soothe my pride a little—at least it hadn't been easy.

A crooked grin spread across his face and his hand moved to his belt—which he then proceeded to unbuckle. My eyes flew to his, silently beseeching him not to do what I knew many men would do in similar circumstances. He rolled his eyes, pulled me upright, and circled my trapped arms and torso within the thick band of leather. I grunted when he tightened it, feeling my bones shift to accommodate the new restriction. "Go ahead," he said, admiring his handy-work. "Try to get free." Rather than do as I was told, I fixed him with the stoniest glare I could muster. "Oh, come on, Mila. I've been working on that for days."

"Why?" I asked, dropping my gaze to his navel. "Payback for taking you hostage, or you just can't wait to hand me over?"

He laughed, then punched me playfully on the shoulder—and unable to brace myself, I flopped back to the ground. "Is this your attempt at negotiating your release? Because if so," he said, and got to his feet, looking down at me. "You're not being terribly convincing."

I struggled to get to my feet, but without the use of my hands, found it to be quite impossible. Marco was only too happy to help me—by using his belt as a handle. "Thanks," I said dryly, then stumbled away from him. "Now get away from me."

Shaking his head, he said, "Sorry, Mila. That's not how this is going to work." He advanced on me then, dark eyes focused upon mine, and his normally cheerful face had hardened into a grim mask.

I staggered backward. "Wait!" I cried. "W-wait, wait. You don't have to do this, Marco."

A sharp, humorless bark of laughter burst from his lips. "Yes I do," he replied, reaching for my arm.

"N-no, you don't," I insisted, narrowly avoiding his hand. Marco paused, eyebrow raised, and I took it as a sign that he might be open to my plea. "You could let me go—no! Wait, j-just let me finish. You could tell Asher I went crazy, and—"

"It wouldn't be a hard sell," he agreed, seeming to consider my plan.

"Just tell him I lost it, and you took your eyes off me for one second, and I got away."

"Is that all it would take?" he asked, stepping closer to me. "Just a second?"

I swallowed, eyes darting everywhere but his face. "Of course not," I soothed. "I can't exactly outrun you, and you're much stronger than I am."

With a calm deliberateness, he closed the gap between us. "And why should I do this for you, hmm?"

My lip trembled—and this time it wasn't merely for show. "Because," I whispered, feeling like I'd regressed to the intellectual age of a teenager. "You can't do this to me Marco. You can't make me go back to him. I'll die."

"Oh, for the love of—don't be so dramatic, Mila. He's not going to kill you. How do you not understand that by this point?" Exasperated, Marco seized my belt, and pulled me toward the narrow chasm which we'd climbed only a few minutes before.

"No!" I screamed, bracing my feet into the shale. "Please, please, please, don't do this Marco. I'm begging you, please don't make me go back to him. Please." Genuine tears blurred my vision, and for a moment, I had the wild urge to crumple to the ground and sob until he gave me mercy, or carried me down the slope.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, turning to face me.

In my panic, an idea flickered to life in my mind. Under normal circumstances, I might have been disgusted with myself. Now? "Wait," I whispered, making eye contact. "Just, wait. I'll do anything you want, Marco. Anything you can think of. I'll do it. Just let me go." I licked dry lips, wishing for the first time that I knew how to make myself look appealing.

To my surprise—and disgust—he did wait, eyes roaming my leather bound body at leisure. For a moment, I thought he might take me up on my offer, but then he shook his head, and said, "Nah, I'm good thanks. I've had my share of crazy bed partners. It's fun. Like trying to hold onto a wild horse. But you, my Lady Wildcat, are in a league of your own." He smiled, and tugged me forward. "But I'll be sure to tell the Major about your generous offer. I'm sure he'll be all too happy to take you up on it."

A shiver passed through my blood. That was it. In a few hours, Asher would be here to collect me, and then he'd punish me for running and binding him with the Chains. But what could I do about it? Marco wasn't as stupid as I'd thought he was, and I knew he wouldn't fall for my tricks anymore—if he had, in fact, fallen for them in the first place. At this point, I wasn't sure if 'playing dumb' had been part of his plan, though it probably didn't matter anymore. I was well and truly captured. Unless... unless I could use his gentlemanly compulsion to my advantage.

Acting purely on instinct, I darted around him, sprinting for the mouth of the crevasse. Stifling the unhinged urge to giggle, I raced toward my goal. The best I could manage was an ungainly wobble, for arms, as it turns out, are vital for balance—a fact I hadn't understood until I tried to run without them. All this considered, it was probably a miracle that I managed to get as far as I did—which wasn't the miles I'd have liked to place between Marco and I, but it would have to do.

"Really, Mila?" Marco called, sounding annoyed. "Aren't we past this stage yet? There's no where left to run."

I didn't answer him, reserving my breath for my mad dash. The great logs littering the crevasse floor were almost within reach, and if I could just get to them, maybe I could stage a fall and fake an injury. But a large booted foot swept my feet out from under me, and without arms for balance or protection, I sailed through the air, unable to do more than tuck my head and mentally brace for the impact.

When it came, my teeth snapped shut, catching my tongue between them and making my vision blur with pain. There wasn't time to dwell, however, as my momentum carried me back to my feet. For a few frantic steps, I was running again—until I stepped on an uneven patch of ground, and my ankle turned in the wrong direction.

I didn't feel the crunch, but rather heard it. It rattled through my bones, muscles, and tendons, echoing inside my head, and in the instant it took for the pain to follow the sound, I knew I couldn't step on that foot again without doing further damage. Sweat bloomed on every inch of my body, and for one wild second, I wasn't sure if I was overheating or freezing to death. A moment later, any semblance of rational thought ceased to exist. All I felt was searing agony, and I crumpled, coming to a jarring stop courtesy of a massive boulder at the top of the crevasse. My mouth opened, but when I could neither draw breath, nor utter a sound, I closed it, trying to orient myself.

When I was able, I sucked air in through my teeth as a single tear escaped into my hairline. And then, before I was able to unscramble my brains, alarm burst through my veins—I blinked, confusion warring with the shock and pain, dimming my senses and distorting my grip on reality. My head immediately filled with all things Asher—his mind was twisted with cold fury, as I expected it would be, but beneath that, there was a baffling sense of... concern?

"Mila!" My own name roared through my ears, distorting the deep timber of Asher's voice.

A dark figure loomed over me, and I squealed—the pain became an abstract thought, for I was out of time. He was here. "Asher," I breathed squinting up at him. He made a sound in his throat then stooped, and I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified to acknowledge his presence for fear of the consequences.

Strong, confident hands skimmed over my body, though his touch was clinical and lacked the sensual caress I'd come to expect from him. But I could feel him then, as his consciousness infiltrated my mind, moving unerringly to the source of my pain—which was in stark contrast with the hands currently taking great pains to avoid contact with my skin...

"Marco," I gasped, eyes snapping open to find that he was the one inspecting my physical body for injury—not my wayward master.

"Of course it's me," he snapped. "But I'm sure Rawlings will be thrilled to hear you moaning his name." He wiped at his damp forehead, took a deep breath, and continued, "Fucking Hell, Mila. Are you alright?"

I coughed, and forced a breath through my nose as Marco slipped a hand beneath my back. "D-don't touch me," I gasped, suddenly desperate to be free of the bindings he'd wrapped me in. Sweat was pouring off my face, pooling at the small of my back and soaking the shirt close to my skin.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" he asked, ignoring my need for distance as he propped me up against the boulder at my back. I grit my teeth. What was the matter with me? Surely Marco would have been motivated to help me with a less serious injury? But there was no going back now. "If Asher doesn't tie you to his bed, I'll do it myself."

"Oh, God, it hurts," I groaned, arching my back in an effort to writhe away from the offending limb.

"Cute. But it's not going to work, Lady Wildcat. Up you get."

"Don't touch me!" I screeched, hurling my body weight out of his grasp, and flopping onto my side—which I promptly discovered did nothing to ease the pain. I rolled to my back, raising my injured right foot into the air, eyes squeezed shut. "Is it broken?"

He snorted. "No."

I whimpered, allowing tears to flow freely down my cheeks. "Please Marco, just tell me if it's broken. God, it hurts so much," I whispered, voice cracking.

Gingerly, he prodded my raised foot. "No bones sticking out. You're fine."

My eyes snapped open. "Marco, please, for fucksakes, help me."

He sighed, and sat back. "You're a Priestess, Mila. Heal yourself."

"I can't!" I cried, head rolling back, groaning. "I—"

"Asher told me you can," he countered, and I shook my head violently.

"That's—" I moaned. "That's not what I meant. I have to see it. I can't heal myself until I see it."

His left eyebrow arched. "And why might that be?"

"What if a bone needs to be straightened first?" I asked, blinking as sweat dripped into my eyes, the salty sting bringing on a new wave of tears. "I can't—I can't let it heal crooked. I could get blood poisoning."

"Blood poisoning isn't—"

"Marco!" I cried, half sitting in my enthusiasm. "Just pull the material off my foot, please?" I shivered, and angled my body toward him, searching in vain for a comfortable position. "Please? I'm sorry for trying to run—oh God—I'm sorry, okay? I won't do it again. Just help me."

I had squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to block out the world, but when he muttered, "Fuck," under his breath, I imagined him running a hand through his short black hair, making it stand on end. His touch was soft at first, so gentle I wasn't sure if it was real or imagined. But the cannibalized strips of my former dress were tight and secure—it would take more work than that to pull it free. I shuddered, jerking my foot out of his grasp and whining pitifully. "Hold still," he snapped, grasping my calf with a firm grip. I could feel his body heat through my stolen leggings, and bit the inside of my cheeks, biding my time.

Marco began to peel the silky material away from my skin, tugging it out from under the belt I'd used to keep it in place. Inch by inch, the cool evening air soothed my feverish skin, and by the time he had me exposed from the knee down, my skin was aching with cold and it was all I could do not to flinch away and protect myself.

He whistled. "I've never seen quite so many vibrant colors in such a small place."

I cracked one eye open, then squeezed it shut. "That doesn't look promising."

Apparently mollified by the evidence of an actual injury, Marco said, "You see with your eyes, Lady Wildcat," in a playful tone, and nudged my shoulder.

Pressing my lips together, I did as I was told. "Shit. Do you—do you think it's broken?"

"How would I know that? You're the Priestess." I sobbed, tremors wracking my entire body, and he continued, "It looks straight enough to me. Heal it."

I took a deep breath. "Is there anything c-crunchy in that swollen bit?"

"Crunchy?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "Crunchy means something—something is broken. Crunchy is bad."

He made a face, but obligingly pressed on the rapidly swelling skin around what had once been my ankle—but which now closely resembled a blue and purple tree trunk. "Nothing is crunching, Mila. S'probably justa sprain," he slurred, then slumped on top of me. "Oh you sneaky 'lil bitch..."

A few seconds later, he was completely unconscious. "Idiot," I said, grinning with the flush of stolen energy, and wiggled out from beneath his dead weight. But my ruse had been expensive—I wasn't sure if I'd actually broken my ankle, or if it was indeed, "justa sprain," but in either case I'd need to take care of it before I could continue running. Unfortunately, I really did need to see my injury before healing it, as I'd said—though I wasn't sure if the same were true for the other Priestesses. Which meant the first order of business was freeing myself from the confines of this infernal jacket.




The Last Tritan Ch. 15



Now that Marco was properly insensible, I was free to struggle until my face was hot and my muscles burned with the need to stretch them to their fullest capacity. But Marco had done his job well—I couldn't get out, no matter how hard I tried. And the worst part was that it was of my own doing, for I had modified Asher's jacket until it hugged my modest curves. If I hadn't, perhaps Marco's plan wouldn't have worked quite so well—the tips of my fingers were beginning to go numb. Panting, I propped my foot up on Marco's back, trying to relieve the throbbing ache indicative of a swollen joint.

"Relax," I muttered, trying to focus on breathing. "Panic isn't helping right now. Just breathe—that's it. You're okay. You just need to get his belt off, and then push the jacket off. Simple." The sun shifted, dropping low enough that I could see it from my vantage point at the top of the crevasse. Time was moving along, oblivious to my dire predicament. But if I couldn't get free of this accursed jacket myself, Asher would arrive to find his gift wrapped slave inching away on her belly.

Pressing my uninjured foot into the ground, I pushed, scooting back until I bumped into a log. If I could get free of the belt Marco had looped around me, I'd be able to get my elbow out of the sleeve, and from there I could get loose. Twisting my head over my shoulder, I searched for a branch that I might be able to loop the belt on. And as luck would have it, the log I'd crawled to just so happened to have the ideal branch—short enough to be usable, without being sharp. I shimmied into a sitting position, dragging my injured foot behind me as if it were an inanimate object.

From there, it was a simple matter of hooking the belt on the branch end, and leveraging it over my shoulders. Or it would have been simple, if things had a habit of going my way—which of course, they didn't. After wrestling into position with one leg and no arms, I finally managed to get the belt hooked just so—but the moment I put my weight into it, the branch snapped, sending me teetering face first into the dirt.

I couldn't help the scream that bubbled forth. It was a torrential release of frustration, anger, fear, and pain—everything I'd been feeling or had experienced since initially becoming a slave of the Caledonian Empire. But it was more than a therapeutic un-bottling of emotions, more than a terrified runaway slave breaking under the pressure. It was the first time I'd allowed myself to grieve for the life I hadn't been allowed to live, for the opportunities that had been stolen from me... and for my parents, whose faces I may never see again.

And so I sobbed, allowing the past to crawl from its grave and torture me in the present with the things I couldn't change, or undo. I grieved for the slaves I'd been unable to help, for those whom I'd had to abandon to continue living free. For Sasha, who had worked so hard to make the best of an impossible situation, and had given her life to protect her people. I wept for the victims of The Breeding Program—past, present, and future—for those who would never know Sasha's calming presence, and would never meet the woman who had seen through my prickly exterior and had simply wrapped me in her arms. I could really use one of Sasha's hugs right now.

"Feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?"

"Y-yes," I hiccuped, smiling against my will. "My ankle hurts, I'm too h-hot, I can't get out of this fuc-fucking jacket, and, and, I'm—" my breath caught, and a fresh wave of tears poured down my face. "I'm talking to the voices in my head." I giggled, and closed my eyes, trying to recover my composure. "Voices who apparently won't answer when I actually gather the courage to respond." But it was true—it seemed that I could hear Asher but he couldn't hear me, for surely the man wouldn't pass up the opportunity to demonstrate his superior intellect, if he could hear some of the things I was saying. That or, his voice really was a figment of my imagination.

"Now is not the time for this. P-pull yourself together, Mila," I whispered, and with a sigh, began to search for a new branch.

The sun had set by the time I'd managed to get free. Asher's arrival had gone from a distant, lurking possibility, to an imminent threat. I could no longer deny the fact that he was coming for me—his presence in my mind was now so brilliant, I almost couldn't stand to direct my attention to him. Any minute now, I was expecting to see Asher's face at the bottom of the crevasse—and I still had to muster the energy to heal my ankle, and then find somewhere to hide or defend. At this point, it was utterly nonsensical to imagine being able to outrun him, as he was probably only an hour or two behind me—more than halfway through the wheat field. I was injured, exhausted, and completely out of ideas.

Not yet willing to concede defeat, I sat up, wiping sweat from my face with the back of my arm. The light was less than ideal for inspecting an injury, so I closed my eyes and began the process of inspecting it by touch. Now that my hands were free, I was able to determine the pain encompassed the entire area of my ankle—and a good portion of my foot—rather than a single, tender location. I took this to be good news, assuming a break would be represented by swelling and a painful lump. It was far from an exact science, but it was all I had. With a deep breath, and a brief prayer to whoever might be listening, I began to summon the energy necessary to heal myself.

Almost immediately, my phantom returned, though it didn't feel either curious, or malicious. It just... was. Shaking my head, I made the conscious decision not to chase it down again, unwilling to fall into that trap a second time. It hadn't made an effort to interfere with my life, seeming to be content with watching me before eventually fading into the unknown. So I shrugged, and made room for yet another invasive presence in my mind, waiting for my phantom to lose interest.

While I wasn't in possession of Sasha's finesse, I had developed what I liked to think of as 'wild magic'—everything I knew about medicine, I had had to learn through trial and error. Where Sasha's formal training allowed her to focus on trivial things like scars and bones knit with seamless perfection, my interest ended with function—if I could bear weight, it was good enough for me.

With the pain fading to a distant memory, my phantom stilled, hovering in my peripherals as if waiting to see if I might continue using my Priestess gifts. It remained just out of sight as I marshaled my strength to begin the arduous task of reducing the swelling, and aside from the nagging feeling that someone was watching my every move, I didn't find my phantom's attention particularly bothersome. "As long as you're going to watch, I'm going to pretend you're not here," I murmured, wondering if my watcher could either hear, or understand my sentiment.

And in spite of the distraction, the healing was successful. "Just a sprain then," I mused, rubbing the still warm flesh and testing my range of motion. Although I knew Asher was approaching at a steady, unstoppable rate, I needed a moment to gather myself. Had Marco succeeded in his effort to deliver me into my master's hands? Short of picking a spot to defend among the shale and rubble, was it even possible to escape Asher?

If I tried to run, it wouldn't be long before he caught up to me—I was tired, out of my natural terrain, and running out of food, whereas Asher and his men had been trained for this sort of thing. My strength lay in the shadows, in taking advantage of opportune moments then melting back into the foliage before anyone knew what had happened. There was no foliage here, nowhere to hide. The only thing separating me from recapture was the narrow trench filled with huge boulders and fallen trees—which, upon second glance, would have been the perfect place to defend, if I'd had more time, and more hands.

I stood on wobbly legs, inspecting the trench with a critical eye. It appeared to have been carved by an ancient mountain stream, and I marveled at the size of the logs and boulders that had been trapped there. Had they been displaced from further up the mountain slope by a flash flood? Or had this area been forested at some point, only to be destroyed by a fire, or some other natural disaster? If the latter were the case, it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine the walls of the crevasse protecting its new inhabitants from the elements, while everything around it was burned to ash.

A warm breeze—probably the last before winter set in—whistled up the slope of the trench. It brought with it the scent of warm wheat, lightly toasted in the dying summer sun. If the farmer who owned this field didn't harvest his crop soon, the early autumn thunder storms would bring lightning, which could light this field up in a matter of seconds. And if this field burned, I'd be...

"That's it!" I cried, feeling my face split with a genuine smile. "Not even he can walk through fire," I said, and began to carefully pick my way back down the slope. There was work to be done, and as always, time was growing short.

*

*

*

It was with a great deal of effort that the narrow slope of the crevasse was now stuffed with as much dry wheat as I could manage in the space of an hour. Every hollow, every nook and cranny was now lined with what I hoped would be the perfect tinder—and I had the raw hands to prove it. Wheat stalk, when one is pulling it out by the root, is tough stuff. I stood at the top of the crevasse, inspecting my work by the light of the moon, a brisk evening breeze cooling the sweat on my skin. This may well be the last decision I made for myself, for if I were captured, I had no doubt it would be a very long time indeed before Asher let me out of his sight.

"That's not going to happen," I whispered, and my phantom surfaced, as if wakened by my inner turmoil. "Shut up, you," I said in way of response. "I wasn't talking to you." With a deep breath, I turned away from the edge of the crevasse. Asher was close enough now that I could shout and I was sure he'd answer—close enough, in fact that my Elite Priestess gifts were blinded by the intensity of his power. And so, in the interest of learning from my mistakes, I'd hog tied Marco with the strip of silk he'd removed from my ankle. He was after all, the world's worst hostage—to underestimate him again would be the very definition of stupidity.

I limped over to my pile of supplies, and sat, pulling the silk off my left foot as quickly as I could. "Preparation is key," I murmured, lining a thick branch with bunches of wheat, then wrapping it with a length of silk. I laid the torch to the side, and retrieved a thinner stick, and tied a narrow strip of silk to either end, creating a bow.

"Okay," I whispered, wiping my brow with the back of my arm. "Fire bow, tinder, kindling, torch, and spindle. That's everything, right?" My phantom returned, the only thing able to breach the power of Asher's aura, and again, I stifled the urge to directly interact with it. Instead, I sat cross-legged, looped my spindle through the length of silk, and began to saw it back and forth. Using a fire bow was easier and faster than spinning the spindle with my palms, especially considering I couldn't spare either the energy, or the time to heal my bloody hands.

It wasn't long before my right shoulder was aching with the effort, and my left hand was bruised with the downward force needed to create the proper friction. And all the while, Asher was moving steadily closer. I could feel his excitement now, knew his chest was bursting with the need to see me again, to punish me for my insubordination. His excitement was not limited to a simple, vengeful satisfaction, but was that of a man eager to lose himself in the woman he considered his own. Lust, pure and uninhibited, pounded through my blood, causing my cheeks to flush and tension to coil low in my belly.

My hand slipped, and one of the knots of my bow came loose, causing the whole operation to come apart. I cursed—if he was close enough that his emotions were blending with mine, it wouldn't be long before I could both see and hear him. It wouldn't be long before I could lay eyes upon him and watch his emotions flicker across his face. His eyes would darken with dilated pupils, and if I were defiant, the muscle in his jaw would tighten, in turn causing his lips to... "Son of a bitch," I whispered, pressing a trembling hand to my lips.

And although I was unable to sense my phantom's emotions, it chose that moment to resurface, almost as if it were trying to determine the source of my distress. "You could be more helpful, Watcher," I snapped, adjusting my bow.

"My eyes are still closed, Lady Wildcat. I'm not watching you."

I whirled to face my hostage, heart pounding. "Oh, Marco," I whispered. "You scared the hell outta me." My eyes flicked over his bonds, making sure he would remain where I'd left him. Satisfied with my work, I continued, "And I wasn't talking to you."

He hummed, cracking an eye open. "Hearing voices is one thing," he replied, shifting in his bonds. "Talking to them is quite another."

My mouth opened, as I tried to think of something witty to say. But he was right, wasn't he? "I should have let you starve," I hissed, turning back to my work. "I could have left you completely defenseless, Marco. But I didn't. I could have—"

"But you didn't," he agreed.

"Yes, and I'm starting to regret that. If you can't tell, I'm busy Marco. Do me a favor and study the art of silence."

He laughed, which turned into a hacking cough. "He's almost here, isn't he?"

I closed my eyes, and concentrated on my breathing. "Shut up."

"Are you nervous?" he asked. Without acknowledging him, I repositioned my fire bow and began to spin with renewed fervor, but Marco blathered on, regardless of my wishes. "I think you should be. He's had days to decide what to do with you. I've known him for a long time, Mila. The man's got a knack for breaking disobedient slaves..." Marco's voice trailed off, his tone heavy with sub-context that sent my imagination reeling.

What would Asher be planning to do to me? He'd used pleasure as a weapon before, maybe he'd use it again. My heart did a little flip—would using Asher for the pleasure he could give me, really be so bad? My only answer was the Watcher's reappearance in my mind, which coupled with the timing, caused me to drop my fire bow again. I scowled—feeling guilty for my thoughts was absurd. And to make matters worse, I wasn't entirely sure who I should be more angry with—the Watcher for catching me, or Asher for planting dirty thoughts in my head in the first place. Unless—and I don't know why I hadn't thought of this before now—the Watcher was Asher's doing. I ground my teeth, pouring everything I had left into getting the damn fire lit.

While my mind had been chasing itself in circles, Marco had continued trying to annoy me to death. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he—"

"There!" I cried as smoke began to drift from the bore hole. A moment later, a tiny ember had formed—I scrambled to get it nestled in its bed of tinder, hands shaking. "Come on baby, burn," I whispered, blowing just hard enough to make the ember glow white hot.

"What's the point of the fire?" Marco asked. Without looking up, I sprinkled several tiny pieces of wheat onto the delicate, burning tinder nest, and in spite of the now chilly breeze sweat was pouring off my face, threatening to drip onto the fruit of my labor.

"Twigs," I muttered. "Where are my twigs?" Unable to take my eyes off the fire, I swept frantic fingers over my work station in search of the missing kindling. "Ah yes, right where I left them," I concluded, adding them to the growing flame.

I was so absorbed in my work that I almost didn't hear the voice that rang clear in the silence of the night. A woman's voice. "How much farther, sir? My feet are killing me."

"They're here," Marco drawled, eyes glittering in the fire light.

Sick with anxiety, I touched my torch to the fire, holding my breath as the flames climbed lazily from one source of fuel to the next. The fire had induced a severe case of night-blindness, but I didn't need my eyes to know I was almost out of time. As it was, there might not be enough time for the fire to truly catch before they arrived. Holding the torch before me, I rushed to the edge of the cliff overlooking the trench. I would have liked to simply drop the torch and watch it burn, for it would have been much more dramatic, but couldn't be sure if it would catch, or simply gutter out. And I couldn't afford to be wrong.

"Asher!" Marco called at the top of his voice. "Fire!"

I yelped, and sprinted around him, delivering a vicious kick to his ribs as I rushed past. The flames flickered dangerously, threatening to die in the unexpected rush of wind, and I flung my hand up as a makeshift shield. As fast as I could, I picked my way down the trench, crawling over logs and boulders with my eyes fixed to the flame, desperate to keep it lit. Every step I took brought me closer to Asher, closer to a life of slavery, and by the time I'd reached the mid-way point in the crevasse, I couldn't bring myself to go any farther.

Trembling from head to toe, I stooped, touching the flames to a bundle of wheat tucked beneath a log. It caught instantly, and without pausing to watch it, I moved to the next, and the next, until I was climbing against the wind, and ahead of the flames, lighting as I went. It wasn't until I resumed my position at the top of the cliff that I was able to breathe a shaky sigh of relief. The fire below me blazed to life, hissing and crackling in gleeful destruction.

The gentle breeze that kissed my fire-warmed cheeks was not so gentle when it was channeled through the narrow burning trench. It whistled as it fed the flames, which leapt and glowed in a fierce, joyful greeting. As the flames grew, their need for oxygen increased—a fact that the landscape was in the perfect position to accommodate. Acting as a massive version of the air tunnel I'd dug the night before, the crevasse funneled the wind straight into the heart of the flames. Grinning, I watched from the safety of an impassable path as first Reese, then Aiden emerged from the darkness.

Then, moving with a confidence that belittled the situation, Asher stepped into the light. His eyes flicked toward the crevasse, examining the inferno with narrowed eyes, before he found me at the top of the cliff. Whether his gaze had been drawn by the light of the torch still burning in my clenched fist, or by some, other intangible factor, I couldn't say. Either way, I forced a slow smile to form on my lips, and mouthed, "I win."

Reese raised his weapon, pointing it at me. "Don't move, slave," he barked, stepping forward.

I snorted, listening to the satisfying "pop," of burning logs—there'd be no stopping it now. "Go ahead, Reese. Fire away." He hesitated, then glanced at Asher, whom I half expected to nod. But he didn't move, just continued to stare up at me, his face unreadable. "No?" I drawled, gliding closer to the edge. "Then I'll be on my—" The rest of my sentence died in my throat, for the fourth member of the hunting party stumbled into the light. Her hair had been stripped of its natural caramel tones and was now pale enough to reflect the light of the fire. Even from this distance, I could see that it had been a hasty dye job—a fact that probably didn't sit well with the pretty little sex slave turned decoy. Alicia's lips parted when she took in the full glory of my raging bonfire, and she ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the stray wisps caught in the hot wind.




The Last Tritan Ch. 15



My lip curled, and my eyes found Asher's. So he hadn't told his superiors I'd escaped. Instead, it appeared he had taken General Tilcot's men—who in the wake of the general's death, were probably waiting to be reassigned—and dragged Alicia into his deceit. It was common knowledge the Elites were neurotic about the whereabouts of their Priestesses, and if Asher had been called away on a sudden family emergency, it was only natural for him to bring me along. No one would look twice at a light haired slave by his side—especially if they left under the cover of darkness.

My lips twitched. Asher had a time limit, for surely he wouldn't be able to remain away from his post indefinitely? All I had to do was stay just out of reach until he was called back... without an obedient Priestess tagging along. Grinning now, I held his gaze, lifted my arm, and dropped the still burning torch into the blaze. Alicia wasn't suited to a forced march, and the signs of fatigue were beginning to show in the hollow lines of her cheeks, and the dark circles under her eyes. But I had just the thing to make his journey a little more difficult.

I spun, and found Marco struggling to free himself. He didn't realize he was being watched, until I placed my hand on the back of his neck. Marco stilled, understanding the unspoken threat of skin to skin contact. One handed, I pulled the cord of his restraints, releasing him. "Stand up," I said in a cheerful voice.

"Where we goin'?" he asked, moving at a glacial pace.

Knowing Asher had nothing to do but wait until the fire burned out, I allowed Marco the illusion he could stall for time. "Why? You nervous, Marco?"

He swallowed. "'Course not. Just curious, my Lady," he replied, finally lumbering to his feet.

"Good." Without relinquishing my grip on his neck, I propelled him ahead of me. "Let's go say hello to your boyfriend, shall we?"

"Nah, I'm good, thanks," he said, and tried to turn his head toward me, but my hold on his neck didn't falter. I merely continued guiding him toward the edge of the cliff. "What's the plan here, Mila?" His voice cracked, and a perverse rush of pleasure lifted the corners of my mouth—in this situation, my power was absolute.

"Well, Marco," I replied, stopping him when Asher's face came into view. Alicia was hovering by his shoulder, wide eyes reflecting the light of the fire—but when she noticed Marco and I at the top of the cliff, her eyes grew wider still. She stumbled forward, hands pressed to her chest, mouth parted in an inaudible protest. Asher caught her by the elbow, and thrust her behind his back, muttering over his shoulder without taking his eyes from me.

Seeing this protective behavior from the man who had stolen my freedom, my innocence, and my home was too much. "On your knees," I whispered against Marco's cheek, staring into Asher's glittering eyes.

"What for?" he asked, and although his voice did not waiver, I could feel his anxiety.

"I'm going to make an example of you, Marco."

"By braiding my hair? I'm sure you're really good at it Mila, but I hardly think now is the—" he broke off mid sentence, making a valiant effort to surge to his feet, to overpower me.

But as familiar as I was with the heart of his energy, I side stepped his attempt with ease, leeching away enough energy to thwart his attack, but not enough to incapacitate him. "Easy, Marco," I purred. "It wouldn't take much for you to slip," I said, feeling my cheeks flush with renewed strength. "You don't want to fall over the edge, do you?"

He laughed, in spite of his failure. "Oh come on, Mila. We both know you're not a killer."

My jaw dropped open. "What part of your brain is telling you that goading me might be a good idea?"

"You said it yourself. You could have let me starve, or left me to be eaten by wolves. But you didn't, because you're not a killer, Mila. You're not."

I smiled then, and stooped to press my cheek against his, watching Asher's face tighten as I did. "Who are you trying to convince?" The muscle in his jaw bulged against my skin in way of response. "Thought so," I murmured, and straightened. The adrenaline had worn off, and I was now in desperate need of a nap, an impulse which, under the circumstances, was ludicrous. No, what I really needed, was more energy. "Say goodbye, Marco."

"Mila, stop," he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. "Please."

I straightened, and my knees brushed his back as I threaded my fingers through his sweat damp hair. "You don't get to tell me what to do." And with that, I latched onto his essence, to the very core of his strength, and pulled. I dragged the energy out of his already depleted body, pushing through his resistance with ease. My eyes fluttered closed as power surged through me, but even through the self-imposed darkness, I could see the fire burning, lighting up the night with its brilliant glow.

Marco crumpled and Alicia screamed, snapping me back to the task at hand. My head fell forward, and a grin split my face. Nothing could compare to the euphoria of stolen energy pumping through my blood. Nothing... except... my gaze drifted to Asher's face, all hard, angular lines. "Damn you," I whispered, watching the firelight flicker in the depths of his dark eyes. But what he did next, caused the muscles of my jaw to slacken—his lips curved in a wry smile, and he nodded once. Under the circumstances, I had to assume it was an acknowledgment of the trap I had laid, though one could never be sure with a man like Asher.

And lest the look in his eyes ruin my small victory, I staggered back until his face disappeared behind the lip of the cliff. "Shit," I whispered. "Shit, shit, shit." The Watcher brushed my mind with a delicate touch, and I took a calming breath without thinking. "It's okay. I won," I soothed. Dropping to my knees, I crawled forward, slipping my hand onto the bare skin of Marco's ankle, repeating, "I won," under my breath. And although I hated to admit it, Marco had been right again—he was still as death, but his chest rose in a steady, reassuring pattern.

Moving as quickly as I could manage, I retied Marco, then gathered my supplies— including my leather jacket. Disregarding the fact that I'd spent the last hour cursing its existence, the nights were getting colder, and I was now without a hostage willing to donate his energy. I slung my backpack, fire bow, and jacket over my shoulder, and gazed into the night. Wandering barefoot in the dark was not how I wanted to make my getaway, but what choice did I have? The fire would burn itself out in a matter of hours, and Asher's hunting party would resume—with the addition of a pissed off Marco, and the added bonus of a good night's sleep.

My problems didn't end there, however, as I was now facing a rather odd moral dilemma. I couldn't destroy the Program without help, but asking for that help would put the rebels in the direct path of the Caledonian army. Until I was kneeling at his feet in submission, Asher wouldn't stop. Even if his superiors called him home, it would only mean he could return with reinforcements.

And so, I stepped into the darkness, torn between the lure of sanctuary and the urge to protect the rebels from the hounds at my heels. The path forward may be obscured, but one thing was certain—I wasn't going back.

*

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Okay! That's all for now—except of course, for your feedback! Hit me up if you enjoyed this chapter, or even if you didn't! In return, I'll get back to work on chapter 16...

Seriously, I need to know what you though. Yes, you. Doooo it. ;)

WaterBurnXx



The Last Tritan Ch. 16



Hallooo! So a disclaimer for this chapter: it's a shorty. I imagine it's going to be 2 Lit pages long, but it had to end where it had to end. I'm just getting through the edits for chapter 17, and I will submit it one day following this one. Which means that you will get to read the continuation tomorrow, so don't get upset about the length here. The rest is coming. I promise. =D Now, thank you to all my betas (FA_JF, and BaronvonKarmann) and my new editor (SF) she's been a great help, and welcome aboard! =D Any grammar mistakes you find here are my own, because I wanted to get this chapter out and didn't run it through another round of editing before hand. Enjoy! Xx 

***** 

The thick, acidic scent of smoke still clung to the breeze, and the inside of my nostrils, the morning after I'd made my escape. It was a fact I found comforting in spite of my constant sniffling and watering eyes, for Asher's impatience had been humming through me all night long. It wasn't a stretch to imagine him pacing at the bottom of the burning trench, glaring at the impassable path preventing him from getting to Marco and resuming his hunt for me. But without a stroke of luck on my part—or the intervention of a benevolent higher power—the chase wouldn't last much longer, even with my considerable head start. 

The weight in my backpack represented a few meager articles of clothing, the Caledonian history text, and Asher's weapon. None of these items, however, would do me any good when I ran out of food, and no amount of disciplined rationing would stop that from happening. Soon. The mountainous landscape around me was absent the fruit-bearing trees so common in Tritan's great old-growth forest, trees that were unable to survive in this colder climate. Considering this, I couldn't help but fear that my efforts thus far were an exercise in futility. 

It would be foolish to assume Asher's hunting party was anything but prepared for an extended journey—though the urge to hope for the opposite was quite impossible to repress. After all I'd done to infuriate him, he'd still smiled at me for heaven's sake, which did not bode well for my continued freedom. If the gesture had been an effort to undermine my confidence, he'd been successful. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the lifted edge of his lips and the slight, almost invisible dimple on his left cheek, half obscured by the shadow of his facial hair. But it was that little glimmer of... something in his eyes that haunted me, the way his dark Caledonian orbs mirrored the flames, giving them an inky, other-worldly tint. 

"Shit," I whispered, and scrubbed at my face with both palms. If I allowed my thoughts of Asher to shift away from what could be considered strict necessity—and God forbid they drift toward anything carnal in nature—it was a sure sign I needed a break. But without Marco's vibrant energy to restore my batteries, I felt like I could sleep for a week. My former hostage was probably still unconscious at the top of the ravine where I'd left him, warmed in his sleep by the flames. Jealousy creased my brow and brought on a jaw cracking yawn, and I stretched for the sky, trying to shake it off. 

The Watcher stirred—not quite waking—and I froze mid-reach, still unused to the mysterious presence inside my head. "It's getting rather crowded in here, wouldn't you agree, Watcher?" At the sound of my voice it shivered and gathered the strength to swirl closer, getting brighter in the periphery of my mind as it did so. But in spite of the fact that I knew it was there, I could sense nothing to determine whether of not it was human. No sense of curiosity, no telling tendril of intent, not even a wisp of cautious nerves—which could have represented the desire to build a friendship. The Watcher was neither malicious, nor sympathetic, it simply was. 

"Are you a ghost, then?" I wondered aloud. "Or maybe you're some little forest spirit I've picked up as I was passing through?" No answer, but I imagined its stillness to be a sign that it appreciated my verbal musings, so I continued. "Are you trying to hitch a ride to greener pastures, Watcher? Hoping to get somewhere better than where you started?" I hopped from one granite boulder to another, landing on the balls of my unprotected feet in an effort to minimize the damage. "I hope that's not the case, Watcher. There won't be any great-grandfather trees for you to live in, not where I'm going. I'd be surprised if there are any trees at all." My eyes lit on a patch of spongy greenery, and I stooped to brush it with my fingers, the opportunist in me assessing it for any possible nutritional value. "Can you live in moss?" When the Watcher didn't react, but remained hovering at the edge of my consciousness, I broke off a piece of the coarse plant, and sniffed. 

"What do you think? Can I eat this without getting sick?" I asked no one in particular, knowing the Watcher would live up to its moniker. My answer would have to come from the same place it had always come—from the expertise of my own experience. I licked the pale green bundle with eyes squeezed shut. It tasted like wooden dirt, but my tongue didn't tingle in an ominous fashion, so I took a bite. "Bleh," I spat a few seconds later, scraping my tongue with dirty fingernails. If woody mountain moss was indeed a part of the food chain, it had the best defense of any living thing I had ever come across, for any creature who intended to make a meal of it would need to be absent one very important thing—a sense of taste. I shrugged and returned it to where I'd found it, hoping it might continue living in spite of being disturbed. 

The wind picked up, brushing away the crumbs of dirt sticking to the fabric of my pants. I stood, determined to ignore the empty ache in my belly for a few more hours. True to form, that thought became irrelevant mere seconds after it had floated through my head. With Asher trapped well outside of my Elite Priestess range, I was free to sense something other than his brilliant beacon of power... and sense something I had. My head snapped around to the left, drawn to the presence that had just stepped into my range. 

"Not an Elite," I whispered to the Watcher, letting out a breath when it was clear the distinct power signature was missing from whoever it was. "Could be a farmer or..." I back pedaled, eyes fixed to the horizon. "A cannibal. Could also be a cannibal," I chuckled to myself. But what I couldn't bear to say aloud was that it could be the rebels. Yesterday I'd been fixated on finding them, at any cost. But that had changed, hadn't it? I couldn't risk leading Asher's men straight to them, not after Marco had taken advantage of my extreme ignorance on the matter. 

But what could an escaped slave with dwindling resources and no military training actually do about any of this? I couldn't stop the Caledonians and their accursed breeding program without help, but asking for that help would be the most selfish thing I could imagine doing. If the Caledonians couldn't find the rebels on their own, I felt honor-bound to protect them—which meant I'd have to walk away from the sanctuary the rebels might offer, and hope another option might present itself. 

And so I continued walking, veering to my right now in the hopes of avoiding both Asher's hunting party and this new presence, whom I assumed to be a rebel. As I stumbled along, tripping over the loose shale and fragmented granite, the Watcher faded, either getting bored with my cyclical inner monologue or finding someone more interesting to watch. While I had begun to accept its presence in my mind, I couldn't deny a profound sense of relief that it chose this moment to abandon me. As far as I was concerned, my chances of escape would escalate as the number of beings who occupied the space inside my head dropped. 

"Mmm..." As if in answer to this thought, Asher's groan reverberated through me, a stark reminder that I wasn't alone, and that my thoughts may not be private at all. I stopped moving and sucked in a breath through my nose, waiting for his usual early morning taunts, but they didn't come. He was silent. Almost as if... as if he'd been sleeping. 

Cautious, I reached for him, needing to know if I was right. "Oh, you sonofa—" I forced air through my clenched teeth, feeling the distinct, hazy patterns of sleep through our bond. "How very efficient of you, Asher. Ever the well trained soldier," I snapped, pushing forward, irritation fueling my steps. He must have drifted off since the last time I'd checked on him. And why wouldn't he? I'd left him with very few options, hadn't I? So why should it annoy me that he'd attempt to catch up on lost sleep, when it was the first real evidence that I'd been successful in stalling him? 

"Because I'm tired, that's why!" I shouted, pushing a lock of sweaty, tangled hair off my face. "And now I've got another follower, and I can't take advantage of Asher's nap because I can't risk them finding me, even though that was the only thing I could think about yesterday!" An inarticulate scream burst from my lips, and I kicked at the air as hard as I could, knowing I looked ridiculous, but far past the point of caring. The knowledge that I was having myself a little temper tantrum didn't detract from the force of these pesky emotions. I sat heavily, bruising my tail bone in the process. 

It was then with a considerable level of confusion that I realized I was doing my best to hold back a flood of frustrated tears. And in spite of recent events, tears were not my usual reaction to a difficult situation. But they fell anyway, an unbidden acknowledgment of weakness... I was just so tired. 

There's no telling how long my pity party would have gone on if the presence of the would-be rebel on my left hadn't gotten stronger. I turned toward it, closing my eyes in an effort to focus my gifts. "Not stronger," I said, frowning. "There are two... no... three of them." I sighed, and got to my feet, wondering if they'd heard my little outburst as I prepared to continue moving. They certainly seemed to be moving faster than they had when I'd last checked, but that could just as easily have been a product of my anxiety. "There will be time for sulking later." 

I hoped. 

The sun was nearing its peak, glaring down at me with an unforgiving intensity, draining me of the last of my strength. "They're gaining on us, Watcher," I whispered, licking dry lips. And it was true. I could now pick out five distinct presences in the distance—excluding Asher's group, who had yet to move beyond the fire trench. The Watcher, however, remained silent, leaving me to fret in privacy, which, up until a few days ago, would have been a blessing. But the Watcher was growing on me, and for the first time in years, I yearned for someone with whom I could share my troubles. Even if that someone wasn't really a someone at all, but was a fickle, emotionless nature-spirit amusing itself by watching my attempts to survive in this inhospitable environment. It was as if my being forced away from a life of solitude had fostered the need for more human contact, when I had expected such a thing to be wholly intolerable. 

"I think that's why I talk to you, Watcher," I mused, picking my way through a boulder field. "Well, and the fact that you don't talk back isn't such a bad thing, either. I think we'll get along just fine, Watcher." 

I stumbled, but caught myself before I hit the dirt. Asher's energy—still heavy with sleep—flexed, and my cheeks flushed hot. "God, that power," I groaned, wishing I had the chance to recharge as he had, wishing I could feast on Marco's strength just once more... And then a thought struck me. We were doubly bound, weren't we? The gift of a powerful Elite was mine to wield, though I was tied too closely to the earth's energy to use it without risking my life, according to Sasha. What if I could reach out to Asher... what if I could sip at his bottomless well as he slept? What if I forced our bond to work for me? 

Too tired to care about the consequences, I reached for him, tying our power together with inexperienced, fumbling hands. He started at my rough handling, and while it wasn't enough to pull him from his slumber, I knew I was spoiling my chance. Before I could finish, a bird trilled to my right, singing in a strong, exotic voice in the crisp mountain air. I frowned, hesitating halfway through my task. There was something wrong with the tune, though my brain was sluggish with the weight of Asher's sleeping mind, and at first I couldn't place it. When I did manage to put the pieces together, I felt the blood rush from my face, leaving me light headed and a more than a little dizzy. "There are no trees," I whispered, flinging my divided attention toward the would-be avian song master. "How can there be birds with no trees?" Because, in this barren place, there wasn't. It was a man. And he'd managed get within earshot as I'd been trudging forward. 

"Watcher," I whispered in a trembling voice, feeling my passenger summon the energy to observe my surroundings. "If you have any influence in this world—any at all—now is the time to demonstrate it." And for one miraculous moment, I thought my plea had inspired the Watcher to help me. It grew brighter in the corners of my mind, somehow doubling in strength as I waited breathless for it to share its energy with me. 

What happened next was so unexpected that I barely stifled the urge to laugh. With a nonchalance that bordered on hilarity, the Watcher became a plural. The first moved aside, revealing a second, distinct aloof being hovering inside my mind. "You're joking," I whispered, blinking in surprise. "That's not exactly what I meant, but thanks for trying." The Watchers, it seemed, would continue to uphold the tradition of mental and emotional silence. 

Hoping that Bird Man had yet to lay eyes on me, I pulled the last remaining strip of black silk from my pack and draped it over my hair. I wrapped the tails around my throat to hide the golden collar sparkling against my skin, and tucked the ends of the fabric inside the neck of my shirt. There would be no avoiding a meeting with the rebels, but old habits die hard, as they say. Jake Trapper's face swam before my mind's eye, and with it, the sensation of betrayal I'd experienced at his hands. He'd been a friend, but that hadn't stopped him from trying to use my heritage to his advantage, no matter the impossible situation he'd been in. And he hadn't even known the truth. What might these new Elorans do if they saw my Chains and realized I was a bound Priestess? 

"Might be too late to be wondering that," I muttered, pulling Asher's modified leather jacket over my shoulders—an action which might appear innocent enough, considering the brisk fall wind whistling through the rocks. But it also served to conceal the glittering Chains infused with my skin, the permanent mark of slavery I would bear for the rest of my days. I zipped the jacket up, and buttoned the cuffs about my wrists, eyes scanning my environment for signs of movement. 

The rebels were all around me now, flanking me and preventing a mad dash for freedom, but I forced myself to continue walking. Until they chose to reveal themselves, I'd have to pretend I didn't know they were there or risk raising their suspicions. All I could hope for was that I appeared to be nothing more than a harmless barefoot traveler wandering through inhospitable mountain terrain with no food, no water, and no shelter to speak of. Surely that would motivate them to leave me to my fate, surely they'd walk away from someone who appeared to be more trouble than she was worth? 

I snorted, knowing the likelihood of that scenario was close to zero, and picked up the pace. Trying to will them to go about their day as if they hadn't seen a woefully unprepared female in desperate need of rescue, I stepped over loose rocks and shale faster than I had been a moment before. And it might have worked—I could feel their collective hesitation as I pushed them to turn back—if only I hadn't forgotten to loosen the bond between Asher and me. 

Heat burned through my blood, staining my cheeks with fire and making my breath come in quick, shallow gasps."Mila, what—" Asher's voice held an uncharacteristic note of bewilderment, as if he'd just been jostled from a deep sleep, and upon waking, had been met with an utterly unexpected set of circumstances. In this case, intense sexual pleasure. 

I gasped, feeling the muscles in my lower abdomen contract, sending a thrill straight to the core of my sexuality. And while I could feel neither the press of lips to skin, nor the heat of a lover's body, I was subject to the result of those sensations. My heart rate sped up, sweat blossomed across my forehead, and the delicate skin of my nethers grew slick with the wanting of a man. No, not just any man. 

"Fucking hell, Mila," Asher rasped, flooding our bond with the force of his arousal, mixing it with my own until I was all but panting. "What are you doing to me?" 

I choked. "What am I, doing to you? I'm not doing anything, you pig," I hissed under my breath, though I knew he couldn't hear me. 

"Shit," he whispered, filling my ears with a deep groan. "I swear to God, Mila, if you're fucking someone right now, I'll..." he trailed off mid-threat, his gasp echoing my own. "My God, that feels... incredible." 

A wave of ecstasy washed over me and my knees buckled. I sunk to the earth, barely resisting the desire to squeeze my thighs together and pinch my nipples. I was so... close... "Don't project, don't project, don't project," I whispered under my breath, trying to construct the shield Sasha had helped me build. The rebels had broken their formation, and with several men watching one of my most strange and intimate moments, and the last thing I wanted to do was fill them with the lust that was currently ripping me to pieces. For now, I could sense the concern in the heart of the man approaching me, but I needed it to remain that way. 

"Are you touching that sweet little pussy for me, baby?" Asher crooned in my ear, causing a flood of liquid to soak the crotch of the leggings I'd stolen from his closet. 

Footsteps crunched on gravel several dozen yards ahead of me, and my next comment was hardly more than the movement of my lips. "How is it possible that you can infuriate me from such a distance?" But my shield trembled as his words settled over me, as the memory of Asher's blazing Caledonian eyes filled my mind, and the ghost of his calloused hands roamed over my skin... stroking... petting... reveling in every inch of me. I sunk my fingernails into my palms, trying to find distraction, and failing. Oh dear God, let my shield hold. 

"Fuck me, I miss your taste. What I wouldn't give to be fucking you right now... to watch... to watch your skin flush as you come on my cock. Holy hell, I want to pound into you as hard as I can, and... I... I don't even care what you're doing anymore, Mila," Asher whispered, his voice cracking over my name in the most endearing way. "Just don't stop." 

And then the feeling that had taken me with the force of a hurricane reached the tipping point, and it required every ounce of will power I possessed not to cry out and touch myself as Asher had suggested. 

"Sweet fucking—Mila, I'm coming," Asher gasped, the force of his orgasm pushing me into my own. "Come with me, Mila. Stroke that gorgeous little clit, and come. Right. Now." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 16



"Miss? Are you alright?" 

"I—I'm..." The words died in my throat as I cowered behind my shield, an unprovoked orgasm shuddering through me. 

"Yes," he groaned, and I could feel his ecstasy on my skin, for it mirrored my own. My vision blurred as I fought to remain still, fought to contain the potent sexual energy trapped behind my shield. And then, when I thought it was going to be impossible to hold on to such a force without raising the rebel's suspicions, Asher provided the perfect dampener. "Alicia." 

A choked, pathetic little sound burst from my lips, and for one wild moment, I thought my heart had stopped. "Alicia?" I repeated, not seeing anything in my surroundings, but trying to get a sense of the man on the other end of our bond. He'd stopped talking to me, and his emotions were starting to blur together, as if he were trying to pull away from this extra-intense version of the bond I'd created. So I did what any rational woman in my unique position would do, and slammed an imaginary door on him, putting as much distance between us as I could. 

"Your name is Alicia?" The rebel asked, his hand drifting into my line of vision. 

"M-my... name?" I whispered, blinking away the sensation of seeing two worlds at once. 

"Are you hurt?" he asked, dropping into a crouch before me. I cringed, which he must have taken as a sign that I wanted to be touched, for he placed a soothing hand on my shoulder, and said, "It's okay. I'll take you somewhere safe." 

"No," I whispered, jerking away from his touch. A bead of sweat trickled down my back, making me shudder. My cheeks were still heated with the glow of an unexpected orgasm, and I couldn't bring myself to meet my would-be savior's eyes. He'd know. "I don't need h-help." 

"Miss... Alicia honey, there's nothing up here but rocks and wind." He shifted forward, planting one knee on the shale, and slung his pack off his shoulder. "Here, have some water." He shook the canteen when I didn't reach for his offering, making the liquid slosh. Obedient, my throat constricted with the sudden urge to drain the bottle dry. "That's it," he murmured as I quenched my thirst. "Now, let's get you back to our camp. You'll be safe with us." 

I swallowed, pressed my lips together, then bolstered my courage and met his soft, honey-brown Eloran eyes. "Thank you for the offer, but I must decline." 

At my polite declaration, two more men stepped forward, weapons drawn. I allowed my eyes to widen as I looked them over, trying to telegraph my fear, just as any defenseless woman might do if confronted with several rough-looking men in the wilderness. I whimpered and scrambled to my feet. "Am I a prisoner, then?" 

"No," the speaker said, shifting his weight between his feet. "Of course not. We'd just like—" 

"If it's all the same to you," I said, interrupting him. "I'll be on my way." I stepped toward the gap in their line. 

"Now just slow down for a second." 

"I'm not in the habit of taking offers from strange men," I snapped, summoning a fierce glare. 

Unperturbed by my little show of defiance, he moved to block me. "And I'm not in the habit of abandoning barefoot women to the elements." He crossed his arms over the heavy muscles of his chest, and said, "Especially not those who stink of fire and are dressed in Caledonian black. You're a runaway slave." 

It wasn't a question. "Oh, good. Then you're familiar with the particular brand of evil from which I'm fleeing, and you'll understand my reluctance to take up with another group of men who are not my kin." I flung a wild hand toward the man on my right, the one holding a loaded crossbow. "And if that's the best you've got, I think I'll take my chances out here, thanks." 

He raised his hands, flashing the whites of his palms in a submissive gesture. "We are not your enemy, Alicia." I opened my mouth, intending to correct him, but then realized I welcomed the reminder of Asher's latest insult, and said nothing. "This doesn't have to be difficult. You may have information that could help us take Elora back—" 

My haughty laugh interrupted him. "Not with crossbows, you won't. You have seen what the Caledonians are working with, yes?" Mr. Crossbow snarled, and took a step toward me. 

But the speaker placed a hand on his forearm, stopping him. "We just want to ask you a few questions. That's all." 

I gazed at his earnest face for a few moments, trying to make the best decision for all parties. While it was true that the man before me had pure intentions, the opposite could also be said of his fellows. The man he'd restrained was seething with grim determination—I'd get no offers of peaceful collaboration from that front. As far as I could see, I was trapped. Escaping the rebels would take everything I had left, and more. I could drain the man before me, as I had done to Marco over the last few days, but there was no guarantee I could do it before his companions filled me with crossbow bolts. And while they were no match for the raw power the Elites could wield, I probably wouldn't survive these odds. Besides, I'd risk exposing myself as a Priestess, which I wasn't willing to do... at least not until I could speak to someone who might be willing to overlook the danger of my presence in light of my unique abilities. 

"Fine," I said, before the rebels could take me by force. "But I will speak with your commanding officer, and no one else." 

The speaker nodded with a smile, relaxed, and offered me his hand. "Of course. Now let's get something for your feet." 

I stepped around him, ignoring his outstretched fingers and the urge to take a sip of his virile life-force. "I'll be fine until we get to your camp." 

"Don't be silly, Alicia. It's going to take hours to get to the main road." He signaled crossbow man, who turned and began rummaging through his pack. 

"I won't have anything that'll fit her," Mr. Crossbow grumbled, but pulled out two telescopic poles. "But I could make up the stretcher." 

"That'll have to do," the Speaker agreed, at the same time that I said, "No," with as much conviction as I could muster. But it wasn't enough—they began unpacking the ingredients for one battlefield stretcher as if I hadn't rejected the idea out of hand. 

"We'll have to take turns," Mr. Crossbow said as his eyes flicked over me. "But she's not as big as Cameron, and we carried him for a full two-day march." 

"It's the little things," Speaker replied with a laugh, then turned to me. "Come sit here, Alicia, and we'll be on our way." 

I folded my arms across my chest, and said, "No," enunciating the single syllable with as much force as possible. 

He blushed, but Mr. Crossbow spoke for him. "And why the hell not?" 

"I'll walk." 

"With all due respect, Miss, I watched you collapse not ten minutes ago," Speaker said, finding his voice, and moving to stand before me. "And if you'd like to remain free of the Caledonian scum hunting you, you'll sit on this stretcher and let us help you." 

"I've already agreed to go with you—" 

"Josh." 

"Josh," I repeated, clenching my fists. "I'm walking." 

He took a deep breath, sat down, and regarded me for a long moment. When he was ready and I had begun to fidget under his scrutiny, he said, "Any man here can see that you're exhausted, and we need to move quickly. But even well-rested, you'd never be able to travel as quickly as we can. We know the terrain, and we are stronger than you. Accepting our help won't make you weak. You're the only escaped slave we've ever come across, Alicia. You've earned a break, in my book." 

I ground my teeth—his offer was impossible to refuse. The rush of adrenaline I'd experienced when initially meeting the rebels was wearing off, leaving behind itchy eyes and a fuzzy mind. Not to mention the fact that I'd been caught up in a bizarre sexual triangle at the time of said meeting, and was now feeling the languorous sense of satisfaction I'd only felt after a particularly intense orgasm. My heart squeezed as I recalled the particulars of that most recent peak, the sound of his voice cracking in unrestrained bliss... over Alicia's name. 

Without acknowledging Josh's rational argument, I walked over to the field stretcher and asked Mr. Crossbow, "How does this thing work?" Regardless of the consequences—or the irony—I had to accept the Rebel's help or be reclaimed by the man whose eyes reflected the dark flames of hell... and haunted my dreams. But that was a fate I was not prepared to accept. 

***** 

Alrighty! Another chapter done, and another one tomorrow. =D Please vote and comment because knowing what you thought (good or bad) helps me hone my craft, and lets my whole team know what we should start working on. Thanks for reading! See you tomorrow!! 

Also, some exciting news to check out on LBGrant's profile page, so GO THERE RIGHT NOW, and do a party dance. =D 

WaterBurnXx/ Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 17



Hayy!! So I'm a day late, but story of my life, right? Haha, I'm glad I waited because this chapter is so much better for that last round of editing. I really am a comma junkie and without the help of my wonderful betas and editors, you guys would need a codex to decipher the meaning of this text. And something always gets lost in translation, yes? ;) Anyway, a huge thank you to FA_JF, Baron, SF, and DeathandTaxes for the advice and handling. You guys rock my world. :) 

Enjoy!! 

***** 

Allowing myself to be carried went against every instinct I'd cultivated over the course of my life, but I had to admit the treatment was a nice change of pace. With every step Josh and Mr. Crossbow took the stretcher swayed, almost lulling me to sleep. Knowing I could relax and continue to put distance between Asher and me caused a rebellious little smile to touch the corner of my lips. He'd be furious if he could see who was helping me. It didn't hurt that Josh—who had taken up the rear of the stretcher and was facing me as he labored—wasn't hard on the eyes. 

"So, Alicia," he said, adjusting his grip on the stretcher handles. "How long have you been on the run?" 

The temptation to ask, "Which time?" hovered on my lips, but I smiled and said, "A few days longer than my former master wants, I'd imagine." 

He chuckled with a nod of approval. "And that's all that really matters, isn't it?" I made a noncommittal sound in my throat—no, it wasn't all that mattered. But talk of The Program and vengeance could come later. "How'd you do it? Escape, I mean." 

I sighed and rubbed my heavy eyelids. "I'd like to regale you with tales of a hostage taken at gunpoint followed by a pulse-pounding car chase, but I expect I just got lucky." 

"Oh, come on," he replied, laughing. "You aren't giving yourself enough credit. Not by half. The Caledonians are a plague. A plague that you escaped. You should be proud of yourself." 

My cheeks heated, and I looked away. "Thank you," I mumbled, inspecting my cuticles. "For this... for carrying me... for everything." 

"It's my pleasure, Alicia. Besides," he pressed, a smile warming his eyes. "I'm happy to be a part of the team who rescued a Tritan from those animals." 

I squeaked, the sound strangled and all too audible in the still mountain air. "I'm not—how—" I stuttered for a moment, then closed my mouth, regarding Josh with a newfound respect. "How did you know?" I asked, because there was no sense denying it—my reaction was all the proof he'd ever need. 

"I knew several of your people before the war," he admitted, a crease forming between his brows. "I recognized the way you finished every sentence on a high note, and the way you enunciate your vowels. You Tritans are much more eloquent than Elorans. It's hard to unlearn that." 

"Shit." I said, mustering all the Tritan eloquence I was capable of under the circumstances. 

"Precisely," he replied with a snort. "Well that, and I've never seen that particular shade of blonde on anyone but a Tritan." Frowning, I ran a self-conscious hand around the perimeter of my hairline, but he continued before I could voice my confusion. "Your eyebrows, Alicia." 

"Shit," I said again, impressed in spite of being caught revealing vital information. 

"Yeah," he agreed, glancing over his shoulder toward the way we'd come. "I expect someone is willing to go to a great deal of trouble to see you returned to him." 

I swallowed—Josh was far too clever for my liking. "No more than any other slave." 

"Ah, but you're not just any other slave, are you?" he retorted with a self-satisfied smirk. And for the space of three breaths I was certain that he had, in fact, realized the truth about me—about the gifts I'd been cursed with. "You're a Tritan, Alicia. I've seen how obsessive the Caledonians are about your people. Seen it with my own two eyes. And your escape probably humiliated that arrogant fucker who called himself your master. He'll want to make an example out of you, no doubt. Can't have slaves thinking they can challenge the all-powerful fist of the Empire, now can they?" 

A shiver rippled over my skin, and I looked away—Josh's words had struck too close to the truth. Asher was desperate to get his hands on me. "Can we talk about something else, please?" I asked, trying to rub the gooseflesh away. 

"Piss, Alicia, I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me. I was just..." 

"Excited?" 

He blew out a breath. "Yeah. It's been a while since we've had a victory against those leeches. I got a little carried away." He hopped, catching the stretcher handles with a different grip. 

I stifled a yawn, cozy in spite of the uncomfortable subject and my vulnerable new role as damsel in distress. "It's fine." 

"Why don't you tuck in and rest your eyes for a few hours? Let me make it up to you?" 

"Nah," I said, pulling my jacket tight around my midsection. "I'm okay for now." But damn it if that wasn't the last thing I remember before succumbing to dreamless slumber. 

I woke with a start sometime later when Josh and Mr. Crossbow set my stretcher down beside an ancient horse-drawn wagon. Weather had grayed the planks of its cabin, and in some places they were missing altogether. As the most essential part of a mobile wagon, one might expect the wheels to be well cared for—but they were cracked with age, and several of the spokes had begun to twist and splinter. Despite my misgivings, it must have been sound, for the rebels didn't hesitate to pile their gear into it, and I allowed my attention to return to more pressing matters. 

Asher and his team had made it past the burning trench some time ago, I could feel him moving with us—and I'd slept through his triumph. I turned, drawn toward the unseen glow of his presence, searching for any signs of pursuit. Our bond, however, was still muted, and the only thing I knew for sure was that he longed for victory. I stood, stretching the languor from stiff limbs, and watched as Josh presented a thick carrot to the lean, dapple-gray horse fixed to the cart. The beast whinnied, and bumped his forehead into Josh's shoulder with a lazy flick of his black tail. 

A skinny young man hopped down from the cart. "Hey Trapper," he said by way of greeting, slapping Josh on the back. "You guys find out who lit that fire?" I tensed, remembering the last time I'd encountered members of the Trapper clan. 

Josh jerked his head toward me. "Yeah, got ourselves a runaway slave, if you'll believe it." The youth's eyes widened and his head snapped around, seeking evidence of such a claim for himself. He blushed when he found me standing within hearing distance, but Josh didn't flinch. "Ah, Alicia, you're awake. How you feeling?" 

"Well rested, thank you," I replied, getting to my feet and straightening my stolen shirt. 

With a nod, he began to rummage through a pack. "You hungry? I've got some dried meat here somewhere." 

But Mr. Crossbow spoke before I could decline. "Will you quit tryin' to get yer dick wet, and get yer ass to work?" He thrust a large bag into Josh's hands, and cast a withering glare at me. "This isn't a goddamn picnic, Trapper. There's a pack o' wolves on our trail, boy, and I won't be caught outside the fort when night falls. I can promise yeh that." 

Josh put his head down and began to work, though his sun-bronze cheeks were now stained pink. His anger jostled my Empathy, awakening my senses. My head tilted back and I breathed deep, inhaling the scent of fury on the wind. Yes, I could relate to that. I understood him now, as I too had felt the sting of injustice. "You know what?" he spat, spinning to jab a threatening finger toward Mr. Crossbow. "Ye've been a miserable prick fer the last three days, Samuel, and I'm gettin' sick of dealin' with yer shit." His temper strengthened his accent, betraying what I imagined to be small-town roots. 

Samuel laughed—fists tightening as if they longed to wrap around something vital and squeeze—but his eyes did not leave Josh's face. "Yeh've been dealin' with my shit, have yeh? I just had teh endure yer pathetic attempts to bed yer Tritan whore fer the last two hours. And I'm the one who's—" My startled burst of laughter broke through his rant, and Mr. Crossbow—Samuel—whirled on me. "And what'd you know about it, Tritan? Yer kind are responsible for startin' this whole war. Without the abominations ye call 'Priestess,' the Caledonians would'na made it past Tritan's pathetic army!" Spittle flew from his white lips, coming close to showering me with the physical evidence of his rage. My fingers ached with the need to touch his skin, to draw the potent emotion from him and fill myself with his life force. 

I took a step forward, wetting dry lips with the tip of my tongue—and Josh flung his hand toward me, fingers outstretched. "Alicia, stay back, girl." 

"It's... okay," I whispered, and closed my eyes, seeing the glow of Samuel's life force in my mind's eye. 

But before I could take another step, I was distracted. "Not now, Watchers," I hissed, feeling their attention come alive in my mind. But they had broken my concentration with their arrival, and I lost my grip on Samuel's building fury. Realization—cold and sick—settled over me as the two rebels squared off, each man preparing himself for a fight. "It's me," I whispered, my gaze flicking between them. "It's the riot all over again." 

Marco's words echoed in my memory. "Well it's all your fault, isn't it? The riot? Yeah, he told me about your little problem, Priestess." 

I blinked, tearing my mind away from Samuel and the temptation to absorb his life force. The Watchers were there, waiting. They draped my mind in a blank, emotionless void, dowsing the embers of vengeance in a soothing wave of calm. "Stop," I whispered, taking a half step toward them. "Please. You have to stop. This isn't right. I didn't mean to—" 

But the seeds of my wayward Empathy had already taken root. "You stay outta this, Tritan," Samuel snapped, turning his fierce gaze back to Josh, who snarled, and lunged forward. And then they fought, grunting and punching each other until Samuel got the upper hand, pinning Josh beneath him. "Give it up, boy," Samuel panted, wrapping his meaty fist around Josh's airway. 

Josh choked, but managed to pry the thick fingers away from his throat. "Fuck you!" he hollered, and heaved with all his might, toppling Samuel to the side. But Samuel was prepared for it, and tried to regain his feet—only to have Josh yank one out from under him and crawl onto his back. With lips pulled back in a fierce grimace, Josh wrapped his forearm around his comrade's throat, forcing Samuel's back to bow at an impossible angle. 

I sank to my knees, mind reeling with horror at what I'd instigated, but unable to tear my eyes away. For their part, the Watchers stayed with me, a firm handhold in the chaos of emotions swirling around me. Whatever they were, I was now indebted to them, whether their intention had been to assist me or not. 

"Yield," Josh commanded, blinking away rivulets of sweat. 

"Mmphh," was the only sound Samuel was capable of making, but Josh took it for disobedience, and his victim's face turned a hideous shade of purple. 

A great splash of water doused the two fighters. Josh released Samuel, a startled exclamation on his lips. But the skinny youth who had intervened beat him to it. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?" He kicked Josh away from Samuel—who was coughing and gasping for breath—and raised his empty bucket, threatening to use it as a weapon if the icy-cold water wasn't enough to deter them. "This is really great for company morale, Dad," he continued when Josh raised his hands in defeat, panting. 

For a moment, I thought he was speaking to Josh, but Samuel spit out a great wad of muddy mucus and said, "Keep yer nose outta this, or I'll leave yeh home with yer mother the next time we raid." 

"You won't and we both know it. Now get your ass off the ground, old man, and let's get us gone before the Caledonians come to collect what's theirs, shall we?" 

I grimaced and touched the gold fused with the skin of my right wrist. What's theirs? If it was true that I belonged to Asher—and I was far from ready to admit any such thing—it was also true that he belonged to me. 

The rickety little cart wasn't big enough to hold all the rebels, their gear, and me, so Josh and most of the other men walked, giving me the privacy of the cabin. It was Josh who had suggested I continue sleeping for the remainder of the trip, but my nap in the stretcher had given me a second wind. Besides, with the cart traveling at the pace of the slowest man, we weren't gaining ground on Asher and his men, merely maintaining the lead we already had. 

I picked at the skin around the cuff on my right bicep—the one that might have allowed me to control Asher in a different world—and watched the trees and shrubs flick by. The Watchers had long since faded into the ether, no doubt exhausted by the drama of the last hour. I found myself missing their silent presence. 

Why had the Watchers chosen me? What allowed them to conceal their emotions when everyone else around me was an easy read? Maybe they really were nature spirits, drawn to my connection with the forest, and maybe they'd gotten trapped with me when I'd moved out of their home. 

With a great sigh, I shook my head. A thick, twisted trunk supporting sparse foliage caught my gaze, and I frowned. Trees, here? Hadn't Josh said there was nothing on this mountain but rocks and wind? Eager for the chance to think about something else, I opened the window and waved him down. "Josh?" 

Laughing, he slapped Samuel on the back and sauntered over to me. I couldn't repress an answering smile. It took a great deal of maturity to admit your part in a fight, and it appeared Josh was wise enough to realize that, and forgive Samuel. "Yes, Alicia?" 

"It's nothing important, I was just wondering about those trees," I said, pointing. 

"Ah, yes. We're on the northern side of the mountain now, aren't we?" he replied, and his voice had returned to the easy, cultured cadence I'd heard when we first met. Before continuing, he flipped the cap off his canteen and treated himself to a hearty drink. "This side gets full sun exposure, and the soil is rich. The south side is too steep for anything to grow, especially after the earthquake that splintered off the whole southern face." 

"Earthquake?" I repeated, eyes flicking toward the ground. 

But he laughed and said, "Relax, girl. That happened in my grandfather's time. We're probably fine." 

"Comforting." 

He grinned. "It won't be long before we get back to base. The others wanted you blindfolded, but I convinced them you aren't a threat." 

I felt my face heat, the particulars of Samuel's accusations ringing in my ears. "Thank you. I can't imagine that was easy, considering..." 

"Just don't make me regret it," he said, and though his tone was light, his eyes held mine for the space of three seconds. I nodded, offering a weak smile before being released from the uncomfortable contact. "Anyway, I think you're going to be impressed with our base. Even if your master manages to find us, he'll need the strength of his entire army to get to you." 

"Welcome news," I replied, though my stomach dropped, allowing the seeds of guilt to sprout in its absence. "How much longer until we get there?" 

His eyes flicked toward the sun, and he paused before replying. "Probably only another half hour, or so." 

"Good. The sooner, the better." 

"Don't worry, Alicia. I won't let him get to you." 

I forced a smile onto my lips, throwing my shield up, and wiping my face blank of any other telling emotions. "And I'm grateful, Josh. Thank you, again." 

Over the next few minutes, he peppered me with questions, asking me about my family, my favorite foods, the places I wanted to visit when the war was over—anything and everything he could think of, it seemed. Every single one of my answers was a lie. I don't know why I felt the compulsion to hide myself from Josh Trapper, only that my instincts demanded I not give him anything that could identify me as Priestess. Compounding my guilt was the knowledge that my wariness against Josh was completely unfounded. Except for his Empath-fueled fist fight, he'd been nothing but a perfect gentleman toward me. I knew a certain someone who could stand to follow Josh's lead. 

"Hold!" Samuel's son bellowed, bringing the scrawny cart horse to a stop. 

"Ah, we're here," Josh said, hiking his pack higher on his shoulder. 

I lowered my shield, trying to get a sense of the rebel base before I entered it—and my mind was flooded with the glorious power of an unbound Elite. "Holy hell," I gasped, sinking into the hard bench beneath me. 

"Impressive, right?" Josh asked, opening the door for me, though his face was turned away from me, lit with an eerie blue light. "We based it off the power core of an Elite's weapon, but it took years to bring the prototype to life." 

It took a moment, but my Priestess senses recognized the distinct hum of power—and what Josh had assumed to be the source of my surprise. It was a rebel shield of epic proportions, identical to the one Asher had fired upon the first night he'd tried to use my power—the night he'd nearly ended my life. I sat forward, knowing there was an Elite hiding here somewhere... I could feel him. 

The rebel shield was guarding an opening in the very face of the mountain, casting an eerie blue light upon the surrounding clearing. The clearing we were standing in was filled with lush vegetation, had high rock walls, and was quiet in a way that made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Someone else might have seen a beautiful little oasis hidden in a mountainous desert—but I knew who was lurking in the shadows, and I cursed the thriving trees and bushes for the coverage they afforded my enemy. 

Moving with a forced nonchalance, I slipped my pack off my shoulder and pulled out Asher's weapon. It was a tight fit, and I had to consciously prevent my energy from surging into the weapon, but I managed to tuck it inside my right jacket pocket without attracting Josh's attention. Come what may, I would not be caught unprepared. 

"I heard about this," I said, doing my best to keep my voice from betraying my anxiety. "The Elites didn't think you guys would be able to do something like that." 

"See?" Josh exclaimed, putting his hands on my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake. "Information like that might just be the thing that gives us an edge on them." 

"I'll do whatever I can to help your cause," I replied, shrugging his hands away while my eyes darted around the small clearing. There were all too many places to hide, but my Priestess senses felt... scrambled somehow, as if there was a barrier between my target and me. 

"Perfect. It's not much, but you'll be a free woman. I can promise you that." 

"I just need a corner, really. Nothing fancy for me." The cart horse snorted as Samuel's son held a handful of grain in front of his nose, patting him down after a long day's work. Sweat prickled my palm, making my grip on the gun slippery. I squeezed harder, pushing my Priestess skills to the limit. 

"Nonsense, I'll get you settled in myself." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"Yeah, but I want to." 

I flashed my teeth in a quick smile without meeting his eyes—for a moment, I thought I'd pinpointed the hidden Elite to my left, but in the next second, my senses told me he was directly before me, though my eyes told a different story. "Before anything else, you're going to take me to your leader, right?" 

With my shield down, I felt Josh's disappointment skate along my nerves. "Of course. That was our agreement. I haven't forgotten." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 17



"Thanks," I muttered, casting a glance over my shoulder. Where the hell was he? 

"You'll like this," Josh said, planting his large hand around my left elbow, guiding me toward the electric blue glow of the shield. 

The Elite hadn't made a move since I'd sensed him, and without a target to shoot at, I couldn't pull away from Josh without a good reason. Maybe the Elite was a spy who was charged to gather information for a larger unit of the Caledonian army. Either way I couldn't make a move until he did. I ground my teeth in frustration. 

Samuel stood before the shield, hands on hips, saying nothing. I frowned, and looked at Josh with raised eyebrows, but he smiled, and jerked his head toward the shield. "Just wait." So I did, twitching with nerves and clutching my weapon in a sweat-slick grip, but I waited nonetheless. 

A boy with dark hair stumbled forward, and although his every feature was blurred by the shield, I could tell he was being propelled forward at the end of a stick. His fingers appeared to be buried beneath a tight collar, and he danced on tiptoes, long legs stretched to the limit. The man holding the other end of the stick came into view, gesturing at something I couldn't see, and jerked the boy around until he raised a hand in surrender. 

Even through the blur, I watched the boy's fingers tremble as he reached out to touch something on the wall. The shield surged with power, then shattered, the glittering blue crumbling into sparkling dust before my eyes. In its place was a cavernous hole filled with the depleted life force of one Caledonian Elite. The boy collapsed, sweat pouring down his waxy green face. With my breath caught in my throat, I stepped forward, the urge to replenish his energy overcoming my better judgment. 

"Get up you," Stick Man growled, half dragging the young Elite to his feet. "Back in your cage." 

A heart wrenching cry was his only response, and I stifled a sympathetic gasp, sinking my nails into the meat of my palm. "What is this?" I whispered, wrapping my own shield as tight around myself as I could. There was no danger that the young Elite might sense my power, for his glazed eyes held the shadows of one who wished for death, but was without the means to bring such a thing to pass. He was utterly exhausted. I could feel it even from this distance without the aid of skin to skin contact. 

"It's our front door, and—" 

"Yer new home, Tritan," Samuel barked, stepping into the cave. 

"Why would you... I don't..." Adequate words were impossible to find, so I settled for confused sentence fragments as I tried to wrap my head around the complete lack of empathy it would take to do such a thing—enemy or not. "Is that an Elite?" I asked, though I didn't need to. 

"'Tis," Samuel confirmed, turning to face me. "Got a problem with that?" 

"But... he's a boy, for God's sake." 

Samuel stepped toward me, a fierce gleam in his eye. "Man enough t'kill five of us before we put 'im down." 

"You didn't put him down, Samuel," I retorted, matching him toe to toe. "You're torturing him." 

An astonished laugh flew from his lips, and he flung his arm over his shoulder. "'Tis no less than 'e deserves, and I'll thank yeh to shut yer damn mouth. Yeh don' know what yer talkin' about." 

"Well forgive me for being naive enough to wish for a world without slavery, in all forms. Being that I just escaped that life, myself. How very stupid of me," I snapped, finger on the trigger, though I had yet to draw on him. 

"Trapper, get yer Tritan whore outta my face, 'fore I do somethin' I'll enjoy." 

My mouth dropped open, but I could think of nothing to say, and Josh filled the tense silence. "It's an ingenious design, really. It can only be unlocked from the inside by an Elite, which means it's going to be next to impossible for anyone to get to us once we are inside." 

"That's a terrible plan!" I cried, whirling on him. "What happens if that boy dies because of the way you're treating him?" 

"Then the Shield falls." 

"And you see no problem with that?" 

"If 'e dies," Samuel growled. "Then we get another." 

"Another... Elite?" I asked, incredulous. "I'm quite sure that's not as easy as you seem to think." 

Samuel crossed his thick arms over a chest of substantial girth. "Ye've got experience with the Elites, then?" 

"Of course I do, you bloody idiot," I retorted, throwing my hands up. "I'm a former slave of the front lines. I saw Elites on a daily basis. Saw what they are capable of—" 

Josh put a hand on my shoulder, and I pressed my lips together—until I could speak to someone important, there was nothing I could do for the boy, no matter how much I itched to put Samuel in that cage and bring the mountain down upon his head. "Good choice," Samuel breathed, entirely too close for comfort, then turned on his heel, and disappeared into the depths of the tunnel before us. 

Josh squeezed my shoulder, and I threw him off. "I'm sorry, I didn't think..." I turned to face him, but he couldn't make eye contact. "I didn't think you'd react that way. He's Caledonian, Alicia. I thought..." 

"That boy isn't responsible for anything that happened to me, Josh. He shouldn't be punished for the crimes of his people." 

"I can assure you, he took an active part of those crimes." 

"Which obviously means you should treat him worse than you treat your horse! Look," I said, stopping him before he could push me deeper into this argument. "Just take me to your commanding officer, and we'll talk about this later, okay?" 

He stared at me for a few long moments, and I wondered if I'd been wrong about him. Was he, in fact, capable of letting his anger go when it served no purpose? But he shrugged, and said, "Of course, Alicia. Come with me," as he turned to follow Samuel into the darkness. 

Just as the young Elite's energy had been scrambled by the shield, so was Asher's ominous presence in my mind. In one moment it felt as if he were standing directly beside me, matching me step for step, while the next instant had him so far out of range that I was alone in my head for the first time in days. The only thing that stopped me from screaming every time his phantom seemed near was the knowledge of his location before the shield closed behind me. 

After we passed through the entrance—which was a single great room filled with armed rebels, tables of neatly-arranged weapons, and several hundred barrels marked 'perishable'—we descended into the tunnels. They were precisely the sort of dark, musty horrors one might expect to find under a mountain, and of course I had the impeccable timing to discover a fierce dislike of claustrophobic spaces. If my stubbed toes were anything to go by, the sad string of light bulbs lighting our path were entirely insufficient for the job at hand. 

"You do know where you're going, right?" I asked, as Josh took another unmarked right turn. 

"Have some faith," he said, chuckling. "You scared, Alicia?" 

"I wouldn't use that word, exactly," I replied. "I just prefer the outdoors over a weasel hole." 

"It's hardly a hole," he scoffed, pulling me into a hallway on the left that had escaped my notice. "I prefer, 'formerly abandoned mine shaft,' if you please. It'll open up in a sec, be patient." 

"I've yet to find a use for patience," I muttered, stroking the sleek muzzle of Asher's weapon hidden in my pocket. It gave me a great measure of comfort, given that I'd only met Josh and his ragged group of irritable survivors hours prior, and had agreed to follow him into a dank little tunnel. 

"Then you'd best prepare yerself to be bored. I've waited for the better part of the day to speak with the commander." 

"Don't say that," I moaned, hugging myself. 

"At least you'll have company." 

"You're staying with me?" 

"Don't sound so excited, please. You'll inflate my ego." 

"I didn't mean it like that," I replied, grateful my blush was hidden by the semi-dark of the tunnel. "But don't you have something else to do?" 

He chuckled and placed a hand on my upper back. "Well someone has to get you to the commander. Might as well be me. Besides—" he stopped in front of a short wooden door lit by the baleful glow of an oil lantern and sat down on the stone bench. "I've got to give my report and tell him about this week's raid. Doesn't hurt that I get to chat with a pretty girl while I wait." 

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with keeping your eye on a former Caledonian slave, right?" 

"Why split hairs?" 

With a fancy bow, I sat, conceding the point to him. "Anything else would be foolish, and I can't hold it—" The door swung open from the inside, splashing the hallway in a warm, yellow glow, stopping me mid-sentence. Two figures were silhouetted against the light, frozen in a picturesque vision of male and female reliefs. 

The smaller of the pair stepped toward her male counterpart, and a familiar woman's voice washed over me. "Oh, General," she cooed, snuggling into the crook of his arm. "You're just horrible." I cringed, and tugged the wrap closer to my face, for the voice belonged to none other than the former Mrs. Harper Tilcot of Caledonia. Tyra's attention was glued to this new general's face, and she didn't notice me sitting there. 

"Mm, Tyra," the new general moaned as his hand slipped past her waist to cup the round globe of her pert behind. "I think a celebration is in order, my dear." And if I hadn't been sitting mere feet away, I wouldn't have heard what he said next. "I'll have dinner sent to my quarters. You can feed it to me after I get my punishment for speaking over you. I've been a bad boy..." 

"You certainly have, Kurtis," she purred. "Now march. I can't wait to get my hands on you." The stink of their combined arousal overcame my flimsy shield, and I redoubled my efforts to keep them out of my head. What in the hell was Tyra doing here, and where was her newborn son? Surely intercourse—especially of the kinky sort—was impossible so soon after the birth of a child? Unless... unless she'd had a Priestess heal her. I recalled the madness sparkling in her eyes after the Priestesses had burned her late husband, and knew whatever had given her cause for celebration would spell disaster for someone. My nostrils tightened with the effort to keep my shield intact. In just a few more seconds, Tyra and her new consort would round the corner, and I'd be free of her toxic presence. 

"Shit," Josh whispered when they'd disappeared. "That was awkward. Thank God they didn't notice us here." He cursed, and ran a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. 

"So I guess I won't get to speak to your commanding officer today, after all." 

Josh stood, extending his hand to me. "Nah, that was Lieutenant General Smithy. This is General Striker's office. He's the one you want," he paused, and looked down his nose at me. "Unless you wanted to be a part of whatever's going on behind that closed door." He jerked his head in the direction in which Tyra and the Lieutenant General Smithy had gone, a toothy grin spreading across his face. 

"Ugh, after you." 

"Might be fun," he mused, tilting his head to the side. "My old man used to say you should try everything once..." 

"There's an exception to every rule," I countered, but the teasing note present in Josh's voice was absent in my own. 

He turned to the light, his smile melting away. "Ready?" 

I nodded, bracing for what might be a tricky conversation. If Josh was determined to stay for the duration of my meeting, should I come clean about my past, thereby admitting that I'd lied about everything we had talked about on the trek to get here? He'd be angry, of that I had no doubt, but I was hoping he could over-come it as he had his fight with Samuel. 

Taking a deep breath, I stepped past the threshold of the commander's office and into the light. 

Josh knocked on the door frame. "Excuse me, sir. I've got someone here you should meet." 

The spacious office was occupied by a single man whose gray head was bent over a stack of paper. "Enter," he said without taking his eyes off his work. 

"This is Alicia, sir." 

At this, steel-blue eyes met mine then flicked back to Josh without so much as a change in expression. "Miss," he said by way of greeting. 

"She's an escaped slave, sir." This—apparently—was news worthy of his attention, for the commander sat back in his seat and tented his fingers. But Josh had yet to reveal the best part of his news, and it was becoming clear the man had a flare for the dramatic. "She's a Tritan slave." 

Josh tugged on my veil, and with my left hand I pulled it off my pale, Tritan hair. I was, however, careful to leave the length of silk wrapped around my throat in order to hide the Chains. "Nice to meet you, sir." 

For the space of three breaths, the commander ignored my outstretched hand—a gesture I did not make lightly—then got to his feet, rounded the desk, and seized my fingers in a vigorous shake. "It's mighty fine to make your acquaintance, Alicia. I dare say you're in need of a hot meal and a soft bed." 

"Oh, I'm well rested, thank you," I replied, pulling my hand from the general's. "Josh and his crew were kind enough to lend me their seats in the cart." 

"Well what can I do for you, Miss Alicia?" he asked, motioning for me to take a seat while he sat on the edge of his desk in front of me. 

I twisted my hands in my lap, unsure how much to give away. "Well, I learned of something rather terrible during my time as a slave," I began, staring at his knees. 

"I imagine most everything you saw there was some kind of terrible, but please, continue." 

A small frown pinched the skin between my brows at his interruption. "They're trying to make more Priestesses, sir. And to do that... they've implemented a breeding program for Tritans." 

Silence rang through the room, swallowing my horrible news whole. Josh shifted behind me, but the general did nothing but watch me fidget for several long seconds, and then said, "And?" 

I coughed. "Well... I had hoped that was obvious. I need your help to put an end to it. To free my people." 

"Miss, why on Earth would I do that when I'm struggling to keep what remains of my people alive in this mountain?" 

"Because it's wrong. They take babies away from their mothers, and—" 

"So you've seen this program with your own eyes? 

"Well, no," I admitted. "But my former master told me about it. They've got all the regular Tritans in the Capital—" 

"In the Capital!" he exclaimed, and his brows shot up to meet his hair line. "You must have brought some sort evidence to support your claims?" 

My cheeks heated. "Of course I didn't. I barely got out of there alive." 

"Well you can hardly expect me to dedicate resources to a cause that will no doubt cost me more lives than I've got, with nothing more than the word of a runaway slave." 

Unbidden, tears pooled in my eyes. "But you don't understand, I can help—" 

"Oh, I understand more than you think. You see, I've already got a plan to liberate your Priestesses." 

I don't know if it was the disconcerting look in his eyes, or the way he said the word, "Priestesses," but I dropped my shield and tried to get an understating of this strange man's emotions. The general's excitement rushed through me, mixed with a pinch of anticipation and a fleeting dash of guilt—none of which instilled any sort of confidence within me, so I stood, and said, "Well, if you've got it under control, I've obviously wasted my time." 

"I've got it on good authority that the only Tritans on the front lines are the Priestesses bound to an Elite." I stilled, unable to conceal my surprise. "Which begs the question, Alicia, what are—" he seized my right forearm, and yanked my hand free of my jacket pocket, sending Asher's weapon spinning across the room. 

"Get your hands off me!" I shrieked, desperate to keep the sleeve of my jacket over the Chain on my right wrist. But it was no use—he was by far the stronger, and with a practiced hand, he pushed my sleeve back and exposed my curse for all to see. 

"Ah," he sighed, running his thumb over the gold set in my skin. 

Josh cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Sir, I—" 

"You shut yer damn mouth, soldier!" he barked, and the volume so close to my face made me flinch. "You brought an armed fugitive into my chambers. I should have you executed as a traitor." He took a deep breath, hard fingers digging into my skin. "But you also delivered a gift from the gods, and for that, I'll grant yeh a one-time pass." 

"I'm w-warning you," I said, voice trembling. 

"As for you," General Striker drawled, pressing his thumb into the joint between my wrist and forearm, and twisting. "I've just had a remarkable conversation with a trusted ally—" 

"Tyra is not your ally. She's broken, general. The woman just lost her husband, and she went mad because of it." 

"Mrs. Tilcot is a great woman wants to put an end to the war, Alicia. She came to us for asylum the moment her domineering pig of a husband was dead. And in payment, she shared some rather interesting facts about the bond between Elites and their Priestesses." 

My heart skipped, fluttering painfully inside my chest. "And how might she have come across this information?" I asked, but my head was whirling as I tried to find a way out of this disaster. 

"Tell me, Alicia, what happens to an Elite when a Priestess dies?" 

The blood drained from my face, leaving the world spinning in its absence. I knew exactly where he was going with this, understood the meaning of his jumbled and unhealthy emotions with an unusual burst of clarity. And it spelled disaster for my fellow Priestesses... and their Elites. "Nothing. N-nothing happens." 

"Ah, but that's not true, is it girl?" He jerked my arm, pulling me closer to his chest. I didn't bother to struggle, for if he thought I was harmless without my weapon, perhaps the advantage lay with me. "No matter his shortcomings, Tyra's husband was a powerful man. A man with enemies," he reasoned, speckling my face with spittle. "General Tilcot was conducting some pompous Elite ceremony when one of his subordinates stabbed his Priestess in the heart. Isn't that right?" I stared up at him with wide eyes, shock rendering my vocal chords useless—Sasha's death was forever etched in my mind, a death that had nothing to do with the tale I'd just heard. "You can't deny it!" he cried triumphantly, shaking me with both hands. "So it's true. If we can kill the Priestesses, the Elites will be no more!" 

"Now just hold on a minute," I began, shaking off my disbelief. "None of that is even remotely—" 

"So which of those Caledonian dogs is unfortunate enough to be bound to you, I wonder." 

He ran a finger down the side of my face, and I recoiled as if struck. Sick pleasure crawled into my skin, an insidious sludge that clung to every part of me and made the back of my throat burn with bile. But I pushed it away and tried again. "General Striker, sir, you can't kill the Priestesses. That's wholesale murder of innocent women, not to mention that it won't work. Tyra lied to you! She has a vendetta against the Priestesses, and she's using you to—" 

He shook his grizzled mane of hair, the deep lines around his mouth catching shadows. "Morale has been dangerously low in the base camp for months now. I think a public display of our resilience and our dedication to the cause will do wonders for..." 

As he plotted the best way to convince his people to murder mine, I watched his eyes glaze over, and knew he was deaf to my pleas. So I slapped him. "It won't work!" I shouted, trying to silence the panic building within me so that I might focus my Elite Priestess gifts and change his mind. Where were the Watchers when I needed them? "The bond you're talking about is a rare one, General. And General Tilcot's Priestess, the Head Priestess of Tritan, was just such a rarity." I swallowed, trying not to think about my lie by omission, trying not to think about what would happen to an unsuspecting Major Asher Rawlings if my life were to be extinguished. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 17



General Striker licked his lip then touched it with a forefinger, as if he were expecting to see blood. The mad urge to giggle struck me then, for I knew that if I had intended to cause him harm, I could do it without resorting to bloodshed. When he spoke, the impulse vanished in an instant. "I'm going to execute you in front of the entire Eloran Rebellion. And when your body has been partially eaten by wildlife, my agent within occupied Elora is going to tell me which Elite died with you." 

Genuine terror filtered through my brain, and I stumbled back, finally able to free myself from the general's clutches. Whatever malicious deity was meddling in my life was going to get a lot of innocent women killed. If the general went through with his threats, Asher would die. With the end of his life, Striker would find validation for an idiotic plan. What had I done to make the stars align for this one? I glanced at the gun on the floor, decided it was unlikely that I'd be able to retrieve it before the general—or Josh—restrained me, and darted toward the door. 

But the general was quick on his feet for a man of so many years, and he had me wrapped in a bear hug before I had taken three steps. "Oh, no," he growled. "You're destined for more important things." 

I screamed and sunk my teeth into this forearm—a trick that had proven successful on a number of occasions. So it came as no surprise that he released me in a rush, cursing a rainbow of words I'd never heard before. What did shock me, however, was the backhand he landed square upon my jaw. I hit the floor with a great thump, skinning my knees. And in the moments that followed, three things happened all at once. 

Asher—whose presence had been distorted by the shield and muted from our long distance threesome with the real Alicia—filled my mind with alarm. "What... Mila are you... stop getting yourself..." His sentences were fragmented, no doubt another side-effect of the shield, but the emotions he was feeling rang loud and clear through my mind. The Watchers, slumbering since they had come to my rescue earlier, rattled inside my head, both radiating a brilliant, blind panic as if they had nowhere else to flee. Which made sense, if my theory about hitchhiking nature sprites had any truth to it, but the tangy spice of their terror marked the first real display of emotion I'd sensed from the serene duo. I had but a moment to grieve for failing to protect what I hadn't known needed protection before I was overcome with the urge to exact retribution. 

With a careless tilt of my head, I let my shield drop, feeling it dissolve around me in a delicate wisp of smoke. 

The general stepped forward, a confident smirk etched on his face as he gazed down at me. "Come, Alicia. Accept your fate with dignity." Knees popping, he stooped, offering me his strong fingers. And seeing the conduit through which to unleash the full weight of my Priestess gifts, I accepted his hand, intending to incapacitate him as I had done with Marco. It would be so... easy. 

But the instant our fingers met—and before I had the chance to enact my plan—he jerked me up upright, spun me in the cage of his arms, and wrapped a meaty forearm about my throat. Without hesitating, he placed the fingers of his first hand in the crook of his own elbow and slid his second hand into my hair, pressing my head forward until I could no longer draw breath. 

"Shh," he crooned, humidity whispering along the left side of my face. "Just relax, you're only goin' to sleep now, girl. The rest will come later. In public. Sleep now..." 

Stars in the full spectrum of the rainbow sparkled at the edges of my vision. I felt the Watchers slip into anonymity, their terror searing the inside of my skull as they departed. Time slowed and the frantic thump, thump, thump, of my heart tattooed its mark along the backs of my ears... The edges of my straining nostrils... my chapped lips... eyelids... 

But I couldn't let it end here, refused to consider the possibility that he might be able to incapacitate me—an Elite Priestess of considerable power—and sacrifice me to a false cause. I squeezed my eyes shut, reserving my remaining strength for a final, desperate act. My fingers danced past the smooth, pressed fabric of his uniform, searching for the one thing I knew could tip the power in my favor. His skin. 

When I found it beyond the crisp edge of his cuff, my legs had gone to rubber and I all but hung from his unshakable grip. I could feel his conviction through the heat of his shirt, and it very nearly spelled disaster for me and everything I held dear. But I clung to it, let it fill me and made it my own. I would not falter. His life belonged to me, forfeit the moment he'd tried to harm what was mine. 

Focused on nothing but the virile heat of a man at battle, I envisioned a weakened heart, decaying arteries and thin veins, willing the gruesome picture in my mind to become the general's reality. And then I pushed, forcing his blood to rush for the site of the damage, reveling in his surprise when agony blossomed in his chest. 

His grip slackened and I gasped, filling my lungs with the breath of life. The relief that accompanied my freedom did not inspire compassion. 

I kept my hold on his wrist and continued to force his over-taxed ticker to pound in his chest until it could take no more. Blood burst through his left ventricle, spilling out of the chambers of his heart and washing away the chance for forgiveness. 

He gasped, pulling away from my touch. But even after our parting, his eyes held me captive, his confusion a shimmering beacon to the voracious Empath within. I could have ended it there, could have let him stumble back and regain his seat. He might have survived if I'd relented, and as a Priestess, I might have been convinced to repair the damage I had wrought within him. But this was no man I held in my grasp, he was a monster, a demon intent on the genocide of my people. I alone held the power to prevent it. My cheek throbbed and the pain hardened my resolve. General Striker had landed the first blow—even after I'd warned him, even after I'd insisted the Priestesses would not take their Elites with them in death. 

Eyes still fixed to mine, he clutched at this chest as if he could repair the desecrated muscles of his heart through sheer force of will. But he was no Priestess, and the damage was done. 

"What... magic... is this?" he wheezed, sweat streaming into his eyes. Thin gray lips parted on a gasp and he slumped against me, waiting for an answer that would never come. 

My own head spun as blackness glittered about the general in a dark halo, a seductive offer to join him in his final moments. The offer was not unattractive, this call to eternal rest. The feeling in my hands and feet had dimmed, easing the ache of days of hard travel, and my world tilted toward the man crumpled at my feet... 

"Mila!" Asher's voice spilled into my head, startling me with the intensity of feeling... rousing the attention of my inner Empath, for his call was far more interesting than the silence of death. I looked toward the stone ceiling, envisioning the lines of his handsome face etched with the pain and fear I could feel through our muted bond. "Focus here, Mila. Don't you dare..." 

I shook my head, gaze returning to the general's slack form. His breath had become nothing more than a wet rattle, and even as I watched, his strength faded away. He seemed to shrink then, and his pupils dilated, consuming most of the piercing blue of his iris in one smooth, unstoppable motion. 

Asher cursed and said, "Good girl," flooding my mind with his profound relief. 

When it was over, and the righteous fury within had cooled, I stared down at my victim, gazed into his blank, blue eyes, and knew true horror. 

"Dear Goddess," I whispered, aching for the comfort of my mother's people and my childhood. "What have I done?" 

Welp! That's it for now! I hope you're hearts aren't going the way of General Striker... but good news! I wrote most of 18 while driving on the weekend. (Voice-to-text app, don't worry, I'm not the world's most irresponsible driver!) So it shouldn't be long before you are reading the next installment of TLT. 

Now it's time for you guys to vote, comment, and shower me in love (or hate... that was a heck of a cliffhanger, wasn't it?) Because twice in one week isn't enough. IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!! 

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 18



Well hallo there! I hope y'all have been having a good summer. I have. Busy, but good. I'd like to toss out my usual thank-yous to everyone who helps TLT go from crazy dreamscape imaginings, to legible! FA_JF, LBGrant, jennyb2492, DeathandTaxes, SF, and of course Barron VonKarrman. I don't know where I'd be without you lovely lot. Now, without further adoooo, on to chapter 18!! Enjoy! 

*** 

"General... General Striker, sir?" In the heat of the moment, I'd forgotten about Josh's presence in the office. I whirled to face him now. His voice had been barely more than a strained whisper, and his face was a matching blotchy green. During my altercation with the general, time had slowed, branding every second of his death into my memory for the rest of eternity. But Josh took a few stumbling steps forward, and time resumed its regular speed. He hesitated, eyes glued to the crumpled form at my feet. "What the fuck..." he whispered and rushed forward, dropping to his knees before me. "General Striker!" 

Impassive, I watched him search for a pulse, his shaking fingers probing the fleshy folds of the deceased man's neck. "He must have had a heart attack," I whispered, though I couldn't feel my lips moving. Focused on the task at hand, Josh pressed his ear to the still chest before him and didn't appear to hear me. 

Without warning, Josh spun to face me and I stumbled backward. "You're a Priestess." I had been expecting him to accuse me, knowing it was only a matter of time before he realized I had been the cause of the general's death, but I wasn't prepared for him to put everything together so quickly. He seized my cold fingers in a firm grasp, pulling me forward. In response, my gifts flared to life, eager to defend me in spite of any internal moral debate. I couldn't maintain eye contact... not while contemplating the best way to end his life. But his next words stalled the vengeful wrath building within me. 

"Heal him." 

My answer was fierce and came without hesitation. "No." Josh's eyes widened, and I made a conscious effort to relax. "Only... only the most powerful Priestesses have the ability to heal. And n-none of them can bring a man back from the... from the dead. I'm..." The word 'sorry' hovered on my lips but went no further. 

A tremor raced through me as Josh's face fell. It was a lie. My budding relationship with Josh was built on nothing but lies. Would a few more even make a difference at this point? Tears pooled in my eyes, blurring my vision and distorting the flickering lantern light. I was committed to walking this path of deceit and murder. The only way out was forward. 

Josh sank back to the floor, resting on his haunches. "What... what am I supposed to do?" he whispered, staring at the corpse before him with wide, blank eyes. I swallowed the urge to sink down beside him, tried to throw up my shield in a belated attempt to keep him out of my head. If I hadn't seen the dull glitter of Asher's weapon shimmering on the floor, I might have been unsuccessful—but I had, and it gave me something to focus on, something other than the confused sorrow emanating off Josh's skin. So I let my shield drop. "I can't..." He made a half-hearted attempt to rise, but his eyes held him to the late General Striker, and he stalled. "I think he shit himself," he said moments before the sour stench punched my nostrils. 

"I heard—" I coughed, and took a hesitant step toward Asher's weapon. "I heard it was common in death." 

"Yeah," he let out a huge breath, undeterred by the putrid scent, and scrubbed his face with his left hand. "Look, we have to get you out of—" 

I seized the opportunity his preoccupation offered, and dove for the handle of my weapon. My left elbow made jarring contact with the edge of the ornate desk, and my arm went numb. One handed, I raised the weapon until I had Josh's handsome face in my sights. 

"Alicia?" Soft brown Eloran eyes bulged in their sockets, but I held firm. "What are you doing?" 

"You're going to take me out of here, Josh." 

"I already said I would," he replied, raising his hands. "Or didn't you hear me? There's no need for this." 

A coarse bark of laughter burst from my lips. "No? Well that makes sense, considering that you were more than willing to watch that animal—" I jerked my chin toward the still form at Josh's feet, "choke the life out of me not five minutes ago. No," I continued, flexing my fingers to dispel any lingering numbness in my left hand. "No you're going to do—" 

"I didn't expect him to do that Alicia!" he shouted, cutting me off. "And I certainly wouldn't have let him execute you. Please, put your weapon down." A tentative smile spread across his features. "I'll take you out of here, Alicia, I give yeh my word. On my mother's grave." 

And damn it, if the man wasn't oozing an intense sincerity from his every pore. Logic, however, demanded more evidence than good 'feelings' and a nice smile for me to trust him with my life. So I said, "Why should I believe you?" in a tight, cold voice. 

Josh didn't pounce on my hesitation, as I was expecting, merely scrubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin and took a deep breath. "It's a long story... Is it crazy to ask you to believe me when I say my family is indebted to your people?" 

"Yes." 

"Can I get off the floor?" 

In response, I jerked the muzzle of my weapon at the plush leather chair behind the general's desk, and stepped toward the door. 

"My thanks." 

"Start talking." 

"A Tritan saved my brother's family from a life of slavery." He paused to push a trembling hand through his hair, then said, "Even after my brother wronged her, she saved them." A moment before, his eyes had been focused on me, on the weapon in my white knuckled grip. But as he told his story, his eyes took on a glazed, unfocused look and he said, "That kind of generosity shouldn't go unrewarded," in a quiet voice, a slight, determined smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

My heart stopped beating for a moment and a cold sweat bloomed across my skin. The muscles in my jaw slackened, and I lowered my weapon a few inches. "What... what was her name?" 

Josh continued as if he hadn't heard my question. "But you're the first Tritan I've seen in two years, and the way I see it, you're in need of help and I'm in the position to give it." 

"Josh," I snapped, voice cracking under the strain of emotion. 

He blinked. "What?" 

"The girl who saved your brother's family, do you know her name?" 

"Mila," he replied, smiling with unfocused eyes. 

An involuntary little sound escaped me then, and I felt the muscles of my face contort in anguish. Which prompted Josh to stand, round the desk, and push the muzzle of Asher's weapon away before pulling me into a warm embrace. "Her name was Mila." I trembled in his arms, neither returning the gesture, nor pulling away. "Please let me help you, Alicia," he whispered, kissing the top of my head. 

And then I did pull away, because there was a dead man on the floor, and the stink of shit didn't encourage a romantic atmosphere, regardless of any soul-shaking revelations Josh may have brought to light. 

"I used to know a girl named... named M-Mila." 

"Really? Do you know if she—" 

I waved him to silence, heart pounding at the base of my throat. "It's a common enough name." 

"That's too bad. I'd love to thank her in person. My... my niece started school last year." With a gentle touch, he turned me away from the scene of death in the center of the office. "Might you know where your friend is now? I'd love to repay my family debt." 

My gaze dropped, landing on the floor but focusing on something intangible... something growing in my cold, tainted heart. "It's... it's been a long time. I... she probably wouldn't recognize me." I slipped Asher's weapon into my jacket pocket, ready to trust the innocent Eloran behind me. 

"Ah, well. It was a long shot. How about this then," he asked, nudging me toward the door. "I'll help you, Alicia. I'll get you out of here and point you in the direction of the coast. You can have a fresh start overseas. In return," he continued, reaching around me to pull the door open. "You'll pass along my gratitude, and... I don't know, do something to help her. Fair?" 

Was that fair? No. Not in the slightest. Not when I knew what I knew about a girl named Mila. Not if I continued to hold the information close, and accepted his help after what I'd just done. "Deal," I replied, revealing my truest self... Mila the Coward. Willing to do whatever it takes to save her own skin. I hung my head. 

Josh steered me through the dark tunnels with a hand on my lower back, both of us silent, both trying to make sense of the wild chain of events that had taken place over the last few minutes. I couldn't speak for the man at my back, but I was numb. The Watchers were silent, hopefully smart enough to flee from my falling star before it burst into flames and took them down with it. I wished them peace, wherever they had gone. 

Asher, too, was absent, though that may have had more to do with interference from the rebel shield than disgust at my actions. He was a Caledonian Elite, after all. Killing was his day job. It was what he was born to do. Had I become more Elite than Priestess when I'd assimilated Asher's gifts? Was there nothing left to me now that I had crossed such a vital line? Nothing but blood-lust and self-preservation? 

"Easy there," Josh whispered, steadying me when my feet and my brain failed to communicate. "Let's wait here a moment. It'll be better if no one sees you." 

His words made my cheeks flush hot—I didn't want to keep hiding, couldn't stand how quickly the lies had begun to pile up. I gathered my courage. "Josh, listen," I started, pushing a hank of tangled hair away from my face. "I have to tell—" 

A calloused hand pressed over my mouth, and he pulled me flush against the length of his lean body. "Shh," he hissed in my ear, wrapping his spare arm around my shoulders in a familiar gesture. Two armed rebel soldiers ambled past us, not bothering to inspect the dark tunnel in which we were hiding. I blinked—I hadn't even felt their approach, such was my preoccupation. 

The closer man was grumbling about the, "Pathetic size of the rations these days," as his companion sparked up a cigarette. Josh's larger frame covered my back in a heated cloak, wrapping me in an odd sense of comfort. We stayed there for longer than was necessary, embracing in the dark. It was... nice. It felt good to let someone touch me without things going farther than I intended. 

Josh too, was enjoying the press of bodies, if the jittery excitement fluttering through his heart was anything to go by. But in spite of that, I felt safe in his arms for though he felt the desire to run his hands all over me, he didn't. 

I sighed, muscles relaxing into the heat I could feel through my leather-clad back. But my surrender did not go unnoticed. His cock twitched against my bottom, and in an instant my entire body was rigid again. Expecting to pay for my lapse in guarded control, I sunk my fingernails into the skin of my palm. It was a gesture that had begun to occur with disturbing regularity, but the sharp bite of pain allowed me to distance myself from the foreign arousal invading my system. 

He coughed and stepped back, unwinding himself. "I... I'm sorry Alicia. You're a beautiful woman. I didn't—" 

"We've waited long enough," I said, and before his embarrassment could do more than make my cheeks flush in sympathy, I went about constructing my shield. "There's no one out there." 

I couldn't see his face, but I felt his surprise skate along my nerves. "How could you..." 

A smile traced the corner of my mouth in spite of the uncomfortable energy between us. "Priestess, remember?" I asked, tapping my temple with a pale forefinger. 

"Well I'll be damned. That's a handy trick, Alicia. Did you know we were following you this morning?" 

Ignoring his inquiry, I stepped into the hallway without fear—we were quite alone. "Where are we going?" I asked, unwilling to acknowledge the 'damsel in distress' act I'd put on as the rebels chased me down. 

He cleared his throat and turned away from me, presumably to adjust the front of his trousers. "To the great hall. There's only one entrance to these tunnels. S'not much farther." 

"Won't someone notice us trying to leave?" 

It was his turn to answer a question with a question. "I wonder if anyone got around to doing maintenance on the brakes, or if that was scheduled for next week?" 

"Hang on," I said, having to trot to keep up with his long legged stride. "Brakes for what?" 

He turned into a narrow tunnel which was blocked by a heavy oak door ten feet in. As he unlocked it, he said, "Well I'm not about to send you out of here on a bicycle, now am I?" He chuckled to himself and pushed the door open, revealing a massive, naturally lit room lined with several dozen vehicles of all shapes and sizes. "You can take one of the cars." 

Heat touched my cheeks, and I backpedaled. "I'll be fine on my own two feet, thank you." 

"With that Caledonian pig out there hunting you? No, I don't think so." He opened a cabinet mounted on the wall, pursed his lips, and chose a set of keys. "Here, this is one of the oldest ones we've got, but it should get you to the coast. I doubt anyone will even notice it's missing." 

"Thank you, but I can't." 

"Of course you can," he insisted, seizing my wrist and dropping the keys in my palm. 

"No, Josh, I really can't. I... I don't know how to drive, okay? I'll be better off walking." 

Thick Eloran eyebrows all but touched his hairline at this news. "Huh," was all he said for a long moment as his eyes flicked over me. "That does present something of a problem, doesn't it?" 

"Only if I wasn't comfortable walking, which I am." I turned to leave. 

"Hang on a sec, Alicia. Driving is really easy. I'll talk you through it." 

"You can't be serious." 

"Listen," he said, casting a shifty-eyed glance over his shoulder. "Things have a tendency to get blown out of proportion up here in the mountains. And if my comrades get it in their heads to blame someone for the general's death, if they see a man dead of a heart attack and think it's the work of an assassin, who do you think they will go after?" 

The blood drained from my face in a rush, leaving cold sweat and dizziness in its wake. "I feel sick," I whispered, doubling over and wrapping both arms about my waist. 

"I know the feeling," he replied, guiding me to a worn bench. "A man is dead. But that's not your fault, Alicia. You've nothing to feel guilty for." 

"Oh dear God," I groaned, sinking my modified teeth into the back of my wrist. 

"Just breathe through your nose," he soothed, rubbing my back. "If you've never seen a man die before, it can be—" 

"Will you stop?" I barked, holding on to my control with an ever weakening grip. "I just... Goddess, just stop talking about it. Please?" 

"Right," he replied, and I immediately felt awful for snapping at him. I found I couldn't endure his good natured—albeit misguided—attempt to make me feel better without also feeling the need to expel the contents of my stomach. "The car you'll be taking is an old one, but she's a sturdy little beast..." His subject change was welcome, and I listened as he talked, soothed by the rhythm of his voice as he explained the particulars of vehicular locomotion. And he was right—it really did sound easy, not that I was looking forward to doing it any time soon. "You just have to watch your speed on these mountain roads, and you should be at the coast in half a day's time." 

Breathing through my nose and looking at my feet, I gathered my courage, and said, "Josh, General Striker was wrong. Tyra Tilcot is a very sick woman who's got a vendetta against the Priestesses. She blames us for her husband's death." In truth, Tyra's suspicions weren't far off, but admitting that wouldn't help the Priestesses, and that minor detail went unsaid. "I guess... something positive came out of your general's death," I continued, unable to make eye contact. "Tyra's plans to eradicate us have been waylaid." 

"Ah, well," Josh replied, pushing a hand through his hair. "Not exactly." 

My head snapped up. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, with Striker dead, Lieutenant General Smithy is the next in line, and... well..." 

"Tyra already has her claws in him." 

"That she does," he agreed, shooting me an awkward shrug. 

"Josh, you have to convince this new general that the Priestesses are the victims in all this. They don't deserve to die because they were born different." 

A pink flush crept onto his cheeks, and he looked away. "I'll see what I can do Alicia, but don't get yer hopes up. It's better that you go to the coast. Get yourself as far away from the fighting as possible." 

My jaw slackened, and I stared at him in disbelief. He wanted me to abandon the Priestesses, my people, to their fate, expected I would agree that was the most logical solution? Sure, I'd run from occupied Elora, and the man who had claimed me, but I'd always intended to go back. Freeing slaves was in my nature, after all, and I wasn't about to give it up just because things were getting complicated. But... if I could push my fury away for just a moment, if I allowed myself to view things from the Eloran perspective, I had to admit killing the Priestesses made a certain kind of sense. 

Even if the death of a Priestess didn't mean the death of her bound Elite—except in the rare case of an Empath—it would severely limit the power those Elites had access to. It might be what the rebels needed to turn the tide of the war. In this I realized, Josh was unquestionably correct—it would be next to impossible to convince his superiors not to make the attempt. This chance was likely the only good news they'd had in years, and in essence, I was asking them to sacrifice their own lives for a handful of women they'd never met. Women who, in truth, were indeed responsible, though unwilling contributors for the fall of Elora. 

Silence settled between us as I tried to keep my emotions hidden behind my shield. There would be no quarter from the rebel forces. They were neither willing to come up with a plan that didn't involve the death of my people, nor were they interested in helping me bring down The Program. A mighty breath burst forth from my lungs and I stood. 

"Something has to be done about Tyra," I started, hating myself for the direction of my thoughts. 

"How d'ya mean?" Josh asked, his eyes finding me in an instant. I grimaced, acknowledging the Elite within me, yet unwilling to speak the ruthless nature of my intentions aloud. Besides, there was no need. Josh Trapper was a soldier, not an idiot. "Alicia," he began, only to be cut off from a cry of alarm echoing through the twisty mountain tunnels. 

"Shit." 

"You're out of time." 

I nodded, and said, "Which car am I meant to take?" 

He jogged to a dented magnetic car resting on the ground between its younger, sleeker brethren. I frowned. This ancient, rusting beast was Josh's version of 'safer than walking?' Without looking at me, he opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. 

"I know it doesn't look like much, but that's what you want right now. You'll be driving through country that's seen five years of war. A nice, shiny new car would draw too much attention." 

"Probably less than a burning wreckage though." 

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Josh stepped out of the car. "You'll be fine. Now get in, we don't have much time." 

I did as he bade, sliding into the beat up little car while trying to ignore the growing sounds of alarm echoing throughout the tunnels. "What now?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 18



"Start it." When my only reaction was a blank stare at the complicated looking console, Josh reached over my chest and pointed at a large blue button. It said, 'Start.' 

"Oh," I whispered. 

"Put the key in that slot right there, then push the button. Yes, exactly like that." The lights on the dash flickered for several seconds in a dim, tired response to my call to duty. But the car did begin to hover, along with the tiny hairs on my arms and the back of my neck. "Okay. To go forward, push the throttle away from you. To slow down—" 

"Do the opposite. Got it," I said, gripping said throttle with white knuckles. "How do I stop?" 

"Pull back on the throttle and push that red button with your thumb." He stooped to brace his forearms on the open window, and smiled. "Steering is pretty straight forward... Oh, and if you see another car, stay on the right side of the road, please. But you probably won't have to worry about that until you get closer to the coast. There's an emergency pack of food rations under the back seat. A couple different kinds of jerky, and a few energy bars. Should get you to the coast, at the least. I wish I had time to get you something else," he said, tossing another glance over his shoulder. 

I cleared my throat, picking at a bloody cuticle. "I might have a better plan," I began, hoping the anxiety strumming through me wasn't as obvious to him as it was to me. 

"And what's that?" 

"Come with me." 

"Ah, Alicia, that's not—" 

"No, hear me out," I said in a great rush, forcing myself to make eye contact. "When they find out I'm missing they're going to know I had your help, Josh. And then they'll kill you. Because of me. Please, it makes more sense for you to come with me." 

"I see what you did there," he said, a playful smirk on his handsome lips. "You just want me to drive, don't you?" 

"Josh please be serious," I whined as the sounds of alarm began to echo throughout the tunnels in earnest. 

"I am, Alicia. Your presence here isn't as exciting as it could have been. Especially not in the face of the general's death." A cold sweat bloomed on my skin at the reminder of my most heinous act, but he continued speaking before I could truly focus on the nameless emotion festering inside my heart. "Besides, Samuel and a handful of others were the only ones who even knew about you, and none of them know that you're a Priestess. By my count, it won't be hard to convince them that a lady who escaped the Empire's foul clutches, could also give us the slip." 

"Josh, I don't think—" 

"Alicia," he countered, placing a warm hand on my leather clad forearm. "No one else knew we were with the general when he died. Tyra and the Lieutenant General were too wrapped up in each other to notice us sitting in the dark, and I didn't tell anyone else I was taking you straight to him." 

"But—' 

"No buts, Alicia. If I go with you, if I run, they'll see demons where none exist. Striker's death is a tragic, natural part of life. Especially for a man of his age. Life here will continue on." 

I swallowed my heart, and nodded. His logic appeared sound, and to the ignorant eye, Striker's death would appear natural. "Fine, but..." He touched my face, his raised brows a silent command to continue. "I'm taking the boy with me. The Elite." 

Without replying, he stooped and stuck his head into the cabin, taking my face in both palms. There was a curious little smile tugging at the corners of his full lips—a detail I had just enough time to absorb before those very lips were pressed to my own. The kiss was both chaste and exciting. I knew it could go no farther, and yet I ached with the knowledge of things that might have been between Jake and a different version of myself. 

Before I could enjoy the thrill of his lips on mine, before I had more than an inkling of the arousal building within him, he pulled away. I was left to stare up at him with a slack jaw. "You're a sweet, pure-hearted soul, Alicia. I wish we could have known each other under different circumstances," he whispered, and ran a thumb over the bow of my lower lip. "But you know I can't let you take him." 

"I c-can't... I can't allow you to continue torturing him. I—" 

"You can't take him for the same reason that I can't go with you, Alicia," he interrupted in a soft voice. "The disappearance of an escaped slave... even if she is beautiful and of Tritan blood, will go unnoticed in the chaos that will come. I'll make sure of it. But I can't do that if you take our most valuable resource with you." 

Bile rose at the back of my throat. "So I'm to just... leave him here? Leave him to his fate?" 

"I'll do what I can to make his life bearable," Josh replied, holding my gaze as he spoke and I recognized his words for what they were—an end to the discussion. "You're out of time." 

Individual voices could be heard echoing in the distance, and they were getting clearer with every passing second. He was right. "How am I supposed to get out of here without being seen?" 

"Guide the car through that bay door, then I'll wake the... I'll wake the Elite and you'll drive through the front door." 

"Isn't there someone guarding the gate?" I asked, letting my Priestess gifts wander as I searched for evidence of such a sentinel. "Or several someone's," I corrected, sensing three men lounging in the entrance hall. 

"You let me worry about that. The hard part will be getting the boy to open the door. He's... difficult at the best of times. And it takes a lot out of him to raise and lower the shield." 

Without conscious thought, my fingers traced the outline of the control cuff embedded in my right bicep... the one that allowed me to wield the power of an admittedly exceptional Elite. "Then we'll let the boy sleep," I replied, infused with the surety that my bond with Asher would give me sufficient power. 

He stared at me for a moment, shock scrawled across his features. "It didn't even occur to me that Priestesses might also—" 

"They can't," I said, cutting him off. "It's a long story, but I'm something of an enigma in the Priestess world. You'll just have to trust me when I say I can operate the shield." 

"You're sure?" 

"As much as I can be without ever having done it myself. Yes." 

"Well that's... good news. I think." 

I rolled my eyes. "Now you're worried about the Priestesses being able to break into your fortress? Tell me Josh, from which side of the door does the shield function?" 

"You've got a point there, Miss. Come on. Let's get you out of here." 

Picking up a light jog, he headed for the large bay door and pulled it open. "You turn right when you exit the mountain, Alicia. Don't forget that," he whispered. And then with a hand signal and a meaningful glance back at me, he slipped into the entrance hall, presumably to convince the guards to leave their station. I sat there in my stolen magnetic car, hiding in the gloom of a mountain garage as I waited for the coast to clear. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel, my every sense strained to the limit. 

With the addition of Josh, there were now four Elorans standing in the entrance hall. There was nothing from the young Elite but a tired flicker of strength, and my heart squeezed in painful sympathy. Like the young Elite, I knew the injustice of someone using my gifts against my will... though there was no question in my mind that the boy had suffered far more than I ever had. But Josh was correct—a rescue was not possible if I wanted to escape here with the Priestesses' reputation at least partially intact. 

A frantic shout of, "The General is dead!" pulled me from my thoughts, and I listened as running footsteps carried the messenger into the great hall. 

Josh, who had been in the middle of a crude joke, stopped short and said, "Dead? But how—" 

"Murder?" asked a man with a gravelly voice. 

"Too early to tell," the messenger replied, gasping for breath. "But there are no signs of a struggle." 

"Well what are we waiting for?" Josh asked, and I imagined him standing with a theatrical flourish. "Maybe there's something we can do to help." 

"What of the door?" 

Someone snorted in disdain and said, "'E'll be useless fer a fair few 'ours yet, I'd imagine. No one will leave this place while, th' Caledonian scum's in such a state." 

I wasn't sure if it was necessary, but I fixated on the surety of this last comment, fueling it with all the hauteur I could muster, hoping it might fool them into overconfidence. Josh was an afterthought, but I did my best to protect him from my influence. And then I pushed until I could feel each man shed any natural doubt they might have had, and I stuffed their hearts full of arrogance until I was sure they would have been eager to charge into battle against an army of Elites. 

To them, logical thought was a fleeting concern, and when Josh said, "Right, let's make ourselves useful," I couldn't help the excited flutter in my heart. Power had hardened my nipples and I shifted in my seat, trying to sever the ties I'd created between me and the Elorans in the next room. The urge to continue toying with them gripped me in a steel fist, and if Josh hadn't been ushering his comrades through the far door, I wasn't sure if I would have been able to stop. 

"Breathe, Mila," I whispered, tilting my head back. "You're better than this." 

But the horrible truth was, I couldn't even tell if I was lying to myself anymore. 

My Priestess gifts had already told me the great hall was empty of Elorans, but some instinctual, primitive part of my brain demanded visual proof. I eased the throttle of my borrowed rebel car forward as slowly as possible, waiting for someone to jump out and catch me in the act. But no one was here, as the reasonable part of my brain continued to point out. No one but me and the Elite boy. No one to stop me if I decided to ignore the cold, selfish tumor growing on my heart. 

But to save him, was to condemn my sisters... and that I was not willing to do. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered as his cage came into view. "I'll come back for you. I promise." The boy was curled in the fetal position on the far side of his cage, the prominent ribs in his back facing me. Senseless, he didn't react to the sound of my voice, or the dull hum of the magnetic car approaching. Unable to leave without doing something to assist him, I put the car in park and thrust the door open with more force than necessary. Without giving it much thought, I found myself crouching beside him, trembling fingers reaching to touch his pale skin through the bars. He was cold, and his clammy skin drew a whimper from deep within my chest. 

"I'm not as good at this as I should be," I whispered. "But it's better than nothing." While the irony of assisting an Elite boy in such a way was not lost on me, I began to heal his malnourished body to the best of my ability. I restored his weakened muscles, fixed the lacerations and bruises running the length of his emaciated back, and lent him as much energy as I could spare. I did all this knowing he might have preferred to simply slip into death, might have chosen to succumb to his abuse and never wake. All I could do was hope the boy was a fighter, and that he would appreciate my efforts rather than hate them. 

When I'd done everything I could, he sighed, deep and content and I couldn't resist running my fingers through his dark Caledonian hair. How long had he been treated like this? How much longer could his psyche endure before he cracked and there was nothing left to rescue? I chewed the inside of my lips, letting my elongated canines carve deep furrows into my skin as the questions I couldn't answer rolled through my head. 

"Right or wrong, I will return for you," I repeated, then turned to face the mountain exit and my next hurdle. There was a rectangular panel to the immediate right of the shield, which boasted a sleek glass plate about twice the size of my palm. The simple fact that the rebels had been able to manufacture something of this magnitude whilst hiding within the heart of the mountain spoke volumes of their resourcefulness as a people. 

Taking a deep breath and gathering my confidence, I placed my palm upon the glass. The instant my skin made contact the panel came to life, glowing a brilliant sky-blue as it wrenched the vital essence from my body. A scream died in my throat before it had the chance to be born, and I watched with unfocused eyes as the shield crumbled before me, laying the path to freedom bare. When the shield was nothing more than glittery blue dust, the panel released me and I dropped to my knees in the dirt. 

"Holy hell," I whispered, gasping for breath, sapped of all excess energy. I trembled on all fours, trying to regain my composure. A bead of sweat dripped onto the dirt floor mere inches from my face, and at that moment, it was all I could do to keep my eyes from closing regardless of any peril I might be in. 

A deep, tortured groan rumbled behind me, and my spine stiffened. The boy, who had been drained to the point of senselessness before my pedestrian efforts to heal him, was beginning to wake. My head dipped, swiveling to the right, bringing the dark cage into my line of sight. The space where I'd been expecting to find the boy's jagged frame was instead occupied by a brilliant source of energy, ripe and waiting to feed the most ravenous aspect of my Empathy. 

With a gasp, I moved toward it, driven by the euphoric memory of another's energy coursing through my veins. This energy, I knew, would soothe my tarnished soul, would allow thoughts of dead, icy blue eyes to vanish from my thoughts forever. For the simple, obvious truth was that I didn't have to stop at one. There were hundreds of energy sources within this mountain, though none so vibrant as the one before me. Yes... it would be nothing to consume them all, to gorge upon weak individual lights flickering around me. They would make me strong... untouchable. They would make the pain stop... 

"Mila, enough!" Asher barked. 

I blinked, confused by the voice echoing inside my head. But that brief interruption was accompanied by the jarring return of vision not tainted by my new status as an energy thief. My arm was stretched to its limit, and my fingers, which had run through dark Caledonian hair only moments before, had since curled into a savage claw perfect for securing a victim as he was drained of life... 

I sucked in a breath and snatched my hand back, cradling my fingers close to my chest. "What's happening to me?" I whispered, tearing my gaze away from the boy to struggle to my feet. 

"Walk away, Mila," Asher commanded, his tone hard and unyielding. Cursing under my breath, I got back into the car, fingers trembling as they curled around the battered leather steering wheel. But in spite of my lingering animosity toward the man, I let him absorb the entirety of my focus. For in that moment, I knew one thing with unwavering certainty—if my attention were to shift back toward the rebels, my passing would not be marked with footprints, but the bodies of my victims. 

As desperate as I was to make a hasty exit, I couldn't leave without closing the shield. But how does one close a door that can only be unlocked from the outside? Short of rousing the boy and making him do it for me, I could think of but one way to do it. I'd have to risk the possibility the effort would leave me vulnerable and senseless on the side of the road. 

I parked the car out of sight, and turned back to the mouth of the cave. The control panel was secured just inside the entrance rim, and assuming I could touch it while remaining on this side of the shield, I should be able to pull my hand back before it snapped shut. Or I may lose my arm. 

I shuddered, but couldn't think of any way around it. The shield had to be closed when I made my exit, or I risked exposing the Priestesses to more bad publicity. Was re-growing limbs in my bag of tricks, still hidden for lack of use? 

With a brief prayer, I gathered what energy I could and reached inside the cave. Maybe if I could just touch the panel with one finger... maybe then I'd be okay... 

I was on the road ten minutes later, both arms intact and a rebel shield glittering in my rear-view mirror. And yet the increasing distance couldn't stop my thoughts from drifting to what I'd left behind. It took every scrap of willpower not to turn around and claim that which was mine by birthright. Those pathetic cave dwellers weren't doing anything productive with their power, better for someone else to take it from them. Better to put it to use. 

Without intending to, I'd begun to slow, my eyes flicking up to the mirror with an unconscious regularity. What if... what if this was the answer to all my problems? With the aid of rebel energy coursing through my veins, I could take the Elites down myself. And then I'd go south, to dismantle The Program piece, by vile piece. Under those circumstances, wouldn't the Eloran blood on my hands would be worth it? 

"Fuck," I hissed through clenched teeth, then screamed, releasing my frustration and confusion into the confines of the car. "What's wrong with me!" My thoughts were heinous. They went against everything I'd once stood for—but why? Was this Asher's influence, or something else... something... sinister lurking within my soul? "Come on, Mila," I coached. "Focus on something else. Anything at all." 

As if in response, several invisible presences flickered at the back of my mind, but I pushed them away before I could decide who, or what they were. "I'll be more specific, then," I snapped, glaring out the window. "Look at this beautiful weather. Sun is shining and there isn't a cloud in the sky." 

And it was true. Aside from the sheer cliff face ever present to my right, the narrow dirt-roads that often appeared to lead nowhere, and the steep incline a herd of goats would find challenging, it was a beautiful day. In fact, if I stared at it long enough, I had to admit the sky was the most beautiful, icy-blue that I'd ever seen. Except... except that I had seen just such a color somewhere recently... I just couldn't... 

I pulled back on the throttle with every ounce of strength adrenaline could lend me, pressing the big red button with my thumb even before I'd come to a complete stop. I didn't bother checking my surroundings for signs that I was not alone, but threw open my door and tumbled onto the gravel. The pain of skinning my knees on a rough landing did nothing to dissipate the nausea roiling in my belly, and with little ceremony I hurled the contents of my stomach into the bushes. 

The funny part, I mused as I trembled in the grips of post-vomit euphoria, was that I couldn't remember the last thing I ate, let alone where in the world I'd gotten corn. At least, that's what those little yellow bits appeared to be... 

I gagged, hunching over a fresh patch of grass as my stomach tried to deposit my innards to the wind. When it was over and my nausea had been exhausted, I lay flat out on my back, right arm draped over my eyes to prevent them from seeing that striking shade of icy-blue. 

"So this is my punishment, General Striker?" I asked, eyes still closed tight against the offensive color. "This is how you'll have your vengeance?" 

The universe did not deign to provide an answer, which was something of a surprise—there had been so many voices inside my head of late that I was expecting the general to be yet another on the list. But it was early yet. Perhaps he was stuck in the limbo between life and whatever comes after. He'd find his way back to me eventually, specter or figment. 





The Last Tritan Ch. 18



With a heavy sigh, I hauled my aching body to a stand and waited for my blood to go to the right places before sliding back into the driver's seat. There was a masculine voice yammering away inside my head, insisting my undivided attention. But I couldn't make out individual words any longer. A cold, senseless wash had settled over me, blocking out everything but a single clear thought ringing through my mind. 

Everything Josh had said before we'd parted was fuzzy, which was unsurprising as he hadn't managed to keep my attention after he'd revealed his wildly skewed perception of who I was. I did, however, recall him suggesting I turn right when leaving the mountain fortress, but... had I? I pushed the throttle forward, trying to move with the car as it lurched forward. It didn't matter. I could feel that I was going in the correct direction, knew it with more clarity than I'd ever known anything before. And if the road should give out on me before I got there, I'd get out and walk. After all, there was but one place in all the world that I truly belonged. 

Home. 

There were two more unplanned vomit-stops before I almost drove over the edge of a particularly steep cliff. The first was after I made the mistake of glancing at the cloudless expanse of atmosphere above me. Striker's sky-blue eyes shimmered before me, mocking my plebeian efforts in the mortal realm. The second stop occurred only minutes after the first. The masculine, disembodied voice in my head stopped pleading in favor of creative, vehement cursing. It wasn't the words that affected me, but the intensity of the sentiment. I'd encountered fervor of a similar nature mere hours before, when Striker had attempted to overcome me. 

I stopped the car with an inhuman cry, barely managing to exit the stolen vehicle before my stomach made a halfhearted attempt to purge. Again. Wrung out, I collapsed and lay shivering in the dirt, my mind filling with an empty, soothing buzz. I don't remember getting back on the narrow mountain road. And if I'm honest, I can't recall much until the moment the car heaved to the right. A moment in which the sky had once again been thrust into my line of sight, against my fierce, newfound desire to avoid it. 

In the absence of rational thoughts my survival instinct kicked in, preventing my ride from embarking on a short, yet exciting career as a flying car. With a jarring thump, we returned to our intended place on the ground. The scary part, I realized much later, was that I hadn't had the presence of mind to slow down afterward—I'd merely continued to drive. 

What happened next could have been hours later or—judging by the expression on his face—might also have occurred seconds later. I'd rounded a corner, still carrying far too much speed for safety's sake, when I'd come across a confusing scene. Asher and his band of merry huntsmen were clustered around a camouflaged van. To avoid a direct collision, I had to pull back on the throttle—but the chance of pace allowed me to see everything through the eyes of an abstract painter. 

Asher's eyes were far too large for his face, which had the absurd dual purpose of tearing a laugh from my lips, and making eye contact between us a surety. His jaw hung askew, as if I'd caught him mid-way through an order barked at one of his men. I tried to avoid looking at his lips, for now was not the time to recall the flavor of sin. Instead, I watched the fireworks flicker across his skin—the natural Caledonian bronze tinged with a slight pink. This was followed by a full blown red in the second it took for him to absorb the sight of me in all my reckless, unhinged glory. And then, against my better judgment I watched his lips wrap around my name, took him in as the blood drained from his face, leaving him a startling shade of white. 

I jerked the steering wheel to the right, avoiding a collision with Asher by inches, and Marco's handsome face was thrust into my vision. He too, had the comical bulging eyes worn by his superior. My lips twitched, but I didn't—couldn't—repress the urge to laugh. So it would be a car chase, a race to the end, wherever that should be. It stood to reason this peppy little vehicle could carry me there. I had the advantage of both a head start and a lighter load—phantoms, though burdensome, are light on substance. 

Clenching my teeth, I pushed the throttle forward, my face twisting into a horrible grimace when the little car began to shake under the force of my command. Trees, rocks, and bushes were beginning to blur, casting the scenery in a fictitious light. 

"Mila please, for fucksakes, slow down!" Asher shouted inside my head, breaking through the blanket of cotton filling my ears. Just to be contrary, I would have asked the car to give me more speed, but the twisty nature of the mountain road curbed my enthusiasm. As it was, the little car wasn't as responsive as I expected it to be, and my velocity threw me wide in a tight corner. 

My head struck glass with the impact, and part of me registered the sound of screaming steel. I glanced over my shoulder, ignoring the sharp pain in my neck as I did so. Part of a tree trunk had breached the back passenger door, pinning me in place. Glass everywhere. Bark and leaves decorating the torn upholstery. Asher's voice making my ears ache. A copper tang biting my nostrils. 

I shook the fog from my brain and turned my attention toward the function of my damaged car. Luck, or the fickle whim of my watchful Deity had spared me from serious disaster, for the sturdy, twisted little car was still hovering roadside, awaiting my command. It took some maneuvering—and a fair amount of cursing—but I managed to annul the marriage of wood and metal, leaving behind the better part of the ruined door in the process. 

Sense would have asked that I be more cautious behind the wheel after that, but I pushed forward, testing the limits of my lighter ride. The magnets beneath the car were, miraculously, still in working order, though I could feel a distinct pull to the right which hadn't been present before my slip. I was still making forward progress, and judging by the tone of Asher's pleading threats, nothing else mattered. 

Pressure popped inside my ears, signaling a welcome decrease in altitude. I grinned, knuckles white on the steering wheel as I attempted to guide the car through twists and turns. The middle two fingers on my left hand were numb, clenched tight as they were, but I couldn't bring myself to relax. My lead was tentative at best. Worse still, I could feel him keeping pace with me now, though he was a comforting distance behind for the time being. 

Sweat dripped into my open eye, burning me with an insistent demand for attention. I rubbed at it with my throttle-hand, lucid enough to keep my right eye focused on the road before me. The heel of my palm came away awash in red, but I didn't waste more than a second speculating on why that might be. 

I devoured the road before me, my mind trapped in an unfocused blur. Rivulets of sweat continued a steady drip, drip, drip, and I continued to brush them away, rubbing the skin above my left brow raw with my sleeve. Asher continued to assault either my ears or my mind—I could no longer decide which it was—with his near constant string of twisted sentiments and the use of my given name. It wasn't working. I couldn't focus on his individual words, but instead allowed his desperation to fuel my desire to be free of this mountain, to get away from this life that had been forced upon me. When I succeeded in reaching the bottom of the mountain, I all but whooped aloud. 

In contrast with the wheat field I had crossed to ascend this mountain several days prior, I now found myself surrounded by grassy, rolling hills. The scar of an old dirt road cut into the tranquility before me, but I was grateful. I sped through the beautiful, open landscape. Wind whistled past the gaping window, the pressure inside the cabin fluctuating wildly as my velocity increased. 

Asher's camouflaged van had yet to make an appearance in my rear-view mirror, but I could feel him there all the same. Even from this distance his emotions battered at my senses, a baffling mix of contradictions too complex to unravel, if I had been so inclined. 

My left eye begged relief from the constant rubbing, even going so far as to swell shut. But it was better this way—with my eye closed, I was no longer bothered by the sweat trickling down my face. Besides, I was almost there, almost home. Almost safe. 

The shadow of trees darkened the horizon, and my heart beat just a little faster with each passing mile. The forest did not care who won the war, and it would not be bothered by the constant, irrelevant struggle for power that darkened the hearts of men. It was there long before the rise and fall of Tritan, and it would be there long after the Caledonian Empire crumbled to dust. Like the Watchers, the forest was emotionless, the perfect counterweight to the chaos induced by my Empathy. It was there that I was untouchable, confident. And it was there I would return. 

I blinked—the road made a sharp left before me, but I couldn't remember getting here. Hadn't I been looking at a distant tree line only moments before? Wasn't... I shook my head. What was the word for the optical phenomenon where an object appears displaced in the distance? Hallucination? Mirror? 

"Mirage," I whispered, easing the car around the sharp cut of rock before me. No matter, I was almost there. I could smell it now, the forest. And not a moment too soon, for the scent of smoke was coming through the vents of my stolen rebel car. Josh had said it would get me to the coast. But to be fair, hitting a tree certainly hadn't improved the quality of this ride. 

A car approached from the opposite direction, all dressed up in Caledonian black and gold. I froze. This was it. It must be a slaver sent to intercept me. Asher's doing, no doubt. He was going to force me out of the car and drag me back into a life of slavery. 

But not without a fight. I gripped the wheel with both hands, sticking to the middle of the narrow road. I simply refused to give ground. If that meant I'd find death in a fiery crash, so be it. 

The horrible, irritating drone of a horn pulled me back into the moment. Telegraphing his intention far too early, the approaching Caledonian vehicle dipped away from me, the undercarriage kicking up dust at it connected with the shoulder of the road. I laughed, victorious—I hadn't even had to give up ground in the middle! His nerve had failed long before mine. 

"It will take more than that to beat me, slaver!" I cried above the wind, voice harsh and too loud within the confines of the cabin. I was giddy, flushed with success. This was the last corner before my eyes fell upon the untamed beauty of Tritan's old growth forest, I was sure of it. 

"The first thing I'm going to do is eat a week's worth of acorn bread. Long winter months be damned," I said, passing a hand over the swollen tissue compromising my left eye. Without looking, I wiped the sticky sweat against my knee. "If it hasn't gone bad." The car groaned beneath me, and the smoke within the cabin intensified. "Fuck it. I'll eat around the mold. Just get me there as soon as possible, little car." Not long now. Only a few more seconds, and I'll be around the corner... 

But when I finally reached my goal I was not met with the pleasing image of a dense forest, but the sight of industrial construction. "Shit. I must have misjudged..." I trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken. Tritan's old growth forest must be miles from this hive of activity—it was all I could see. How had my senses been so wrong? 

As I approached, slowing to avoid a collision with a large piece of machinery, a massive bonfire seized my attention. There was a team of filthy, soot covered men dragging branches to a strange contraption that deposited their burden on the top of the burning pile. A second and third fire pile was being constructed in the immediate distance, for surely this one couldn't get much higher before it was an uncontrollable blaze. 

Great piles of wood were stacked in neat order, stripped of bark, branches, and awaiting transport. The hum of wood cutting machinery pulled my attention to the right, just in time to watch a massive, great-grandfather tree meet its end. My car was all but rolling along now as I took in the scenes before me, a horrible numbness seeping into my blood. And when I turned my head to the south, I was not surprised to see Tritan's skyline glimmering back at me through a haze of smog and smoke. 

"Goddess... No..." I whispered, pushing the door open, right eye wide, trying to see everything at once. Moving with no purpose, I stepped out of the rebel car. It continued to roll, but that was no longer my concern. "No. This is all wrong... I'm not... I can't be seeing..." I scrubbed at my eyes, trying to force the swelling out of the left one by sheer force of will, Priestess gifts long forgotten. My hands came away sticky, and I had succeeded only in making black stars dance in my vision. 

The dull thump of steel striking wood came from the left, but I paid it no mind, merely continued moving toward the crest of a small incline. There was no better place to witness my heart's destruction. 

"Clear!" A man shouted behind me. "It's going to fall!" I turned back toward the way I'd come, helplessly drawn toward the pulse of panic from the speaker. My little car had struck one of the massive log piles. One by one, the massive remains of the forest began to roll, the movement of one enough to instigate the movement of two others, until it was clear nothing but a violent meeting with the ground could stop such a force. 

Hands limp at my sides, I watched them bounce and tumble over one another, each impact vibrating the teeth in my skull. I was mesmerized, unable to move as certain death rushed past me, flicking dirt and splinters past my face. I weathered the chaos, avoiding a brutal end through no actions of my own. 

"The brakes," I whispered when the dust had settled, when the panicked shouts of working men had quieted. "I forgot to push the red button. I forgot the... the brakes..." I sunk to my knees, staring straight ahead with my good eye, seeing everything and nothing. For the first time in a long time, I was separate from the emotions of those around me. Deaf to the seductive melody played for my ears only. My Empathy retreated deep within me, far past the boundaries of any shield I could create on my own. It was too much... the pain was too much. And it was then, in a moment of traumatized calm, that I noticed the cages lining the side of the road. 

Slave transports. Each containing several ragged, hollow-eyed Eloran fugitives, of all shapes and sizes, spanning generations and genders alike. Each and every man, woman or child corralled within these cages was a freshly captured slave. 

"What in the fuck is wrong with you, girl?" A burly man with hair the color of coal seized my shoulders, giving me a vicious shake. "You could have killed someone. Who taught you how to drive?" My mouth dropped open but I simply stared up at him, unable to recall a single word in my native tongue. Muttering, he pushed my hood back, taking a fistful of hair in thick, muddy fingers. "Well fuck me. A Tritan. Boss is going ta want to see this." 

With little fanfare he pulled me to my feet, prodding me along with sharp jabs to my ribs. But I didn't fight it—why would I bother? What was the point of defending myself? It was all over. All gone. There was... nothing left but stumps of the once mighty forest I'd called home. What use was vengeance in the face of such a void? Nothing could undo the damage wrought here, nothing could return life to trees that had watched the rise and fall of civilizations. 

My head lolled, tilting the world at preposterous angle, but my guide caught me, peering into my face when I didn't respond to his gruff commands. "Louder... I can't hear you... over... over his voice..." 

He hoisted me over his shoulder, grumbling with words I couldn't fathom. I took it, limp, blood rushing to my head, arms bouncing off his muscular backside with every step he took. When he eased me off his shoulder, his brows were drawn together, lips pressed into a thin, white line. A large hand cradled my head as he positioned me on a couch, pausing to arrange my arms in a neutral position. 

I had been taken to a lavish tent, complete with several items of furniture lined in gold thread, countless throw pillows, and statues in all manner of lewd, sexual acts. A thousand warm, conflicting colors swam before my eyes, stimulating the nausea that had been my companion for the afternoon. It was too much—I closed my eye, preparing to drift away. 

"What treasure have your brought me today, Amil?" Fingers tugged at my filthy, unwashed hair, dragging me back from oblivion. I... recognized that voice... but from where? 

"She just showed up, Jasper. Crashed her car into one of the woodpiles. Knocked the whole fucking thing over, too." 

"Was anyone injured?" 

"No, but it's a hell of a mess." 

I know that name... Jasper is a... Jasper is the slaver, the one who'd paid bounty hunters to bring me out of the wood. My eye opened, a dull flicker of resentment stimulating a morbid curiosity. 

My guide, Amil, passed a wet cloth over my face, dabbing at a tender spot over my left eye. It stung. "Stop," I whispered, swatting at his hand. 

Jasper dropped into my line of sight, eyes flicking over my features. "Well I'll be damned," he said, seizing my face with one hand and pushing his thumb past my lips, over my modified canines. "I've only seen teeth like that once before. Amil, meet Hob!" he cried, wrapping his fingers around the material of Asher's leather jacket. He then proceeded to drag me from his tent, heedless of my lack of participation. Flinging his free hand wide, he gestured at the decimation of my entire world. "This little pest is the very reason for all of this." 

"I see," Amil replied, standing somewhere in the background. 

"I knew you'd come back to me, Hob. I always get what I want." 

Several steps behind the flow of conversation, I tilted my head back, craning to look at Jasper's face. "Why?" My voice cracked, making the single syllable almost unintelligible. 

"Well my dear, it's rather simple," Jasper replied, seeming to understand me nonetheless. "I'm a man of worth. You don't—" 

"What have you done?" I continued, not truly interested in his response. And then, just when I couldn't fathom this moment being any worse, two men sauntered past us. 

"You see this fuckin' beast?" the first man shouted, a face-splitting grin eating up his cheeks. "Took us two hours to kill it, and it almost got Adam in the guts." 

The second man grunted, adjusting the spit on his shoulder. "Yeah, well you were about to ruin the pelt. I told you to get rid of your goddamn ax. It's worth more if the pelt is unblemished." 

"No." I moved forward on hands and knees. "No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no," I muttered, just able to run my fingers through the soft, caramel fur before Jasper jerked me back to his feet. All four paws were bound with metal cord, sunk deep into the flesh. The cord was then looped around a thick wooden spit, spreading the weight between the unofficial pallbearers. His head—for I was certain the beautiful cat was male based on the size, and my view of his underbelly—was bent back at an impossible angle, swaying with the movement of the men who had killed him. His beautiful, bushy tail was wrapped around a hind leg to keep it from dragging in the mud. "How could you?" I moaned, feeling the frozen tears of the forest gather in my lashes. "How could you?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 18



Jasper dropped to his haunches beside me, tilting my face toward the slave transports. "Simple. With them, I'm officially the wealthiest flesh merchant on this entire continent. And you, Hob," he continued, petting my tangled locks. "Are the one I have to thank for the idea. Though I had to call in a few favors to get approval. But my brother is an adviser to the crown, so it was nothing to get the necessary permissions. You see, it was taking too long to drag them out of the wood one by one. Costing too much. And this way," he purred, guiding my face toward the massive pile of cut wood. "I make a tidy little profit off the lumber and any exotic wildlife I pull from this wretched forest." His fingers trailed down the back of my neck, rubbing little circles on the flesh he found there. Though I considered it, I had neither the desire, nor the will to summon my birthright. Not for Jasper, who deserved it more than most. Not for my own, selfish vengeance. Not anymore. 

"I'm sure your master will happy to pay my finder's fee, yes? Considering what he paid for you in the first place." 

"How could you?" 

"Come now, Hob. Business is business." His fingers dipped just inside the collar of my jacket. "But... I could be swayed to blur the lines a little. In celebration, you see. I'll include it in the price I'll charge your master." 

I didn't react. It was pointless. There was a furious tidal wave gathering at my back, the unstoppable force of an Elite seconds from claiming the source of his power. My left hand was bathed in a luminescent green light, the exact shade produced by one type of weapon. When he spoke, it was with the same tone I'd been hearing these past days, precisely the way I'd expected it to sound. 

"It that so, Slaver?" 

Jasper spun on his heel. "M-master Rawlings, sir! I didn't see you there—" 

"Of course you didn't," Asher spat, the flavor of his particular brand of fury nudging the bruised carcass of my Empathy into wakefulness. "If you had, I'm quite sure you wouldn't have the balls to be so fucking liberal with my Priestess. Take your hands off her before I remove them myself." 

"I was merely trying to intimidate your little runaway, sir," Jasper replied, trying to push me toward the furious Elite. When that failed, he chose to step back, hands raised in surrender. 

Asher laughed, the sound harsh and unforgiving. "She's no runaway, idiot. It's impossible for a bound Priestess to do such a thing." 

"But, you weren't—" 

I had yet to raise my head, couldn't summon the energy to look upon Asher's face. Instead, I relied on our bond for information, could feel his intention even before he lunged at Jasper. "We are on a mission," he hissed. "Sanctioned by the Curator himself." 

"Major," Marco cautioned, and I imagined him putting a restraining hand on Asher's shoulder. 

"Fuck off, soldier. I'm well within my rights to kill this slug, if I choose," Asher drawled, hardly audible over the sounds of Jasper being choked to death. "The punishment for taking liberties with a bound Priestess is death. And I intend to give him exactly what—" 

"Stop," I whispered, and the Watchers flickered to life within me. So they hadn't gone after all? The thought hardly registered, but their presence soothed me nonetheless, and I said, "Just... stop," in a slightly more persuasive voice. 

Asher's attention turned toward me, washing me in an overwhelming combination of emotions. I couldn't bear the effort it would take to untangle him, so sat there and took it, focusing on the effort to breathe. After a time, Major Rawlings snarled, and Jasper hit the dirt before me, face a nasty shade of purple. The slaver gasped for air, rubbing at the damaged tissues of his throat. When he was able, the wealthy slaver began to drag himself away, eyes downcast. 

"Reese, Aiden," the major barked, then laid a hand on my shoulder. The two burly Caledonians moved forward without question, pulling Jasper to his feet. When the slaver had been removed from sight and the rest of the gathering crowd had dispersed, Asher dropped to his haunches. "Mila," he murmured, his voice for my ears alone. When I didn't react to his words he dipped a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Mila. I've got you now—" he stopped speaking abruptly as our eyes met. "Hey." He snapped his fingers inches away from my face. "Are you hurt? Mila? Shit. Marco!" he shouted, and I jerked in surprise. "Get me a fast vehicle." Asher scooped me up, supporting my head against the muscles of his chest. "I want to be back in the city before night fall." 

"Yes sir," Marco replied. "But I'm coming with you. I've got a bone to pick with this little monster." 

"Not the time," Asher all but growled, arms tightening around my slack form. 

Marco hesitated for a few seconds, then said, "I'll drive. Reese and Aiden can get the others back in the van." 

"Fine, I don't care. Just make it fast." 

"I'll get you there by sunset, sir. But I'm taking a few days off when we get back. Paid." 

Asher did not respond past a noncommittal grunt. But I knew he had seen when our eyes met. I knew why he was so anxious to get me away from this place. When Asher had looked into my single open eye, he'd been staring into the void. He had looked upon a dead soul. 

In that moment, he'd known a single, absolute truth. 

I was completely and irrevocably broken. 

*** 

=D I know, I know. I'm the worst! But it was a longer chapter, so that's got to count for something right?? 

If you'd stop and let me know what you thought about this chapter, I'd purchase a Blee Bat and free it in your honor. Trust me, I know they are soo cute and fuzy, but they need to be free. They don't make good pets. But they take care of the mosquitos, so win win!! 

Vote and comment before I let the voices out... haha 

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 19



Well hello there! Crazy, right? I'm back, and it's only been like... two weeks! I'm actually discovering what makes me tick, in regards to writing, and I think I've got a solid plan worked out. It has a lot to do with listening to techno WITHOUT words, forcing myself to take breaks, and doodling. I'm getting roughly 1500 words written daily. And the most exciting bit, is that it doesn't seem to need much editing! Yay! Okay, thank you to the magical beta wizards of Oz, FA_JF, BaronVonKarmann, and DeathandTaxes. You guys make my world go right round. :)

Enjoy!

***

"So," Marco said, eyes flicking toward the man in the passenger seat. The very man who I had spent days trying not to think about, whose voice had been echoing inside my mind, haunting me. "May I ask how you lost control over the little night terror in my backseat?"

I closed my eyes, wishing I could do the same for my ears. After I'd been whisked away from what had once been my sanctuary, but was now a butchered field of stumps, I'd been lashed to the leather seat in the back of a commandeered vehicle. In my current, numb condition I posed very little threat to the Caledonians in the front seat, but I took the gesture to be more of a promise of what I might expect in the future, rather than an ode to my behavior in the past. My reward for daring to defy Caledonian rule, and failing. As he had secured me to the seat, the major's hands had been gentle but the tremor in his fingers gave him away. Furious.

He grunted without looking at Marco, and the simple sound skated along my raw nerves, preventing my thoughts from wandering, bringing me back to the present.

"Come on, Asher," Marco coaxed, using his superior's given name in a telling, private display of familiarity between the two soldiers. My heart rate tripled.

Silence hung heavy in the car for a few seconds—long enough for curiosity to peel my lids open. Asher had yet to utter a single syllable, choosing instead to allow his actions to speak for him. He jerked at the sleeve of his jacket, sending a button pinging around the cabin. When he folded the black material back, his movement erratic and uncoordinated, a glimmer of gold caught the evening sunlight. Marco frowned and opened his mouth, but Asher continued rolling his sleeve back until his muscular forearm and a second cuff were exposed. He repeated the unveiling on his left arm, exposing not one golden manacle—as all other bound Elites could boast—but four.

Their placement was asymmetrical, and from a strictly aesthetic point of view, the gold complimented his bronze skin beautifully. Even so, his anger was palpable, breaking through the mind-numbing fog under which my Empathy was buried.

Marco whistled, low and long before saying, "Shit, Asher. I didn't know that was possible." He turned his attention back to the road, both hands tight on the steering wheel. "How?"

At first, I wasn't sure if he could bring himself to speak, such was the intensity of the anger oozing through our bond. But he sighed and said, "As far as I can tell, she got a hold of Harper's spare set of Chains. But you can ask her yourself. She's awake."

Marco's eyes immediately found mine in the rear-view mirror. His features tightened, but he looked away without speaking to me. "What does it mean?"

"If any of the others find out? Probably my death," he replied with a humorless bark of laughter. "But between you and I ..." he trailed off, staring at his clenched fists. "It's incredible. So much power, just waiting for my command."

"Fuck yes," Marco whispered with a grin, shifting in his seat.

Asher's hands dropped to his lap, shaking his head. "There are ... consequences."

Marco produced a hand-rolled cigarette, steering with his knee as he lit it. "Such as?"

I looked out the window, willing myself to a state of unconsciousness, but Asher's voice held me firm. "To begin with ... I feel every irrational, idiotic emotion that happens to float through her head. But—"

Marco made a noise in the back of his throat. "Feh, what's a little emotional backlash in the face of unlimited power? We've been handling distraught females since that time in Laympry."

Asher snorted, swatting at the cloud of smoke billowing toward his face. "That right? Funny, I seem to recall you striking out with that—"

"I don't need reassurances from your feeble old mind," Marco interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand. "The assurance from past conquests is all I need. According to them, I'm magnificent."

"I pay them to say that, idiot."

"Then the joke's on you, Major Rawlings. You don't have to pay slaves."

Asher yawned. "Considering I subject them to the likes of you," he drawled, stretching within the confines of the car, "money is the least I can offer."

"Oh, shoot to kill why don't you?" Marco chortled, aiming a halfhearted punch at Asher's thigh. "So what else can you do?"

I felt him hesitate through our bond, as if he were trying to decide how much he should reveal. "Just what I said, really. I've got more raw power than I know what to do with."

"Don't give me that shit," Marco prodded. "Are you're forgetting the days I spent as a hostage to your little lunatic? She can use an Elite's weapon now. You must have gotten some of her Priestess juju or something. What about healing?"

Asher was quiet but for the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of his fingers drumming the dash. "I haven't tried."

"Alright, fine. You don't have to tell me if you don't want. But I'm willing to bet—"

"Marco—"

"Don't worry, mate. You don't even have to ask. I won't say anything."

Asher grunted, running a hand over his face. When he opened his eyes, Marco handed him the lit cigarette. "Thanks."

"Sure," Marco replied, eyes returning to the road. "So how are we going to keep it hidden? I mean, if anyone sees those cuffs, it's not going to be hard to figure out ..."

Asher chuckled, rolling the burning tobacco between forefinger and thumb. "Figure out what, exactly? That I've been branded with the mark of a slave? Or that my Priestess has more power than most bound Elites?"

Marco's wide eyes met mine again. "No shit?" I held eye contact for a few seconds, then turned to look out the window. Power wasn't as valuable as I'd expected it to be. Having it did nothing but cause more problems.

Asher took a long drag of the cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the roof. "I guess the only thing I can do is conceal the Chains under long sleeves. It's not like I can undo the damage."

"It's almost winter," Marco said. "Long sleeves won't be out of place ... but what about the baths?"

The major snorted. "Off limits. I suppose the shower in my bedroom will have to do."

Marco laughed. "Forced to slum it like the rest of us for a change. You poor dear."

"I swear to God, Marco, I'm going to beat you to death one of these days."

Marco cracked his knuckles. "You're welcome to try, old man," he replied, and I could feel his feral grin through my skin.

"Older, faster, smarter, stronger, better," Asher said in quick succession, bringing a reluctant twitch to my lips.

"Hey now, you're two months older than I am. Don't get cocky." Marco opened his window, and flicked the burning cigarette into the wind, gifting us all with a welcome breath of fresh air. "You won't be able to hide the Chains forever."

Asher grunted, turning his face toward the passing scenery. Rather than respond, he began to chew on a blunt thumb nail, lapsing into a thoughtful silence before saying, "I don't want you to say a word about the rebels. To anyone. I've already ordered Reese and Aiden to do the same."

In spite of myself, I perked up, shocked out of my stupor. I'd been expecting quite the opposite from my mercurial master. It seemed Marco shared my confusion. "Excuse me? What the hell for?"

"Because it will raise a lot of questions I don't have reasonable answers to."

"Like what? This could be the defining moment of your career. I'm not going to let you just throw—"

"We're supposed to be on grief leave sixty miles south of where we found them."

"So? We've been looking for those cowards for three years, Asher. I'm sure the Lieutenant General will forgive your dishonesty in light of this discovery."

"Right," Asher replied, a bitter edge to his voice. "So I tell them we've found the rebels, we celebrate my tactical genius, and then just out of curiosity, they ask me why I was all the way out here in the first place. What then? I either admit my Priestess got the drop on me, and risk whatever nightmare will come out of them knowing about this little fuck up," he said, thrusting his glittering wrist into Marco's face. "Or admit I lied about the nature of my leave, and try to explain why I felt the urge to wander in the mountains with no apparent goal in mind."

"Will you relax?" Marco admonished, pushing a hand through his thick, dark hair. "I think you're making more of this than necessary."

Asher turned in his seat, bringing his handsome profile into my line of sight. "That's because you only get to see a fraction of what goes on behind the scenes, Marco." He sighed and continued, though I could feel the reluctance strumming through him. "The Lieutenant General and the Curator were discussing the possibility of a mole during our last meeting. But you're not supposed to know that. Obviously."

"A mole?" Marco asked, incredulous.

"Yeah. But it does make a certain kind of sense, you know. How else did could the rebels have come up with a shield like that? It's essentially our own technology being thrown in our faces."

"Yeah, but a mole? Could any sum of money be worth the risking the Empire's wrath?"

"People have done far worse, for far less." Asher replied with a shrug. "But I can't risk them thinking I'm the one selling information."

"No, I guess not."

Asher shifted again, this time tilting his head back and looking at the roof. "It's okay. We know where they are. I'll come up with a reason to discover them later. When the time is right."

"Makes sense," Marco replied, pausing to fiddle with a dial on the dash. "What about her? You know what you're going to do with her yet?"

But Asher had lapsed into silence and Marco didn't push him any farther. I drifted into unconsciousness shortly after that, rocked to sleep by the motion of the car and the ocean of numbness swirling within me.

Bliss.



When I woke, it was not with the pulse pounding anxiety I'd grown accustomed to, but a groggy lifting of a shroud. My eyes were slow to open, sealed with grit as they were. There was a dull, painful throb above my left eye. The thin skin was tight, probably swollen, but I didn't bother inspecting it with touch. What difference would a few more scars make? The pain was a simple, welcome side effect of all the damage I'd wrought. Backlash for the chaos. A debt repaid.

I shifted, and realized a substantial amount of sweat had soaked through the thin material close to my skin, trapped between the cool air and restrictive leather jacket still zippered all the way to the base of my throat. Bed sheets were tangled through my legs, and for a brief moment, panic pushed through the fog, forcing the air from my lungs. Where the hell was I?

Bewildered, my eyes darted around the gloomy room. It was dark. Night time. But it was more than that—everything was dark. The silken sheets wrapped around me, the curtains blocking out any natural lighting ... the man lounging behind the desk, onyx eyes focused on my face. Caledonian colors.

Asher's bedroom.

I relaxed. The revelation should have caused more ... anxiety. But it didn't. He could do his worst, I wouldn't fight him any longer.

"So," he began, voice cold. Distant.

My eyes met his for a brief moment, but the challenge I saw there was ... exhausting. I didn't care for it.

He, on the other hand, did. "You look like hell."

I closed my eyes, wishing to find sleep. Instead, the memories of my last experience in this bed played on the backs of my lids. I watched, impassive. A different version of me had challenged Asher on his own territory, and won. Foolish. Short sighted. Reckless.

"I'll admit, I haven't quite decided what to do with you," he said, unaffected by my lack of response.

I tucked my chin closer to my chest, marveling at the heat seeping from the collar of my jacket. My eyes flickered open, sightless, fixed on the back of my wrist.

"Any number of creative punishments have floated through my head over the last several days, but," he leaned forward, arms crossed, elbows resting on his knees, "None seem to fit the situation."

Hot air filled my lungs, cradling me, promising to take me away. My eyes watered with the onset of sleep, burning, demanding I rub the itch away with the heel of my palm. I resisted, knowing any movement on my part would ruin the blanket of comfort settling over me.

Asher did that for me, yanking the sheets away from me. The material was still twined about my legs, but he didn't seem to care, pulling until I was free. "I've waited long enough, Priestess. Get up."

I lay there without reacting, noting the loss of warmth, detached from Asher in a way I hadn't thought possible since our initial bond.

He seized my jaw with a rough hand, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Get up." I blinked, face void of tension, irritation, or any other sort of emotion. He snarled, dragged me out of bed, tossed me over his shoulder with little ceremony, and headed toward his en-suite bathroom. As much as he may have wanted it to, his temper could not rouse my ire—I remained limp in his arms.

Furious, he kicked the bathroom door, splintering the door jamb with the excessive force. Using more caution with the glass door of the shower, he pulled it open and deposited me on the cold tile bench inside. "You smell like a dead body, Mila," he snapped, reaching for the zipper at my throat. I watched as he proceeded to strip the filthy travel clothes from my unresponsive frame, unperturbed as my nudity was revealed. It was nothing he hadn't seen before.

My eyes fixed on a crack in the tile between my feet, lips parting under the pull of gravity and the angle of my head. The pipes groaned behind the wall, and before I realized what was happening, cold water doused my exposed frame. An involuntary gasp burst from my lips, but I didn't move. I'd been cold before.

Water ran in constant rivulets over the contours of my face, stinging the wound above my eye and blurring my vision. I blinked. The discomfort was mild. I didn't move to stop it.

Bare feet slapped onto the tiles before me, and I was shielded from the freezing waterfall by a large male body. Asher sucked in a breath, no doubt reacting to the same involuntary shock of freezing water as I had. My eyes traveled the length of his muscular frame. He was naked, which was not surprising given my knowledge of his cultural attitude toward nudity, but he wasn't aroused by my similar predicament. Maybe my time away had cooled the flames between us.

Without speaking, he hauled me to my feet, bracing me against the chilly wall with a forearm across my chest when it became clear I wouldn't support myself. Utilizing his free hand, he reached behind him, fumbling for a moment before bringing a bar of soap into view. He held it beneath my nose for a moment, and when I didn't reach for it, he gnashed his teeth and proceeded to run the bar over my naked flesh, scrubbing until I was clothed in white bubbles.

I tuned out, watching the tiny little spheres pop against my skin. The colors trapped inside them were hypnotic. I couldn't look away. How such perfect beauty could exist for mere seconds before bursting as if it had never been, was a mystery I was not qualified to dissect.

Asher's hand swept the bubbles away as he gathered the suds and slapped them on top of my head. His fingers weren't gentle—this was a task to be completed, and nothing more. But when he brushed what must have been an open wound on the left side of my scalp, hidden by my tangled hair, I couldn't help the instinct to jerk away. The bubbles on his right hand were pink.

"Stand here," he barked, turning so that I could step into the now-warm spray.

I didn't move. Couldn't.

Suds had begun to run down my face, seeping into the laceration above my eye. The burn, though uncomfortable, was the pain of disinfection. I leaned into it, trying to lose myself in the fire.

Asher watched me, arms crossed over his burly chest. "You're just going to let the soap run into your eye—ah. Of course you are. Does that make you feel better, Mila? Or are you going to continue punishing yourself?"

The slightest frown pinched the skin between my brows, distracting me from the burning itch in my eyes. Punishing myself? With soap suds? What an absurd concept. If I truly wanted to punish myself—and I hadn't admitted to any such thing—it would be a simple matter of dwelling on the faces of those I'd come across in my recent history. Nearly every one who had had the misfortune of making my acquaintance had come away from the experience worse for it.

All of the Priestesses? Punished because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Sasha and General Tilcot? Dead, because I'd inadvertently put the 'death by Empath' into Sasha's head. Even Tyra Tilcot and her infant son, twisted and broken as the mother may be, had been left without husband and father because of the impact of my life upon theirs. And then there was the most grievous of them all—the death of General Striker. By my own hand.

Rather than pull me into the warm water beside him, Asher adjusted the shower head, rinsing the suds off me from a distance. Again, my reaction, was instinctual. The sensation of hot water on the delicate skin of my face was something I'd spent a lifetime avoiding, and old habits die hard. I reeled back, twisting my face out of the water's path.

"Hold still," Asher growled, seizing my arm. He pulled me toward him, effortless, in spite of my awakening aversion. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he held me firm against him, using the other hand to direct my hair under the spray. I strained against him when the water threatened to wash over my face, but he seemed to understand, making a barrier with his hand.

When he was satisfied with the cleanliness of my hair, he began to move a careful hand over my face, removing any lingering suds from my skin. "What the fuck—" he prodded the wound on my brow, uncaring of how sensitive the area may have been. "There's glass under your skin, Mila. Actual shards of glass. Sit."

I was slow to obey, but he was already half way through the action of pushing me back onto the tile seat, and I simply followed his lead. Involuntary tears burned my eyes as he attempted to pick the glass from my head. When it became clear his tough warrior fingers were inadequate for the delicate job, he cursed, adjusted his grip on the back of my head, and utilized his short fingernails, a look of extreme concentration marking his features. "Hold this," he snapped, turning my palm toward the ceiling. He then proceeded to place each tiny piece into my open hand as they were extracted, covered in blood and other bits. Aggravated by his crude, though necessary actions, the wound opened anew, spilling fresh warm blood down the side of my face.

How in the world had I gotten a face full of glass? Or perhaps a better question was ... when?

There were holes in my memory I couldn't account for, and as time continued moving forward, each malignant gap was evolving into a yawning chasm. I made a fist around the twisted little fragments of glass, inhaling through my nose when they sunk into my skin. The pain, at least, was sharp and clear. Unforgettable.

Asher seized my wrist in his fist, using his thumb to press against the joint between hand and arm until my fingers opened of their own accord. A reflex. Eyes blazing with dark flames, he picked the shards out of my hand, pulled the shower door open, and whipped them into the toilet.




The Last Tritan Ch. 19



I watched the muscles flex beneath his skin during his tantrum, but returned my gaze to the crimson liquid dripping off my lax fingers before he turned to face me. It was a beautiful color, blood. Vibrant and rich, startling in its intensity. It was hard to believe such a color was stored in abundance behind my pale skin.

"God damn it!" Asher roared, slamming his fist into the tiled wall to my right. I hadn't noticed his return to the confines of the steamy shower stall, and the explosion of rage took me completely by surprise. "Am I going to have to remove every sharp object within arm's reach of you?"

A true frown formed between my brows. He'd cracked three tiles with the impact of his fury, and—my gaze traveled to the fist that had done the damage—there was that same, unmistakable shade of red now dripping from his fingers, interspersed with the shocking white of exposed bone poking through the tattered skin of his knuckles.

"Well I've got news for you, Priestess," he hissed, looming over me to brace his undamaged hand on the wall above my head. "I don't give a shit if you're suicidal or not. I didn't chase you through the wilderness for the last five days, just for you to succumb to something as cowardly as that." Blood dripped onto my knee as his mangled hand swung forward, but the evidence was washed away with the constant fall of water drenching us both.

He had the nerve to insist I was practicing some form of self harm, when the damage he'd inflicted upon himself was several orders of magnitude higher than soap suds and glass? Hypocritical asshole. But the urge to inform him of this double standard passed as quickly as it had surfaced—what did it matter that he'd injured himself?

The Watchers had the impeccable timing to resurface then, hovering in the back of my mind as Asher considered me, blood spattering my knee. Their presence reminded me just how far I'd slipped into madness, just how dangerous and unpredictable the darkest corners of my psyche had become. What else could they be, but empty vessels created by my subconscious ... waiting to be filled with whatever venom yet remained crouched within my soul ... waiting to be released on the unsuspecting innocents who still inhabited this world.

A large part of me had hoped this latest theory was nothing more than the ramblings of a madwoman, and that the Watchers were indeed harmless forest sprites observing this realm through my eyes.

The smaller, needy part of me welcomed them back, for the Watchers were a balm to the chaos within.

"Pay attention," Asher barked, snapping his fingers beneath my nose and jerking me from my cyclical thoughts. A spark of irritation made me meet his dark eyes. He smiled, slow and cruel, apparently unconcerned with the pain I could feel radiating from his injury. "Oh no, Priestess," he whispered. "We aren't done here. But I would be remiss if I failed to extend my gratitude." He leaned forward, our noses almost touching. "You brought me right to the rebels. Without you, it might have taken us years of searching to find them. So thank you, Mila. From the bottom of my heart."

I lifted one dripping shoulder in a careless shrug.

"Oh, really," he spat, pulling back, trying to flex his bloody hand for the first time. "I'm supposed to believe that you, of all people, supposedly don't care about your precious rebels anymore?"

I considered him at length, letting my eyes roam over his naked, glistening skin. Tension was present in every line, crease, and angle on his large frame, but it was the source of this angst that had me confused. He was furious with me, of that I had no doubt. Why not just punish me and get it over with, why drag it out? What purpose did taunting me serve? Rather than devote any more energy to him, I spoke for the first time. "You deserve each other."

"That right?" When I didn't respond to his terse prompt, he said, "Care to elaborate?"

I didn't.

He grinned, the lecherous beast. "That suits me just fine," he murmured, eyes flicking over my nudity. And then, moving as if in slow motion, he ran his thumb over my lower lip, slick with beads of warm water.

His deliberate, sensual touch shattered the last of the peaceful fog surrounding my mind. With its retreat, the threads of our bond hummed, reminding me of the direct connection I had to his mind. Instinct seemed to be the only thing driving me at the moment, and for the third time, I reacted without conscious thought. My mind reached for his, testing limits I was only partially aware of.

He was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions so intense, it hurt to be near it. To me, there was but one recognizable piece of the pandemonium battering my fragile, overworked senses—fury.

Asher pulled back, seemingly unaware of the shift occurring within me. "I've learned to be a patient man, Mila. I'm sure I can come up with something to draw you out."

My lips drew back from my teeth in a defensive snarl. "Why?" I asked, hating him for this ... for poking at the darkness until it was roused from slumber.

"Why?" he asked, pulling away from me with a frown. 'Why what—"

"Why do you care?" I hissed, interrupting him. "You've already won, Master. I won't fight you any longer." I flexed my left fist, relishing the stab of pain from the tiny lacerations on my palm. "It's over..." I whispered, looking away. "There's nothing left." Asher snorted, and my eyes flicked back to his dripping face. "The least you could do is leave me in peace."

"No."

"No?" I gaped at him, cataloging the arrogant set of his features.

He crossed his arms, wiping any and all expression from his face. "We're not done here."

"Are you deaf?" I asked, and then enunciating every syllable as carefully as possible, I said, "I. Am. Done. You win."

"You don't get off that easy Mila."

I threw my hands wide. "Go ahead and punish me to your heart's content," I snapped, wrestling with the heat coursing through my veins. "But I'm telling you, you're wasting your time."

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Priestess," he said, stooping to once again occupy my personal space. "As distasteful as it is, the decisions you make affect me. And I can't have this—" he gestured at me, "—pathetic moping influencing my decisions. I'm an Elite. It's beneath me."

My mouth dropped open. "You selfish bastard," I seethed, clenching my fists.

He smirked. Actually. Fucking. Smirked. "My parents are married."

An inarticulate scream burst forth from the very core of my battered psyche, and I lunged for him. I latched onto his injured right hand, squeezing with every ounce of strength my depleted body contained. A most satisfying gasp escaped him and he blanched, knees buckling under him with the pain. I took advantage of his moment of weakness, knowing it wouldn't last, and shoved his bulk backward until he slammed into the opposite wall. He sunk to the floor, stunned for the moment.

I heard him wheeze with the impact, but I gave him no ground, straddling his lap as I began to pummel my fists into his face and chest with as much ferocity as I could muster. Water continued to pour over us, adding another confusing layer of complexity to the flurry of my fists raining down upon his flesh. Blood trickled down his chin—his lip was split and had already started swelling. The sight made me hesitate for an instant.

Using his good hand, Asher captured my wrist before I landed another strike. "Finished?"

"Fuck y—"

With a savage jerk, he pulled me close to his chest, features twisted in rage. That very same anger seared through me, burning away any lingering trace of the girl who had been empty and docile only moments before. Howling, I pulled my head back and slammed my forehead into his handsome face. Stars scattered across my darkened vision and I cursed, dazed.

He didn't react as I had hoped, but shoved me off his lap with his good hand. I landed with a hollow thud, my upper back striking the warmed tiles of the bath bench. True to his Elite nature, he didn't give me a moment to recuperate, but lunged from his seated position and seized my ankle. With little expended effort, he dragged me between his legs, flipped me over, and wrenched my arm behind my back.

The adrenaline was too thick in my blood to allow something as insignificant as pain to slow me down. I struggled violently beneath him, employing every foul word I'd ever heard in a cracking, uneven voice. He was undeterred. "Get off me, you fucking asshole!"

Grunting with the effort, he was forced to pin me to the floor with his larger frame, utilizing his body weight and every available limb he could spare. After he'd succeeded in restraining me, his lips pressed against my ear. "Welcome back."

I froze, ignoring the press of his heavy frame over mine, the constant irritant of the water drumming on my skull, and the sharp throb of agony in my twisted shoulder. He'd pissed me off on purpose, had baited me until I crawled out of my protective shell and reacted to his taunts. The fight left me in a rush, and a broken sob clawed its way free from my throat. "Why? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Releasing me, Asher pressed his back against the opposite wall, planting his feet flat on the tiled floor. Breathing noisily through a bloody nose, he balanced his elbows on his knees, hands relaxed, though the right one continued the rhythmic, drip, drip, drip of blood from an open wound. The position left very little to the imagination, but he remained silent, watching me with his dark, Caledonian eyes.

I ached all over, inside and out. "Why are you doing this to me," I demanded, shifting to a half sit as I glared at him, tears blending with the water raining down over my face. "Why, why can't you just let me—"

"Let you what, Priestess?" he snarled, turning his head to spit on the tiles. "Let you sulk until you fade away? Let you die?" He shook his arms before me, showing off the golden manacles that should have never been. "Have you forgotten what this means? We are bound, you and I. You don't get to decide when this is over. Sorry."

I cringed—my Empathy had been well and truly roused, and it was all I could do to keep my attention focused on Asher's brilliant glow. It hurt. Everywhere. Wrapping my arms around my self in an attempt to keep the pieces together, I met his eyes and said, "You don't know what I did. I—" a hiccup broke my concentration, and a fresh wave of agonized tears mingled with the falling water. "I ... I killed a man."

He shrugged. "So?"

"What do you mean, 'so?' you self-centered—" I tucked my legs beneath me and drew my knees up to my chin, mirroring his posture except for the thumbs pressed against my temples. "It goes against e-everything I've ev-ever ... I'm losing myself ..." I trailed off for a moment, trying to get myself under control. When I had recovered enough breath I glared at him and said, "I'm turning into you."

A cold bark of humorless laughter bounced off the walls. "You're nothing like me, Mila. You're a reckless, immature child. You want to act like a warrior, little girl? You want to take down the Empire and save the world? A word of advice, for you Warrior Priestess—Toughen the fuck up." He swiped at the blood trickling from his nose, glaring at me.

"I don't want to!" I cried, every inch of me trembling. "What d-don't you underst-stand about that? I don't want to do this anymore. I just want it all to stop!" I took a great, shuddering breath, scrubbing at the tears streaking my face and started again. "I killed him. Latched onto his life force like the damn parasite I—" the Watchers swirled closer to me in what I took as an offer of sanctuary. But my Empathy had returned, more powerful than ever, and it would not be tossed aside so easily again.

Feeling my mind slip, I shoved them away with an ear splitting shriek. "I'm going mad, Asher! Hearing things ... voices ... it's only a matter of time before I kill again. Guilty ... innocent ... it doesn't fucking matter. I want it ... their energy ... the power ... " I choked on a sob. "And if you give me the chance, I'll take it all. I'm a monster," I whispered, knowing it was true. "Put me out of my—my m-misery while you have the ch-chance... or if you—if you wan-want to stay alive, in-incapacitate me—put me in a coma. I don-don't c-care." My words had become so mangled by emotion I wasn't sure if it was possible for him to follow along. But it didn't matter, he knew where my mind was—our dual bond saw to that.

Once spoken aloud, my sentiments echoed inside my head, ringing with the crystal clear peals of truth. I curled into myself, shaking with unrestrained sobs. Tears burned my flaming cheeks but in spite of the warm shower, cold was seeping into my limbs, radiating from deep within my core. Nothing had turned out how it was supposed too! All I had wanted to do was help the victims of war ... avenge my fallen people. But Asher was right about everything—I was an undisciplined, reckless idiot, and my meddling had done nothing but cause destruction. And death.

I don't know how long I lay on the shower floor, purging the grief from my soul, but Asher was with me through it all. He didn't make the mistake of trying to comfort me, but allowed me the time to work through it on my own. Either that, or he was still too angry to do more than glare at me, but I was grateful for the distance all the same.

Five long years of war, struggle, and survival had built up within me, and I'd refused to deal with it. A warrior doesn't admit defeat, give up, or cry, and Asher had managed to make me do all three in the space of an hour. But ... he was right again, wasn't he? I wasn't a warrior. I had no discipline, training, or strategy. Did I have power? Yeah, more than I knew what to do with, but it didn't matter. I couldn't control it, and to use it was a mistake that had landed me in a world of dark cravings so intense, the only way to soothe the itch was to take more ... submit to the urge, and gorge myself until I could stay awake for days ... drunk on another's life force.

I was nothing more than a junkie, addicted to the rush of stolen energy.

I thought of the young Elite, enslaved by the Elorans. If it hadn't been for Asher's timely voice in my brain, demanding I stop, I would have drained the boy dry and moved on without thought of the consequences. I would have been lost, wouldn't have cared about the boy's current, unjust circumstances. But his was just one face among many, and as I lay there trembling with the weight bearing down upon my soul, faces whipped past my eyes. Friends, loved ones, enemies ... victims ... they were all there. Haunting me for recent failures, those from long ago, and those sure to occur in the future.

I slammed a fist into the tiles, crying out in anguish. The act wasn't as impressive as Asher's, and I succeeded only in hurting myself, rather than the unforgiving shower floor. He sighed and my eyes met his for a brief instant before I wilted under his dark stare. Not bothering to move from his lewd position, he reached above his head and turned the tap, shutting the water off.

It was a long time before either of us moved again, an age before there were any sounds other than my pathetic whimpering. But when he finally shifted, I couldn't summon the will to watch him. The air was still muggy with warm vapor, but my shivering was no longer due to the bottomless pit of grief where my heart used to be. Gooseflesh speckled every visible inch of my pale, marked skin, but I was content to remain there until I was frozen solid. It was more than I deserved.

Warm hands slipped under my shoulders, forcing me into a supported sit. At first, I tried to pull away, but he ignored my feeble attempt, swept his second hand under my knees, and lifted me off the floor. My eyes remained closed, too overwhelmed by the sensations swirling within me to allow visual stimuli into the mix. Breathing had become a chore. It only came in shuddering gasps anyway, and even those were the involuntary spasms of a confused, overworked diaphragm. All that mattered was the anguish pouring from my soul, given physical form in the tears streaking my blotchy face.

Asher lay me down on his bed, not concerning himself with the water still clinging to my skin and hair. He simply positioned me beneath a blanket and retreated. Even through the inhuman sounds mangling my throat, I could hear the distinctive, cheery tinkle of liquid meeting glass and knew he was pouring himself a stiff drink. I didn't blame him—I was jealous. At that moment, I understood the age old impulse to drown one's sorrows in liquor. But I doubted even Asher had the resources to get his hands on a sufficient quantity.

When my bone cracking sobs had withered into a more manageable, hiccup-sniffle-cough combination, I managed the courage to open my puffy eyes. He was standing in front of the large window beside his desk, naked, bathed in moonlight. As I had expected, he was holding a glass, toying with the rim against his lower lip as he stared at the dark city before him. The wounds from our fight were barely visible in the semi-gloom, and I allowed myself to pretend they weren't there at all, to imagine I hadn't sunk so low as physical violence.

An insistent breeze ruffled his damp hair and he shivered, stared into the depths of his glass for a moment, then drained the contents in one confident motion. Swallowing with a grimace, he balanced the empty glass on a flat palm, as if considering how much force it would take to shatter it into a million, unrecognizable pieces. Instead, he shook his head and placed the glass on his desk with a deliberate, careful movement. There his hand remained for several long minutes, staring in the general direction of the floor, lost in thought.

I watched him stand there, wrestling with uncomfortable revelations of my own as he flexed the long fingers of his right hand. What came next was not a surprise, but rather ... an inevitability. He took a deep, haggard breath, gathered his strength around him like a cloak, and summoned the power of a healer. Or at least, he tried. Healing was never something he'd had to concern himself with, probably wasn't even something he'd thought about until he had met me. Resourceful though he may have been, Asher's talents lay on the opposite end of the spectrum concerning one's health and wellness. All that aside, he did manage to close the wounds marking his knuckles and stop the bleeding from his lip and nose, though I was sure his right hand would be marked by new scars. Before he'd managed to deal with the minor cuts and scratches, however, his skin was waxy and sweat had dampened his forehead.

My leg twitched with the onset of exhausted sleep, rustling the silken blankets. With head still lowered, Asher's eyes snapped up, regarding me from beneath thick, black lashes. Too worn down to react, I simply stared back, unsure what to do next. Ever the confident one, Asher made that decision for me. His eyes remained locked on my face for a few seconds longer, then he straightened, and closed the distance between us. Or rather, the distance between him and his side of the bed. Pulling back the covers with a sharp jerk, he slid beneath them and presented me with the wide expanse of his back.

The sweet scent of his trademark liquor clung to him, and for a moment, I simply stared at him, surprised he was content to simply go to sleep. But then, why wouldn't he? If I'd been through hell over the last five days, the same could be said of the man beside me. As he'd said earlier, we were bound. And if my past record was anything to go by, every crazy, out of control emotion that had passed through me over our time apart had probably been passed directly to him.




The Last Tritan Ch. 19



Thoughts of his suffering would have made me happy mere hours ago, but ... I couldn't summon that vindictive little piece of my heart. It would never end, this cycle between us. Both bound by pride to exact retribution for any slight inflicted by the other—we'd tear ourselves apart before too much longer. Our bond was only weeks old, though I couldn't put an exact number on the days, and already Asher was noticeably different than the man he had been. His contact with me had aged him, I could see that now. But it went deeper than the faint, unfamiliar lines now etched on his skin. How much deeper, I couldn't say. It would take a stable mind to navigate his war-twisted psyche, or better yet, someone capable of forgiveness and gentler things to decide if this ... change was a positive one, or not.

That person couldn't be me—I was barely capable of making it from one day to the next with both feet in the light. I was not a nurturer, couldn't be trusted to foster a growing sense of morality, if that were indeed the case. Not when my own internal compass was so badly compromised.

I shivered beneath the damp sheets. Where were we supposed to go from here? How could either of us be expected to move forward after everything that had happened?

The Watchers had faded once again, leaving me alone in the dark but for the enigma lying beside me. From past experience, I knew searching for them was a fruitless effort but I missed their calming presence in my mind all the same. I'd been alone for so long, I couldn't even begin to approach the confusion tearing me apart, pulling me in all directions at once. If she were still alive, I might have confided in Sasha, all the while knowing she could never truly understand the chaos within me. She'd made her mistakes in life, but her heart was pure. Everything she did, she did for the good of her people—a concept I'd started with initially, but like everything else in my life, it had been twisted to suit my own selfish needs.

I ached in all the wrong places, wracked with uncontrollable tremors as I lay there beside him. Cold permeated every inch of my body, exasperated no doubt, by my sopping wet hair and the torrent of self-deprecating venom brewing in my gut. Back arching against the pain and anxiety, I wrapped my arms around my rib cage, trying to hold it together.

As it turns out, there are some things in life that are impossible to endure for long.

A tortured whine crackled in my throat, and I panicked. There was no way he didn't hear me, no way he could interpret that sound as anything other than an admission of defeat—he was as awake as I, in spite of the late hour and the emotional toll of my recapture. But he didn't move, didn't attempt to take advantage of my crumbling walls.

Things might have been different if the Watchers had chosen that moment to make another timely appearance. But they didn't. I was left clutching at the strings of my unraveling psyche with hands dipped in butter, desperately trying to hold it together even though I knew it was an impossible task. Too much had happened in too short a time—it would be unfair to expect anyone to sort it out alone, to assume they would make it to the other side with sanity intact.

My mind screamed for help, but my damned pride—what little remained—rebelled at the thought. After all, there was but one person in this world who knew my mind without my having to speak it. But asking for him—no. Impossible.

So shatter, and be done with it. Leave your people to their fate. Seek oblivion.

Coward.

Fresh tears spilled over my lashes, unnoticed among all the others shed on this night. I turned toward him, teeth chattering. "Pleas—" my voice cracked, and I started again, on a roll now that I'd made the first step. "Please ... I—I just ... I need ..."

He didn't react, didn't even flinch at the sound of my hoarse voice in the silence of his bedroom. And why would he? What had I done over the last weeks but piss him off? No, he was well within his rights to loathe me. It had been my goal to ruin his life, to foster his hatred, and I'd done my job well.

I rolled away, forcing the anguish back. It was my own damned fault, all of it. If only I'd had the patience to listen to Sasha's sage advice, maybe then I could have come up with a viable plan, rather than acting on the impulsive, idiotic emotions warping my mind.

Now you're alone, and you've no one to blame but yourself.

Admitting defeat, I drew my knees up to my chest, burying my face in my arms. So alone ... always alone ... All my fault.

All of it ...

A shifting of the mattress was my only warning before heated breath caressed the back of my neck. A strong, warm hand landed on my bare hip, hesitant at first, and when I didn't flinch or pull away, confident. He pulled me backward, settling me against the strong muscles of his chest, fitting us together with sure hands and subtle movements of his body. Shock had rendered me immobile, I couldn't have reacted even if I didn't want this—and I did, though I would probably be unable to admit or acknowledge this display of weakness when the sun came up. The self-loathing could come later.

He was hot against my freezing skin, and after battling the lingering scraps of my tattered pride, I melted against him. Into him.

Let him keep the pieces together. Use his strength, Mila. You've run out.

I shivered, again, and reached for his hand, already too far gone to concern myself with how this might look. I needed it ... him. This human contact, this ... selfish indulgence. And it was selfish, seeking comfort and warmth in the arms of my enemy. A man who had helped to conquer my people, who had taken too much from me. A man who offered no apology. But I'd come to understand something important about myself, in a rare moment of clarity—selfish is what I did best.

I laced our fingers together—pale and nimble threaded through strong and tanned—and pulled his hand beneath my chin, wrapping him around me. A deep, tortured sigh gusted against my exposed shoulder and he shifted, pushing me lower in the silken sheets. The dense muscles of his abdomen bunched against my backside, but he made no move toward an erotic encounter. Instead, he positioned me in the cradle of his groin, tucking me as close as I could go. When he was satisfied, he slipped his right arm under my neck, offering it as a makeshift pillow.

I didn't make it three breaths before I was senseless in his arms, surrendering to the overwhelming events and emotional revelations of the last days.

For a short time, at least, I was at peace.

***

I know, I know... no hawt secks in this chapter. But I'm not sorry! I hope y'all enjoyed this, but the only way to actually tell me, short of visiting my Myra Danvers Facebook/ twitter page (under... Myra Danvers. heh.) is to TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS! Vote, emails me, shower me in love! I needs it!

In unrelated news, I'm hiding in the north right now, babysitting my parent's dogs. So... lots of time to write... =D Chapter 20 is imminent.

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 20



Hey hey hey! It's been so long... but because you've all waited to patiently, here's the longest chapter I've ever written. Both of my main editors were too busy with real life to read this through (I still love you both to pieces!!) so I'm putting this out there with extreme anxiety. All of the other glorious people who Beta'd this for me (LBGrant, jennyb2492, DeathandTaxes, HMS, and Ally. You girls rock. Seriously. And I'm sorry for being crazy over the last weeks, if an apology can make up for that. Heh.) 

Without more drunken ramblings ... chapter 20! 

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The long hours of the night passed without so much as a twitch from either of us. Or at least that was the most logical conclusion I could draw, considering we were still wrapped around each other the next morning. The air was stale and heavy with the long hours of sleep, warm with our combined scent. Expanding against my back with every breath, the skin of his belly was hot and dry, a reminder of our current, inappropriate state of undress. I was hyper-aware of the way my skin tingled beneath heavy, muscular arms holding me as close as possible—just as they had been before I succumbed to the bliss of a dreamless slumber. 

The only thing that had changed was the position of his legs. While awake, he'd been content to match me in the fetal position. During the night, however, he'd stretched out and thrust his left leg between my thighs in a gesture that told me more about his level of comfort with the female form than I cared to examine. Thick muscle was pressed against my center in the most intimate fashion I could imagine, but ... I couldn't bring myself to squirm away. I wanted to enjoy it for a few seconds longer, needed his proximity to give me the strength I did not possess while he remained senseless to the world. Throbbing wound above my left eye not withstanding, I couldn't recall a time when I'd been this comfortable. 

The Watchers stirred, begging my attention in their silent, patient way. But I pushed them away with ease, ignoring what their presence could mean about the stability of my mind. Such dreary thoughts had no place here, not this early in the morning, not when there were far more depressing matters to consider. Take, for example, my willingness to lay in bed, snuggling after all I'd done. Pretending things were just fine. Trying not to think about sky-blue, sightless eyes staring into the otherworld ... What would my parents think of me now? Their perfect, smart, resourceful little girl. 

I snorted, blinking back bitter tears. Who was I kidding? An Elite soldier of the Caledonian army and two figments of my imagination were the perfect company for one such as myself. And my parents wouldn't recognize me anyway. Not with what I'd allowed myself to become. Even now, after everything, I couldn't help the urge to sip at the bottomless well of the Elite behind me. So ... much power ... and nothing to stop me from having a little ... taste ... 

"No ..." I whined, hunching my shoulders against the force of the lure, against my own dark nature. I was nothing but a junkie helpless in the hands of a pathetic addiction, capable and willing to place my own life above that of another. When the truth was, sometimes the world was just better without some people living in it. At what point had I gained the wisdom to pass judgment on life or death? In spite of his less than admirable actions toward my person, one could argue General Striker's life was far more valuable than mine. And they wouldn't be wrong—the general had been in charge of countless lives, of leading the charge in the fight for justice. By all accounts, he'd been a great man, doing his best in impossible circumstances. 

What was I in comparison? A naive little girl who condemned a warrior for killing, yet didn't hesitate to do the same when threatened. No, it had stopped being about self defense the instant I'd decided to kill, when I'd withheld my power to heal, rather than disabling him. 

It had been an act of vengeance. 

It had been unnecessary. And how long would it be before I couldn't resist temptation to do so again, before I succumbed to madness and killed with cold indiscrimination to soothe any perceived slights to my pride? 

Who would be there to stop me when it happened, when I fell further? Asher? He had every right to hate me—in fact, should hate me for binding us and for my deplorable behavior the night prior. Even now, lost in a vortex of misery, I indulged myself, seeking comfort when I could not offer the same courtesy to my victims. The Watchers themselves, who asked for nothing more than a moment of my attention, could not sway me from my self-absorption. Such a simple, inconsequential thing to give them, and yet I continued to push them away—and had the gall to be grateful when they returned to me. 

But then ... surely the fact that the Watchers remained at all was evidence enough that they were nothing but the conjurings of a broken mind? Why the hell would any being stay with one such as myself if there was another option? 

Always one to contradict me, even in sleep, Asher began to stir, reminding me that someone, at least, would be with me until the end—though he'd made it clear it wasn't voluntary. And yet, his cock began to thicken against the curve of my bottom, proof that he could make the best of any situation. Lazy, morning arousal chased away the self-hate, a gift from our dual bond, no doubt. His arms tightened around me, restricting my breath for a few seconds, then he relaxed, fingers grazing patches of my skin as he inspected his bed partner in the haze of the morning. I knew the moment he realized there was a naked female trapped in his embrace. He groaned, releasing a torrent of humid breath against my neck and pressed his erection into my thigh. This close to him, my reaction was helpless ... instinctive. My core fluttered, aching with heat and flooding with need in an instant. 

I tensed, heat flushing my cheeks, focusing on the present moment rather than the misery of my past. He'd broken the night's spell and I couldn't let this continue, bewitching comfort and tingling lady bits be damned. Placing my fingers under his forearm, I pushed his arm off my shoulder, wriggling free of him. The action was enough. He stiffened against me and I was sure I could hear him blink the sleep away, felt it when he remembered who he had in his bed. With a muttered curse, his lungs filled with a hiss as he rolled, leaving my back cold with his absence. I pulled the blankets closer and moved to watch him. It was better to foster this animosity between us, easier to fall on old habits than accept what I'd done under the cover of darkness. 

It was better if I was alone. For both out sakes. 

He swung his legs over the far side of the bed, dropping his head into his hands and scrubbing his face. "Fuck me." 

I watched his hunched form though narrowed eyes, trying to untangle the crossed lines growing thick between us before I adopted a craving for meat and a weakness for liquor. Judging by my results, I'd might have had more luck convincing the Emperor to surrender his throne over a spot of afternoon tea. The effort left me reeling, a white soundless fuzz filling my ears. The Watchers, as always, were silent and offered no timely surge of strength. 

A twitch of his head in my direction was the only sign that Asher had felt my distress, but I forced it back as hard as I could, taking in the wide, muscular expanse of his shoulders and the sculpted slope of his lower back. As distractions went, Asher's physique was a terrible source, especially considering the intimate fashion in which we'd woken up. 

Lip curling, I tore my eyes away in a desperate attempt to find inspiration elsewhere. Try as I might, I couldn't ignore his solid, male form. So alien to my own body, so different in every way. 

Yawning, Asher stretched, cracking several stiff joints in the process. When he stood, it was with his typical disregard toward nudity, and I blushed as he sauntered toward the bathroom, averting my eyes from the flexing globes of his ass. When he returned, there was a towel wrapped around his narrow waist, and I breathed a little easier without the distraction. Other than his amorous wake up, he had yet to acknowledge me, but the silent treatment suited me just fine. I would rather pretend he didn't exist than deal with everything that had happened the night prior. Besides, his inattention might afford me another chance to reconstruct my flimsy shield, might help block some of his invasive Caledonian emotions from poisoning my mind further. 

Asher turned toward the window, examining his imperfect right hand in a dusty shaft of morning sunlight. Even from my vantage point on the bed, I could see the angry red scars marking his knuckles and understood the irritated glare pinching his features. It was therefore no surprise when he gathered his strength and made a second attempt to undo the damage. 

On my very first day here, when Sasha had healed the lacerated skin of my back—courtesy of Jasper's bounty hunters—I'd felt the pure, white light of a master healer enter my body. What Asher was doing now, however, was something else altogether. The focus and ease with which Sasha had gone about her business was missing in the man before me. His energy was ... erratic, unpredictable. One moment targeting the skin of his knuckles, then without warning it would shift to the minor damage of a split lip or swollen nose. Healing bits and pieces of every injury, but tending to nothing perfectly. It was something I had intimate knowledge of, this wild magic he wielded. And so I should—Asher had inherited it from me. 

Frustrated with the flaws but unable to fix them, he blew out a noisy breath and turned toward me. For a moment, he did nothing but inspect me with his dark unreadable eyes. Coming to some internal decision, he nodded and took a careful step in my direction. Never mind the grim determination radiating from him, it was his posture that set me off, alerting me to whatever sinister plan brewing in the depths of his mind. I glanced toward the door without bothering to guard my fear, launching myself off the bed mere seconds after 'flee!' crossed my mind. 

Running without a stitch of clothing wasn't my first choice, but under the circumstances I ignored any lingering shreds of decency buried within me. As my fingers brushed the door knob, Asher's unforgiving arms were wrapped around my middle, preventing my flight with laughable ease. Accursed double bond! As if his strength, speed, and stamina weren't enough of an advantage, he had to be able to sense what I was thinking before it could become action? 

Fucking meddlesome Deity. 

I snarled, planted both feet against the sturdy oak door, and pushed against his solid chest with all my might. The sudden backward force surprised him and he stumbled, trying to keep his feet under him. Unfortunately, the jerky half steps jiggled the towel enough to loosen it and the only layer of decency between us slipped to the floor, tangling about his feet as he stumbled back. 

We went down, locked together by the strength in his arms, but I was ready. A great thump reverberated through us, and Asher's breath whooshed out beside my ear. Hoping the wind had been knocked out of him, I threw his arms off me for the second time, scrambled to my feet, and spun. Intending to make another attempt to gain my freedom, I took a half step closer to Asher, preparing to jump over him. He, on the other hand, had recovered enough to wrap a fist around my ankle, halting me in my tracks. 

I squealed, hopping back and shaking my foot, trying to dislodge him, heart pounding at the back of my throat. My foot forced the knuckles of his scarred right hand to connect to the hardwood floor at speed, causing him to release me with a gasp. Searing pain lanced through my own right hand as I backed away, trying to push the phantom sensation out of my mind. 

Ferocious, inventive cursing followed my retreat, which did nothing to calm the frantic thumping of my heart. Desperate to avoid his wrath, I sprinted for the window, though I knew the action was futile even before I found myself pressed against his warn, naked chest. 

He didn't wait for my reaction but hauled me off the ground, turned, then threw me onto his bed. "Stay," he spat, pinning me with an impressive glare while flexing his right hand. Not willing to look away from the threat he posed, I held his gaze and assumed a defensive half crouch. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mila?" 

Knowing my voice would quiver with suppressed anxiety, I held my tongue, opting instead to return his hateful glare with one of my own. 

He was unimpressed. "Your face is bleeding, you fucking lunatic." Still shaking his right hand, he stepped closer to the bed, holding his left palm up. "If you leave that much longer, it's going to scar." 

"I'll add it to the collection." 

"Will you just let me heal it—" 

"Don't touch me," I snapped, baring my teeth and reeling back. 

"Does everything have to be a fight with you, Priestess?" 

I sneered, watching him through narrowed eyes. 

Asher crossed his arms, and my gaze flicked toward the rest of his nude form for an instant before his words captured my attention. "Fine, have it your way. I don't give a shit. Just heal your face before it gets infected." 

"I'm good, but thank you so much for your concern," I replied, reaching for a sheet. 

Shaking, lips white, Asher stared at me for the space of thirty seconds, speechless. Nostrils flaring, the man cursed, seized his rumpled towel, plucked a tiny brass key from the chaos on his desk, and headed for the door. The whole building shook with the force with which he slammed it behind him, but the snick of the lock sliding home echoed in my ears long after Asher's footsteps had faded away. 

I stared after him for a few minutes, trying to decide if I should ignite his temper further. It was a childish impulse, of that I had no doubt, but I considered it nonetheless. Pissing him off no longer served any purpose, and for that matter, it wasn't even as satisfying as it had once been. I'd had a taste of true apathy, knew what it was to watch your world burn, to feel nothing but the void after it was gone. That emptiness ... pure, untainted bliss. And Asher had ruined it. 

Furious, I lurched out of bed, clutching the sheet to my chest, and headed for Asher's modest bookcase. If, on top of everything else, the Priestess Bible had been discovered, I didn't know what'd I'd do with myself. But there is sat, hidden amongst lesser literary works, exactly where I'd left it. Deciding not to disturb it for fear that I might damage this fragile stroke of good luck with the toxicity of my touch, I began to pace Asher's bedroom. 

Not even in his absence could I summon the barest hint of the peace I'd had before he ... before he tricked me out of it. "Damn that man," I hissed, glaring at the door. And the worst part was that I couldn't even blame him for it, not after reaching for him the way I had ... not after seeking comfort in his arms. I'd begged him! Maybe I hadn't spoken the words aloud, but I knew he'd understand either way—how could he not? His access to my emotions through our double bond was the reason I'd allowed myself to give in to such despicable weakness in the first place. He'd known what I needed without my having to ask. As if that could mend the holes in my pride. 

I stubbed my toe on the edge of the desk and clenched my fists in an effort not to scream my frustration aloud. As far as I was concerned, I owed Asher no obligation, and aside from his access to my power, interactions between us would be sparse. At least they would if I had anything to do with it. We weren't friends and I had no intention of assuming the role of bed warmer. He had a harem full of willing slaves to do just such a job. How many times had he and Alicia ... 

My train of thought broke off abruptly with the memory of her name on Asher's lips, echoing through my mind at the exact moment I didn't want to hear it, following me into the most bizarre orgasm I'd ever experienced. How dare he include me in his dalliance with her! It was cruel and unnecessary, even for him. 

"I don't care," I hissed, digging my nails into my palms. What Asher did with his sex slave was none of my concern. And if the intensity of our shared experience was anything to go by, Alicia certainly wasn't an unwilling participant. "I can't save someone who doesn't want rescuing," I whispered, staring at the locked bedroom door. And it was true, though I'd only realized it once it had been spoken aloud. But did this twisted 'hero impulse' mean I was ready to pick up the torch, ready to make the shift from wallowing in self-pity to freedom fighter—in spite of my adamant claims to the contrary? 

Settling back on the bed with a weary sigh, I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin between them as I considered my future. I'd been fighting for so long—and for what? Thinking I'd been anything but a minor irritant to the Empire was the delusion of a child. I understood that now. But ... might there be another way? What if I could rally the Priestesses to fight with me ... what if I didn't have to be so alone? 

And then there was the issue of the mole Asher had mentioned lurking within the Caledonian ranks. I, of course, knew who it was—Tyra Tilcot, a problem, disaster, and tragedy all rolled into one crazy package. It went without saying that woman intended to kill as many Priestesses as she could, and she was willing to stoop to any level to do so. She'd already turned traitor to her own people, after all, was literally sleeping with the enemy to further her goal. There was no telling what she was capable of now that she had the support of the rebels at her back. The one thing she wasn't counting on, however, was me. While I didn't know the particulars of her plot, I knew she would strike eventually, and I had the advantage of surprise—I just had to figure out how to utilize it. I needed someone I could trust with this knowledge—a commodity in which I was sorely lacking. 

Frustrated, I squeezed my eyes shut, and gasped at the sudden stabbing pain above my left eye. The skin there was swollen, tight, and—as I discovered after prodding it with a gentle finger—hot. I wouldn't be any good to the Priestesses if I succumbed to something as mundane as a fever. "So that's it then," I mused as I gathered my strength to chase away the brewing infection. "Decision made. I'm not finished just yet. But ..." I brushed my tangled, still-damp hair off my face. "Things will be different this time." 

The only question now was how to go about this change? It was humbling, admitting my actions left something to be desired, but initiating said change was another issue altogether. I sighed. It wouldn't be terrible to start by admitting Asher might have been right about my eye, though naturally I didn't have to tell him so. Breathing through my nose, I beckoned to the 'Priestess Magic' within me, digging deeper than usual in an attempt to find it. 

Sweat beaded on my forehead as I cursed under my breath, lips tingling with the effort. Why was this so bloody difficult? My gifts hadn't been this hard to manipulate since before I'd tried to modify my canines all those years ago. In fact, I was beginning to feel a little lightheaded and my ears ringing with the effort—and still ... nothing. It was as if the source of my Priestess power had run dry, leaving behind an aching, empty pit. Even the Watchers were absent, when this might have been the most entertaining spectacle yet—a Priestess with no power. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 20



My stomach rumbled, shattering any lingering shreds of concentration I might have possessed. When was the last time I'd eaten? I rubbed the ache in my upper belly, trying to recall, but drew an alarming blank. So much had happened over the last few days. Everything had become a confused blur. Even so, the question remained—why couldn't I access my power? In spite of Marco's beliefs, 'Priestess Magic' was the manipulation of energy—at least in the case of a particularly gifted Priestess, for that side of the spectrum was usually reserved for our Elite counterparts. 

"Focus," I hissed, nostrils flaring. If I had to ask Asher to heal me, I'd never live it down. I started again, speaking aloud in an attempt to keep myself on track, "If energy is the source of my power, it's only logical to assume I won't have access to it if my body is depleted." Groaning, I tried again to visualize the last time food had crossed my lips—and remembered naught but yesterday's stress-induced vomiting. I flopped back against the pillows with a huff. If my reasoning was sound—questionable, given my current circumstances—I wouldn't be able to use my power until I found something to eat. To do that, I'd have to petition Asher, and who knew what he'd ask for in return. 

Figures. 

Wrapping a sheet around my nudity, I rose from the bed, annoyed by the minor aches and pains the movement caused, and trekked toward the bathroom. Once finished with my morning business, I spent a few minutes securing the sheet in a mockery of the Caledonian wrap Asher had provided. All this while avoiding the mirror, secure in knowing I wouldn't like what I saw. When I was ready, I exited the bathroom—and came face to chest with the man himself. 

"What the hell?" I whined, rubbing my nose and glaring at him. Was I really so burnt out that I hadn't felt his return? 

Still shirtless, Asher was blocking the exit, left elbow braced high on the door frame, right hand resting on his hip, clad in nothing a tight pair of boxers. My heart fluttered, and I took an involuntary step back. Why did he insist on cornering me in small spaces? I opened my mouth to demand he move, but my stomach gurgled, breaking the tension. 

Asher smirked and turned away, tossing a crisp, "Come along," over his shoulder. Glaring after him, I clutched my make-shift dress closer, and considered being disobedient just for the sake of it. But before I could act, it struck me that this might be the perfect moment to start being ... smarter about my rebellion, wiser to be selective in my choice of battles. 

To my delight, this stroke of insight came with rare impeccable timing. He'd brought food—lots and lots of Mila-appropriate food. Fruits, vegetables, nuts, bread, and several different types of cheese were piled high on a platter before me. Saliva pooled in my mouth and my lips parted of their own accord. If anyone else had been the one to deliver this glorious bounty, I just might have thrown myself to the floor and kissed their feet in thanks. Because it was Asher, I was prepared to settle for a terse nod, maybe some fleeting eye contact before I began to stuff my face. 

"Now listen closely, Mila, I'm only going to say this once," Asher began, stopping me before I could fall on the feast he'd provided. "You will sit here and eat until I'm satisfied that you've had enough, or—" he paused, seized my left hand, and stretched my arm out between us, "—until I can no longer see bones poking through your skin. Whichever comes first." He released me and crossed his arms over his chest, black eyes giving no room for argument. "When you're finished, you're either going to heal yourself, or I'll do it for you. I don't give a shit which one it is, but I'm not going to look at that monstrosity on your face for longer than I have to." With one foot, he pushed a sparse wooden chair away from the desk, and jerked his chin toward it. "Now sit down, and start eating before I—" 

"'Kay," I said, interrupting him by doing exactly as I was told. 

"What?" His eyes widened before he schooled his features into that familiar neutral mask. "No pithy retort?" He pressed the inside of his wrist to an unmarked patch of my forehead, frowning when I eyed him warily but otherwise didn't pull away. When he was satisfied I wasn't feverish, he grunted and retreated to his plush chair, watching me from across the desk, eyes narrowed. "What are you planning, Mila?" 

Rather than answer, I selected a green apple, sunk my teeth into it, and chewed, allowing my actions to speak for me. I groaned as the juices exploded on my tongue, sour after my unintentional fast. But my body was desperate for nutrition, and it wasn't long before I stopped thinking about the man sitting across from me, stuffing my mouth with as much food as I could. In this at least, Asher and I could agree—I was going to sit here and eat until I could no longer do so. 

This, unfortunately, wasn't a realistic goal, and I remembered why when my stomach began to rebel only a few minutes after I'd started eating. During my first winter as guardian of the forest, I'd almost run out of food three months before the cold season came to an end. The only reason I had survived at all was strict rationing and conserving as much energy as I could. For the last two months I existed in a state as close to true hibernation as a human can get, waking only to eat my daily meal, drink, and relieve myself. 

When spring came, I was in such bad shape capture was begging to look appealing. I didn't have the energy to stand upright, let alone the strength to climb down from my perch. Instead, I settled for thumping into the mud ten feet below and called it a 'graceful landing,' grateful no one was there to witness my vulnerability. Days away from perishing in a sad, lonely heap, I ate any and every bit of green I came across. Grass shoots, flowers, budding leaves—they were all consumed without thought to the consequences. The trouble came less than an hour later when my poor, shrunken stomach was filled beyond its limited capacity. I spent more energy than I could spare puking up a vermilion slurry. 

Lip curling at the memory, I slowed down, pacing myself. Any lingering dizziness had dissipated the moment I'd swallowed my first mouthful, and even as I sat there, I could feel my gifts coming to life within me. The revival was slow, my power sluggish and cold, but the infusion of calories was precisely what I'd needed. And after a few minutes, it seemed the Watchers agreed, for they returned with a vengeance, hovering just beyond the edges of my mind ... observing. 

If I had enough energy to recreate my tag-along phantoms, surely I had enough strength to attempt a healing? Trying to hide a triumphant smile, I pressed my lips together and looked to my lap, feeling my elongated canines press into the tender skin. I didn't look up until I was sure my features had been schooled in an imitation of Asher's neutral mask. 

Drumming his fingers on the desk, Asher was staring at me as I ate, which was odd, for I could feel his hunger as clearly as I felt my own. But if he wanted to be the world's biggest hypocrite, who was I to stop him? Still ... I couldn't resist the urge to test the limits of our bond, wouldn't resist the chance to flex my restored power. If Asher could force me to feel everything he'd done to Alicia, if he could swamp my body with the fervor of unwanted lust at will, why couldn't I employ similar tactics with him? 

Directing my attention back to my lap, I focused on the ache in his belly, letting the sensation settle in my own partially full stomach. Chewing mechanically now, I stared at the fruit in my hands, neither seeing nor tasting it. My attention had turned inward. In spite of the fresh power humming within me, sweat was gathering along my hair line, evidence of the weakness that yet lingered within. Nevertheless, I pushed on, ignoring the increasing rate of my heart. 

Several long minutes ticked by and nothing happened. I knew Asher was feeling the effects of my influence, could feel his hunger gnawing away at the lining of his stomach, but he had yet to react. My lips twitched. Stubborn asshat. Thought he could beat me at my own game, did he? Swallowing any trace of amusement, I licked my lips and met his eyes. 

Arms crossed over his muscular, bare chest, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, Asher presented the very picture of a man rising to meet a challenge. So my ploy hadn't gone unnoticed, then. Fine. If building the hunger within him wasn't working, I'd come at it from the opposite angle as he had during his tryst with Alicia. I narrowed my eyes, picking up a random piece of fruit without breaking eye contact and began to nibble. I focused everything I had on the satisfaction of putting food to mouth, letting that particular brand of euphoria flood my system. 

Humans, as Asher was about to discover, have few primary instincts—seek water to soothe a parched throat, food to chase away the pains of hunger, shelter to make up for our lack of body hair. Until those needs had been met, everything else is irrelevant. A parent, for example, cannot raise their young if there isn't enough food or water to go around, if there isn't some form of shelter to keep the predators and elements at bay. 

Sweat dampened his brow as his stomach groaned in protest of our battle of wills. 

I couldn't help it—I grinned, wide and toothy. "Mm, you sure you're not hungry, sir?" I purred, pushing myself to the limit, determined not to lose and using every tactic I could think of to my advantage. "These apples are perfect. So ripe ..." I took another bite. "So juicy ..." 

An answering smile broke out on his face, and he selected an apple for himself. "You're eating a peach, Mila. But nice try." 

Surprised, I broke eye contact, examining the mystery fruit in my hand, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I win." 

"If you say so, Priestess," he replied, sinking his teeth into the fruit. An infuriating a smirk curved his lips as he chewed, and I glowered, choosing to believe my victory was an honest one. 

Stomach full, hands sticky, and fruit rinds stacked in a neat pile, I'd excused myself and collapsed on his bed, satiated and worn out. Our mental sparing match had taken a lot out of me—more than I had to give, if I was honest. But because he wore the mantle of defeat so well, I would use the memory of Asher's flushed cheeks and sweat slicked forehead to sustain me during any sleepless nights sure to come my way. 

My midmorning nap, however, was not one of these occasions, and I tunneled into his blankets, cocooning myself in warmth and comfort. Assuming Asher's presence had become something of a constant in my life, I paid him no mind as I fell into unconsciousness with the grace of a narcoleptic. 

I don't know how long he let me sleep before he felt compelled to ruin it, but I shouldn't have been surprised. The man had a knack for badgering me when my defenses were down. On this occasion, I was jarred out of sleep with the unique tang of wild magic coursing through my veins. Asher was hovering over me, straddling my hips, one hand pressed to my cheek, knees pinning me inside a silken straight jacket as he attempted to undo the damage on my face. 

"Get off," I snapped, writhing beneath him. 

"Hold still, will you? I'm not very good—" 

He grunted as I lifted my hips off the mattress, trying to dislodge him. "Stop it, Asher! Please, you can't," I tried to fill my lungs, but they had seized with an oppressive heat, throttling my torrent of furious cursing. Tears pooled in my eyes as panic began to sink in. If he was allowed to continue, if he managed to infuse my system with his essence, there was no telling what he might learn about me. He'd know the gritty, intimate details I would never willingly share with anyone, let alone my unpredictable master. Hell, for all I knew, he'd gain enough insight to reclaim the same level of control he'd had before I'd completed our bond. Every ounce of freedom I'd fought for would be wasted, I'd go back to being his obedient plaything, a slave to the chaos of his whims. 

Choking back the sob trying to claw its way free of my throat, I bared my teeth and lashed my head to the side, trying to catch his skin. To my surprise—and relief—he moved back with a huff, allowing me to wriggle free of the blankets. "You'd think I was trying to murder—oomph," he wheezed, unable to continue speaking for the foot I'd planted in his solar plexus. 

Heart and lungs working overtime, I scrambled back, pressing my shoulders against the headboard. My gaze flicked toward the door as Asher clutched his chest, watching me through narrowed eyes, bottom planted firmly at the foot of the bed. I couldn't help it, this instinct to flee. Asher was bigger, faster, stronger, and battle trained. I was outmatched, and I didn't need another lesson. The best course of action was to put a substantial distance between us. But that, of course, was impossible, and I was as much to blame for it as he was. 

"Mila," he started, shifting to a half crouch, ready to spring into action. "Don't do it." I clutched a sheet closer to my skin, noticing for the first time he'd dressed himself. "I did tell you I was going to try to—" he waived a hand in the general direction of my face, "—you know, fix you. What's your problem?" 

Focusing on his face, I tried to force my breathing into a normal, relaxed rhythm. "Don't touch me." 

"Well shit," he sneered. "How'd I know you'd say that?" He tilted his head to stare at the ceiling, fingers curling into a tight fist. When he was able to look at me again, it was after a dramatic, steadying breath. "I've already told you I don't care who does it, I just want that wound healed. It's hideous." 

My lip curled. Just because he was so insistent, I decided then and there not to fix it until the scar was permanent. 

He must have seen the thoughts cross my unguarded face, for he glared at me, then said, "This has to stop, Mila." 

I let the small sounds dominate the room as we stared at each other down. Between the two of us, I was far more comfortable with silence than he ever would be and was content to wait him out. It didn't take long. "Do you understand?" He pressed, arms crossed over a black t-shirt. "We can't keep this up. It has to stop." 

"And what do you propose, oh Master mine?" I spat. And then, filled with sudden inspiration, I shook out my left hand, showing off the glittering gold. "Can you take these Chains off? Can you free me?" 

He didn't hesitate. "Nope." 

"Then it's never going to stop, Asher. I'm never going to forget what you are. What you did." 

"No," he sighed. "I suppose not." 

I raised my eyebrows. 

"I didn't ask you to forget, did I?" he asked, looking to the window. "How much longer do you think you can keep this up before you can't handle it anymore? Before you're reduced to a blubbering heap on my shower floor? Again." 

Heat flushed my cheeks and I dropped my eyes, humiliated. "Why do you care?" I whispered, in part because he hadn't answered the same question the night before, and because I had no valid response to his question. But Asher kept his silence and my eyes flew to his, trying to read his mind through his face. I was unsuccessful. "Why, Asher? You don't need my cooperation. You said it yourself, you've got enough power without me. And you can't fix this," I said with a bitter laugh, gesturing at myself. "I'm going crazy ... hearing voices ..." I looked at my hands, inspecting the rough, chipped nails with a disinterested eye. "I don't even know—" 

How many voices have you been hearing, Mila? Asher whispered in my mind, and I gasped, head jerking up to meet his gaze once again. Thumb and index finger were resting on his original manacle, the one that had allowed him total control over my faculties. He was speaking into the golden cuff, which was glowing with a soft inner light, a slight superior smile gracing his lips. And then everything shifted into focus. I remembered General Tilcot summoning Sasha in a similar fashion when I'd first arrived here, recalled thinking the General's cuff must have functioned like a radio, even as I'd sneered at the gems glittering against his skin. 

"You ..." I trailed off, face slack with the onslaught of memories. "You were actually speaking to me that whole time? It was really you?" 

"Who else?" 

"I thought ... I mean, I must have forgotten ..." Tears blurred my vision as some of the tension seeped out of my body. "I thought I was going crazy." 

"I wouldn't exactly say you aren't," Asher drawled, familiar arrogant smirk returning to his full, lower lip. 

"Oh my God. I don't even know what—" But I stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide as the details of Asher's question solidified in my mind. How many voices had I heard? Only one, just his. But then, the more relevant question, though Asher couldn't have known, was why I'd pluralized the word 'voices' in the first place. What occurred to me next was another obvious piece of the puzzle when viewed from this side of the time line. 

The Watchers had been aptly named. They had never spoken a single word to me, aloud or otherwise. 

"What if I were willing to call a truce between us?" he asked, voice so soft that for a moment, I wasn't sure if he was still speaking in my mind or not. 

A truce? Between Asher and I? "I don't even know what that means," I replied, unable to make eye contact. 

He sighed, and from my peripherals I watched him run a hand through his thick black hair. "Neither do I." 

"Well then—" 

"There's more going on than what happens between you and I, Mila," he said, reclining on the opposite end of the mattress, legs stretched out before him, weight balanced on his elbows. "I can't ... focus on everything at once." 

From my vantage point across the bed, I watched his tanned cheeks flush with color and knew this confession wasn't an easy one for him to make. Especially to me. But I recognized the olive branch for what it was and respected him for what he didn't say. He couldn't apologize for the war, the way he'd treated me, or for the fundamental differences between our two cultures. There was no changing the past, and Asher was smart enough to save himself the wasted effort. 

But a truce? Impossible. "It will never work," I began, looking away, at a loss. 

"Well not with that attitude, it won't." 

I growled, shifting against the headboard before responding. "How am I supposed to just ... just look away from everything that's happened, Asher? How do you do it, huh? Tell me that, you fucking—" 

"You think I'm not angry, Mila?" he snapped, eyes blazing beneath dark lashes. "You think I don't want to wring your pretty little neck with my bare hands when I think about—" he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose with trembling fingers. "At the moment, nothing would give me more pleasure than indulging the violent side of my nature, believe me. But we are bound, you and I. Which means I can't take it out on you, without also punishing myself. And that," he whispered, pinning me with a heavy look, "Is not something I care to do." 

"Why hell not?" I cried, incredulous, ignoring the dangerous glimmer in his eyes in my haste. "This is as much your fault, as it is mine." I wrapped my limbs closer to my torso before continuing. "Besides, I still owe you a debt, Asher. If we're keeping track." 

"That right?" he asked through white lips. When I didn't rise to the bait, he continued, sitting forward and crossing his legs. "Because that's not the way I see it, Mila, not when I can't go to the baths or be shirtless without worrying about the consequences. No, you've landed your strike, Priestess. And your aim was true." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 20



"Somehow I think you'll survive having to wear long sleeves," I replied, rolling my eyes. At the very least, it wouldn't stop him from indulging in dalliances identical to the one he'd had with Alicia. After all, one did not need to be fully undressed to engage in amorous activities, and I would breathe easier knowing I was immune to such mundane, human urges. 

Asher glared at me, rubbing at the Chain embedded in his left forearm. "It's more than complicated than that, you moron. A lot of business is conducted in the baths." 

"That's stupid," I replied, blushing for no good reason. "And weird." 

"No it's not," Asher retorted, a sardonic smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "There aren't very many places to hide a weapon when you're naked. And none that are easy to get to without being in a certain amount of ... discomfort." 

"Ew. I could have gone a lifetime without that particular image in my mind, thank you." 

He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "It's a part of my culture." 

"How many people have tried to kill you?" I blurted before I could censor my curiosity. 

"Excluding you?" The blush deepened on my already hot cheeks, but I nodded with a tiny answering smile on my lips. "I don't know. Enough that I've lost count." 

"That's ... a terrible way to live." 

Asher snorted and moved a little closer. "Aw, you do care." 

With wide eyes I opened my mouth to slap him with a witty retort but nothing came out. I was tired ... of fighting with him, of being on guard all the time, tired of everything, really. Trying to figure out what to say next, I watched him from the corner of my eye, picking at my makeshift dress. "What if I don't want to live like that?" I asked in a small voice, chewing the inside of my cheek. "What if I'm sick of constantly looking over my shoulder? What if I can't live as a slave ... as your slave?"  

Silence dominated the space between us for a few seconds while Asher considered my questions, obsidian eyes narrowed in concentration. I did everything I could to remain still, to resist testing his mood through our bond, for my question was a valid one, the very heart of the angst between us. 

A muscle flexed in his jaw, then he nodded and said, "I can't give you your freedom, Mila, you know that. I can't change your status, and I can't help you get vengeance on my people, either." 

I looked away, fighting back frustrated tears. "I know, that's why a truce between us is—" 

"Perhaps truce isn't the right word," he allowed, capturing my attention as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Had he always had facial hair ... or was it yet another detail that had escaped my scattered attention? I rubbed my temples. "How about ... a ceasefire?" 

"Is there a difference?" 

"Not really," he said, chuckling. "But in my mind, a truce implies a partnership. For some bizarre reason, I very much doubt that either of us are willing to go quite that far." In spite of myself, I smiled, hiding it by dropping my head. "Instead of defining ... whatever this is, why don't we just stop trying to kill each other for now and go from there?" 

"I ..." My voice trailed off as we made eye contact, each regarding the other from opposite sides of his massive bed. 

"As for wanting to continue living," Asher murmured when words continued to fail me. "Well ... I suppose that's a decision you'll have to come to on your own. As much as I'd like to force your opinion on the matter." 

We lapsed into silence then, and although some might have been uncomfortable with the heavy tension in the room, I was not—any previous encounters between he and I had virtually been life and death scenarios. The quiet was ... a nice change of pace, which allowed me the time to consider his offer. Part of me knew I'd never be able to truly drop my guard around Asher, but it would be nice to be able to relax around him, even if the arrangement wasn't permanent. Besides, if Asher continued to turn to his pleasure slaves for anything carnal in nature, I couldn't come up with any good reasons to turn him down. 

I opened my mouth to ask him not to include me in his heinous sexual games with Alicia, but I realized he was right again. It would be best not to define our ceasefire, easier on us both to allow it to develop naturally and deal with whatever should come. Telling him who he could fuck, and where, wouldn't start us out on a strong foot. 

Instead, I closed my eyes and gathered my replenished strength and concentrated on the dull ache on my forehead. Heat was radiating from the wound, the first sign of a brewing infection and that I'd let this go on far too long. Brow wrinkled, I sent everything I had at the invasive bacteria, sweat prickling my scalp with the effort. The Watchers flickered to life within me, no doubt roused by my attempts, dividing my attention. Knowing Asher's keen gaze was on me, I resisted the urge to growl at them and redoubled my efforts to close the ragged edges of skin. Maintaining such intense focus was exhausting, and without thinking I tapped into our bond when my strength began to wane. 

For the first time in my life I didn't relax until I was sure the skin was pale and unblemished, then opened my eyes. Asher was indeed watching me, sitting still and imposing across from me. He continued to stare for a few moments more, as if to assure himself that I had indeed repaired the damage, nodded once, then stood, accepting my answer. 

Lack of words, or no, it was the most important conversation we'd ever had. 

I'd just struck a deal with the devil himself. 

The rest of the day was spent in the limbo between peace and outright conflict. While Asher sat behind his ornate desk reading through a messy stack of paper, I spent most of my time consumed by eating, sleeping, or ignoring the Watchers as they bounced around in my mind. Any attempt at communication between the two real people in the bedroom was tense at best, for in spite of our earlier conversation and subsequent agreement, letting go of past animosity was proving difficult. 

When I'd made my way through the first platter of fruit and veggies, Asher rose without comment, opened the door, and shouted for more. At the top of his lungs. 

"I can get it," I muttered, uncomfortable with the idea of being waited upon by Beau. 

"It's fine." 

To my surprise, it was not Asher's hated family slave who appeared a few minutes later, but Marco who handed his superior a fresh tray without so much as a glance in my direction. Senses blinded by Asher's strength, I hadn't been aware of Marco's presence in the house, though he must have been relaxing on the floor below us. I glowered at my roommate and made a belated attempt to 'see' past him. It took a few minutes, and more energy than I'd intended to use, but Marco's unique life force sparkled in the distance of my mind. From what I could gather, he was sulking, no doubt annoyed at the prospect of having to serve me, of all people. I grinned. 

"What are you doing?" Asher asked, jarring me out of my trance. 

"Nothing." 

He snorted. "That didn't feel like nothing, Priestess. And you're a terrible liar." 

"I don't owe you anything, Asher. Least of all an explanation," I replied, muscles tensing for a fight. "Besides," I continued when he scowled at me. "It's Priestess business. You wouldn't understand." 

"Is that so?" 

I nodded, turning away from the intensity in his gaze. 

"Priestess business is my business, Mila. You saw to that," he drawled, flexing his scarred right hand and admiring his new manacles. 

My eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. If Asher was trying to get me to teach him to use his latent Priestess gifts, he was in for a disappointing lesson. Any of the other Priestesses would be a better choice—even the least powerful of us knew more theory than I did. Eying him without moving my head, I opened my mouth, intending to voice this sentiment when a simple truth occurred to me. Asher had no one else to turn to. To do so would be to risk another Elite discovering his—or rather, our secret. But would it be smarter to divulge pieces of my Priestess knowledge, or keep him ignorant? 

Now that we were back in occupied Elora, surrounded by Elites whose reaction to our double bond was likely to be homicidal, there was but one valid answer. My survival now depended on the man before me, and vice versa. What if Asher found himself in a situation where knowing something about the Priestess power lurking within him could save his—our—lives, and I didn't tell him out of spite? 

Huffing in disgust, I turned to face him and said, "I was searching for Marco." 

Asher blinked, the only outward sign that I'd surprised him with my decision to answer. "Searching for him?" 

I nodded, and flopped back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. "I can sense his life force." 

"Can you now?" Asher whispered, setting a stack of documents aside in order to give me his full attention. "Just Marco, or can you sense anyone else?" 

I swallowed the bitter sarcasm bubbling in my chest, and slung an arm over my eyes. "I'm an Empath, Asher. I can feel ... everything." 

"Interesting," he rumbled, and I ground my teeth. 

Telling him, an enemy soldier, anything at all was to risk him using the information against me—but it wasn't as if I had another valid choice. I'd just have to trust my instincts. For now. "Don't play stupid. I know you can do it too." I continued, not bothering to open my eyes. 

"News to me." 

"Hn," I grunted, hating myself for what I was about to do. "How else did you know where to find me during my Great Escape?" 

"I just ..." His hesitation prompted me to crack an eye, hoping to watch, and enjoy, the confusion flicker across his features—but I couldn't get an accurate read on him. He was hazy ... as if he'd thrown up a wall between us. But that was impossible. 

"You just, what?" I pressed, mimicking his earlier relaxed pose—legs outstretched before me, weight balanced on elbows. When he frowned but didn't answer, I filled in the blank. "You could sense where I was. Maybe you don't want to admit it, or maybe you want to blame it on our dual bond, but I know what you were doing." 

"Oh? And why is that?" 

"Because," I replied, a confident smile tugging at my lips. "There's no way you could keep up with me in the wilderness. Unless you had an advantage." 

He returned my smile, though his eyes had darkened with the challenge. "Says the girl who's been caught twice." 

"Oh please, I had limited resources and two armies at my back." A humorless bark of laughter burst from my lips before I said, "And if the rebel general hadn't tried to kill me, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now." Asher's eyes widened, but before he could pester me with questions, I pressed on. "No. I won, Asher. I was home free, and there wasn't a damn thing you could have done about it." 

"Then why are you here, Mila?" 

I grinned, baring my modified canines. "Food's good." 

"Fair enough," he said, chuckling. "So ... what's Marco doing right now?" 

"Probably drinking all your fancy, expensive liquor and cursing my name." 

"Probably?" Asher asked with a smirk. "I thought you said you could sense everything?" 

"I can," I hedged, crossing my arms over my chest. "But ... it's harder when you're near me." 

"Ah, yes. I do tend to have that effect on women." 

"You're a pig." 

Asher nodded, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Thank you. I do try." 

"Obviously not a compliment—" 

"You were saying?" he asked, interrupting me with an arrogant flick of his wrist. 

I made a sound at the back of my throat, and considered giving him up for a lost cause. But my sense of self preservation, as always, prevailed. "It's ... harder when you're near me." 

"Why?" 

"Because it isn't easy to ... 'see' past you, if that makes any sense. Marco's life force just isn't as ... powerful as a bonded Elite." 

"And because of these," he said, lifting his bejeweled wrists, "Our bond is twice as strong as any other Elite-Priestess combination?" 

"Exactly," I replied, and we lapsed into a contemplative silence. Having a semi-civil conversation with Asher had me on edge—the situation was sure to unravel at any moment. I had to be ready. 

"Can you show me?" he asked after a few minutes and I blushed, cursing my fair Tritan skin under my breath. 

I shrugged. "I don't know." 

Without warning he stood, covering the distance between us in three ground eating strides. "Try." 

"Not until you say 'please.'" 

He dropped onto the side of the mattress, a truly wicked smile spreading across his features. "Please," he murmured, moving close enough to touch me if the mood struck. 

I swallowed, hard, and with a bravado I wasn't feeling said, "Much better. Servitude suites you, Asher." 

Chuckling, he folded himself into a cross legged sit before me. "So. How do we do this?" 

"We agreed to a ceasefire, not an alliance. What's in it for me?" 

A lecherous grin spread across his face, and before I could wave him off he jumped on the opening. "There are so many things I can teach you, Mila." 

"Gross. No thank you. I want useful information, not a disease. Or we don't have a deal." 

"Feisty today, are we? Very well. Something useful, hmm?" He pressed his fingers to his lips, tilting his head to the side as he thought. "You know, I don't think I owe you any information after all, my reckless little Priestess." 

I shifted away from him. "And why's that?" 

"I've saved your life more times than I can count in the last few days. Seems to me like you could show a little gratitude." 

"Oh, come on," I retorted. "You didn't do that for me, and we both know it. Our bond isn't all power boosts and new talents, is it? You can't let me die if you want to live. But if that's the angle you're going to take, I can easily argue that I've saved your life simply by not taking my own. No deal." 

Asher watched me for the space of three breaths, eyes narrowed in contemplation. But then he arrived at some internal decision and said, "I might have something to trade, but you'll have to wait for a few days before I can give it to you." 

I frowned. "Why?" 

"Because I said so." 

"Nope. No deal." 

"It'll be worth it. Just trust me." 

"Ha!" I cried, indulging myself with the outburst. "Trust you? I know I've had my moments, but please tell me I don't look as stupid as that." 

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then I'll show you how to use the Chains for communication." 

"Can I use them to speak with anyone but you?" 

"Now you're just being difficult." 

"Answer the question." 

A muscle flexed in his jaw. "It's usually a direct line of communication from Elite to Priestess. Works one way. But in this case ..." 

"Just a thought," I said when he trailed off, not needing him to clarify the dynamics of our dual bond. "Why the hell would I want to contact you?" 

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped, shaking his head. "That's my offer. Take it or leave it." 

Several clever responses came to mind but I bit them back, taking the time to consider his proposition. Conflict, if history was any indication, was an integral part of my life. It would be wise to plan for it instead of continually being caught unawares. The sad truth was, if Asher could turn to no one but his untrained Priestess for answers, I had even fewer options. In spite of what I'd said, I knew I could trust Asher to do one thing above all else—save himself. And as luck would have it, said instinct may very well be the key to my continued survival. 

"Fine. But you first," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. 

When Asher offered his hand I frowned in confusion. Surely there was no need to shake on our little agreement? Unless ... might there be an ulterior motive for wanting the skin to skin contact? I wouldn't put it past him to use my cooperation to his advantage, to poison my mind with his flawed Caledonian emotions and rational. 

At my lengthy pause, he sighed and closed the gap between us, pulling my right hand into his grasp. "Creative placement for the control Chain," he mused, tracing the gold embedded in the flesh of my bicep with a delicate finger. "Might even be able to hide it with a few modifications to your dress." 

Gooseflesh followed the path of his touch, and I shivered. "Get on with it, will you?" 

He smirked, closing his strong, tanned fingers around mine, dwarfing my smaller digits. The disparity in size was alarming—it didn't seem possible for us to be from the same species, regardless of whichever subclass we might belong to. From something as basic as gender, to the intangible makeup of our psyches, Asher and I were opposites. And as such, we would always be in conflict. 

The Watchers had faded away some time ago, and for the first time since they'd begun their silent watch in my mind, I hoped they stayed quiet and hidden. At least while Asher and I were holding hands. It wasn't the fear of him discovering them that sparked this caution, but the fear that he wouldn't. I wasn't ready to know if I was the only one who could sense them, wasn't prepared to deal with the significance that particular knowledge might mean about me. 

With his free hand, Asher stroked my bicep with a little more force, features scrunched as if he were searching for something. My lower abdomen flexed in response, sending a silly little flutter through my chest. I swallowed. Why did something as benign as his touch have an effect on me at all? He didn't smell that good, for fucksakes ... surely there were better looking men in the world, men who weren't amused by disobedient, bratty slave girls. 

In silent contradiction, my heart rate tripled as he guided my fingers to the warm band. "Feel that? Those two bumps on either side of the cuff? If you don't know what you're looking for, they'll feel like a defect in the gold." I nodded when I felt the raised bumps, not trusting my voice with him so close. "That's the control for communication. If you press them at the same time it will open a link between us. I'll only be able to hear your voice, not anyone around you, but I don't recommend using it in the presence of another. It will raise ... uncomfortable questions." 

I shook my head, baffled by the simple explanation for my assumed madness—until I felt the Watchers flicker to life within my mind, and I wrenched free of his touch. No, not quite absolved of the diagnosis then. Ruthless, I shoved them away, urging them to sink into obscurity, unable to relax until they did as I bid. 

"Go on then," he said with a tired sigh, withdrawing from my personal space. "Give it a try." 

Pressing both buttons at once, the control cuff began to glow with a soft inner light. I turned my head to the right, bringing my lips closer to the gold and whispered, "You're an asshole." 

He rolled his eyes. "Charming." 

"Did it work?" I replied, lips twitching with amusement. 

An affirmative nod was his only response before he changed the subject. "Your turn." 

"Well it's kind of hard to explain," I began, frowning. 

"Backing out already, Mila?" 

"Shut up," I retorted, though it was without the usual blistering heat. "I've never had to explain what I do before. Just ... gimme a sec." 

"What? How is that possible?" he scoffed, eyes glimmering with impatience. 

"No one taught me how to do any of this, Asher," I replied in a quiet voice. "I had to figure it out myself. Trial and error." I sighed, ignoring the looming sadness. "Priestesses are connected to energy. We can feel the life force of living things, which as far as I know, is the opposite of what an Elite does. You use the energy, but most Elites can't feel it, correct?" When he nodded, I pushed on, frowning in concentration. "The Priestesses who can heal, the most powerful of us, are actually able to do both, from what I've gathered. They can feel what's wrong and guide energy to repair it. That's my theory anyway," I said, glancing up to see if he was following. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 20



"Go on." 

"Right, well, this is where I'm different. Because I was never formally trained, I became an Empath. I feel energy ... differently than the others. My life force is directly tied to the earth, and to those around me. No one told me how to build a wall to separate myself from it. I didn't know any better at the time," I whispered, eyes flicking back to his. "But it's done now." Sasha's serene face flashed before my eyes, her dire warning echoing in my mind. I found myself blinking back the burn of tears, if for no other reason than Asher had seen quite enough waterworks from me. I cleared my throat. "Anyway, emotions are just another kind of energy, really. More volatile, of course. But energy all the same. If you're sensitive enough, if you're ... powerful enough, you can tie yourself to their emotions and use it to manipulate them. I learned that by trial and error too." 

Asher nodded. "With Marco." 

"And everyone else." I lifted my shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, inspecting the bedsheets. "I just got really good at it with Marco because he was the only one I could focus on while we were alone. But that doesn't really matter," I said, gathering my thoughts. "I think you're like me. More powerful than your peers. Naturally able to use and sense energy. I felt it that first night, after you whipped me and threw me into a cellar," I drawled, shooting him a bitter glare. But his face was stoic, offering no apology for the past so I continued, "I think you could sense that I was a Priestess but you didn't know how to prove it to yourself. If that's true," I pressed when he didn't confirm or deny my suspicions. "I think it will make it easier for you to handle any Priestess skills you've inherited from me." I was rambling now, but his silence coupled with his proximity was making me jittery and I couldn't seem to stop. "I'm terrible at this, but—" I paused to wipe at my damp brow. "I think the best way to start, is with me." My face was burning, and I was finding it quite impossible to make eye contact with the man sitting across from me. 

"How, Mila?" he prompted, voice calm. 

Pressing my lips together, I tried to think of a way out of this, only to draw a blank. The Watchers were silent for the moment, and if I wanted Asher to be prepared for anything that might come his way, I had to go through with this. "Here," I all but growled, extending my hand. "I'll show you what it feels like." 

There was a brief flash of something dark in Asher's eyes, and I almost jerked my hand back in surprise before he seized my fingers and replaced his neutral mask. "Do go on." 

"Close your eyes," I commanded, not wanting him to watch me during an intimate moment such as this. My palms were sweating, which deepened my blush for some absurd reason, but I took a breath and turned my attention in, focusing on the core of my power. It was still weakened from my adventure, still reluctant to bend to my silent commands, but after a few moments it began to build. "Feel that?" I asked, trying to telegraph years of practical learning without words. 

"Yeah," he whispered, breathless. 

"Okay, now follow the energy trail until you can see me in your mind. You should feel a pull in my direction ..." 

Asher's grip tightened on my hands as he concentrated, but the sharp, insignificant pain was enough to rouse the dark nature of my Empathy. It stirred deep inside my mind, shivering in anticipation ... Asher was so close ... a seductive beacon of raw power. I wanted to whip the darkness into a frenzy, to push until my Empathy was fully roused and ready to hunt for the ecstasy pounding through the veins of those around me ... so much more powerful than the rabble hiding within the mountain ... so ... tempting ... 

Panting, I pulled away, breaking the skin to skin contact between us before I completely lost control. "You get the picture," I said breezily, putting on an artificial smile while avoiding his eyes. "I'm sure you'll be able to figure the rest out on your own. Just 'look' past me if you need to sense—" 

"Mila," Asher barked, startling me into making eye contact. His face was white, mouth hanging open with a comical look of shock etched on his features. "What the hell was that?" 

I reeled back. "I knew this was a mistake." 

He lunged forward and seized my shoulders, preventing me from fleeing his presence. "Mila." 

"What?" I snarled, trying to free myself. 

"Care to explain just what the fuck that was?" 

"Not particularly," I said, squirming. To his credit, Asher didn't react to my petulant retort, merely continued to scrutinize me with dark eyes until I felt like crying all over again. "I already told you you couldn't fix this mess, didn't I? Will you stop staring at me like that?" 

"Tell me." 

"No." 

"For fucksakes, Mila!" he shouted, shaking me. "This isn't a fucking game. I knew I could feel you slipping over the last week, I just didn't realize—" 

"What?" I asked, getting caught on his words. "I knew it! You were tracking me with your Priestess senses, weren't you?" 

"Yes, because that's the most important issue at the moment." 

"Why, Asher? Why lie? Why let me explain all of that if you already knew how to do it?" 

He snorted, eyes narrowed as he flooded our bond with his fury. "Why, information, of course. One can never know enough about the enemy, can they?" 

A rock struck the bottom of my stomach, and I cringed. But his logic was sound. "Fair enough." 

"Now. Before I change my mind about beating you senseless, tell me what the fuck just happened, Mila, or so help me—" 

"I've been trying to tell you," I replied, head drooping in defeat. "I'm ... losing control." 

"Of what?" he snarled, face inches from my own. 

"Of my power ... of ... everything." 

"Explain." 

I shivered. His fingers were digging into my arms, hard enough to bruise muscle, but I didn't pull away. The pain was refreshing, grounding me. "Sasha was right. I'm ... unstable. And it's getting worse ... harder to resist. It started with Marco," I said, curling into his steely grip. "I had to drain him of energy to keep him subdued, but there were side effects. Incredible side effects," I breathed, viciously beating my Empathy back, while flirting with the urge to embrace it. "I didn't need to sleep ... not with that much stolen energy coursing through my veins," I whispered, voice inaudible to anyone but the man whose breath warmed my cheeks. "The night is so beautiful when you can feel everything like that. There's so much power, Asher, ripe for the taking. I can smell it with every breath I take. Taste it on the wind. It whispers to me, begging me to take what's mine. To seize it. And I know if I do it, if I ... let it happen, I'll be unstoppable." I swallowed, trembling under his hands. "I told you I'm a monster. I warned you." 

"Hey," he breathed, shaking me again, gentler this time. "Stop it. You're going to be fine." 

My mouth dropped open. "Fine?How can you say that? After what you just felt. I can barely control it, Asher. It's only a matter of—" 

"Mila." 

"—of time before I kill someone else. But next time it won't be a heart attack—" 

"Mila! Stop. Breathe." 

To my horror, there were tears streaking down my heated cheeks. "I'm going to drain them dry, and I won't be able to stop. I won't want to stop. It will never end." 

"Stop," he murmured, pressing a hand over my mouth. "Stop." 

My heart was hammering inside my chest as visions of destruction filled my mind, frustrated tears wetting Asher's hand against my lips. He could quiet me all he wanted, it would make no difference in the end. All I had to do was reach out, and take— 

Alien, icy calm settled over my mind so fast, I was left blinking in confusion, the chaos hell storm whirling in my mind completely buried under a thick layer of cold. Asher's dark eyes filled my vision, calm and neutral. A life raft. While his right hand had put a stop to my raving, the left was pressed to my cheek, feeding me the strength I could see burning behind his neutral, warrior's mask. At some point, he'd pulled me into his lap, draping my legs over his knee as he supported my upper body against his shoulder. Was this what Asher felt in stressful situations? Goddess ... it was perfect. 

"Better?" he asked, searching my face. 

Words, as they so often did, failed me. All I was capable of was a slack jawed nod, hardly having the presence of mind to move my head, hypnotized by the cool strength flooding our bond. 

"Good. Now you're going to listen." He ran his hand through my hair, the gesture soothing where words could not. "What you've just described is almost exactly what young Elites spend years training against. I imagine it's our version of an Empath, as you call it. It's rare that an Elite escapes the Empire's mandatory training, and rarer still for one of us to lose control like you have, but it's been known to happen from time to time. We don't have a name for those poor souls because they don't live very long." I shuddered in his arms yet couldn't look away. "They die in agony and take a lot of people with them before they go. To make it worse, I think you've become a combination of an Empath and one of these Elite nameless. Some sort of twisted hybrid between the two." 

"But ... the riot. This ... this was ..." 

He shifted my weight, his knee popping beneath me. "It started happening before our bond was completed?" I blinked. "Then perhaps the ties between our two people are closer than I thought. The second set of Chains may be aggravating something that was there before, but obviously I can't say for sure." 

I nodded again. Part of me had been expecting it to end like that, drunk on stolen power and soaked in the blood of my victims. Any fear I might have felt at his blunt words was absent. 

"But in spite of all of that, I've got good news for you, my wild, reckless little Priestess." 

A frown drew my brows together, crinkling the skin there. 

"I don't know if you'll ever be free of these ... dark urges, Mila. But I spent the first ten years of my career training against your affliction," he murmured, fingers drawing lazy patterns against the base of my skull. "And I will help you master it." 

Tearing my gaze away from his, I blinked, trying to put my thoughts into some form of coherence. "In return for what?" 

His impromptu massage didn't falter, but the muscle along his jaw flexed. It was a few seconds before he answered. "Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something, Priestess. For now though, let's just focus on keeping you alive. We'll worry about your payment another day." 

After I'd gotten a hold of myself, we spent every moment of the next two days doing just that. Training under Asher's guidance was a completely different experience from the precious few moments I'd spent under Sasha's wing. During the first half hour, I came to understand one thing with more clarity than I'd ever known anything before—my Elite counterpart had completely outpaced me in the race for dominance between us. He was more disciplined, focused, and had the confidence to do something with his talents, while the hunt for more power had been rotting my mind and soul. Asher had been examining his new Priestess gifts with the single minded determination born of one trained from birth to utilize any and all resources within his grasp. As he'd indicated, his information fishing had been a test of my knowledge—a test I'd failed in typical, spectacular Mila fashion. 

But the gaps in my education had given us a starting point, and to his credit, Asher hadn't commented on my shortcomings, preferring instead to solve the problem through action. The training itself was grueling, and I was completely unprepared. A man with a mission, Asher was relentless, not allowing me a moment's rest, pushing me as hard as he could until he could push no more. And then he'd wake me up before dawn by invading my mind, and we'd do it all over again the next day. 

To my distress, it was during these early morning awakenings that the Watchers were most active, and I'd been terrified of Asher discovering them. If he had indeed sensed them, however, he made no comment—which either confirmed they were figments of an unhinged imagination, or Asher's Priestess senses weren't as sharp as he claimed. But because I could disprove neither theory, I chose to ignore it, allowing the Watchers access to my mind during training without shoving them away. 

Asher's method was not unlike that of the Priestess', though considering the similarities between our two people, I shouldn't have been surprised. Sasha and I had engaged in hours of meditation, only stopping for sustenance and the occasional use of the facilities. 

The Elites, on the other hand, added another, more violent element to the mix. As I tried to contain the wrath of my dark stirrings, Asher assaulted my mind with everything he had, battering at my pathetic mental defenses without mercy. If nothing else, it forced me to construct a frail shield between us, which in turn allowed for fleeting moments of peace. Keeping this new shield intact was taxing work, but it offered a respite from the constant need to feed the darkness, and I threw myself into the effort. At the end of every session, I was left utterly exhausted, able to nothing but flop into bed fully clothed, seeking oblivion. 

Sleep, prior to my tutelage under Asher, hadn't come easy to me. Living in constant fear of being captured by slavers, I'd learned to snag moments of sleep when and where I could. Having a permanent residence in the trees made my life marginally easier, but some part of my consciousness was always alert and ready to fight. Maybe it was because of the extreme duress I'd been under for the last several days, or perhaps it was due to Asher's intense training regime, but on the second night of our cease fire I dreamt for the first time in years. 

Visions of my parents, alive and well, flickered through my mind. Where one might have expected the imaginary reunion to be filled with anguished tears, I accepted their return to my life with little celebration. After all this time apart, I'd come to terms with the separation from my former life, had trained myself to think of the early years with my parents as if it were a life lived by another. And so, when given the chance to speak with them again, real or imagined, I simply sat with them and talked, wasting nothing on the irrelevant. 

We spoke of my time in the forest, of all the fascinating little bits and pieces of information I'd learned while I had been fortunate enough to call it my home. I babbled until I couldn't think of anything more to tell them and my voice was hoarse with overuse. I told them of the wildlife I'd learned to coexist with, of the clever squirrels who were responsible for my survival, and of the glorious mountain lion who had inspired my fierce visage. But those memories, laced with the fresh horror of losing it all forever, were tainted with a profound sadness I had yet to come to terms with. 

Strong arms encircled my entire being, and rough fingers wiped at the forbidden tears wetting my cheeks. I sighed at the contact, relaxing into the embrace in a way that would likely have been impossible had I been I conscious, grief forgotten in an instant. For the first time in working memory, I was content. Warm, fed, and unburdened, I was seconds from slipping back into a dreamless slumber, content to let the memory of my parents slide back into the past. That is, until I realized I couldn't recall the particulars of my parent's features. I'd lost them under the weight of the passing years, and it occurred to me that I might like to see my father's face one last time, might cherish my mother's pale beauty if this were indeed the last time we spoke. 

When I tried to pull back his arms tightened around me, restricting my movement. "Shh," he whispered, tangling his fingers in my hair. "Sleep." 

I resisted for the space of several heartbeats, drifting farther from the dream when I was quite suddenly filled with an irresistible fatigue. 

And I slept. 

The next morning would have been called perfect by many, with the cloudless autumn sky a picturesque backdrop for the colorful songbirds darting to and fro. For the two people holed up in a two story town house, however, such a description was sorely lacking. 

"God damn it, Asher, will you ease off?" I snapped, collapsing on the carpet in a quivering heap, palms pressed to either side of my head. "You don't have to be so bloody heavy handed all the time, you know." 

He grinned, watching me with calculating eyes, a thrill sweeping through our bond. "Hey now, don't get pissy with me because you can't handle it, Priestess." 

"Can't handle—" I choked, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to control my temper. "Subtle." 

"Can you blame me?" he drawled, stretching his arms high above his head. "Manipulating you is far too easy." 

"I'm glad you're having fun," I hissed, nostrils flared, breathing in shallow, controlled pants. "Listen, I'm trying to be civil, but—" 

He interrupted me with a derisive snort, stripping his shirt off with a wrinkled nose and disappearing into his closet. 

"You're making it incredibly difficult!" I shouted after him, struggling to my feet and trying to ignore the play of toned muscles gliding along his back. 

"Forgive me if I don't take lessons in civility from the girl who knows more about trees than table manners." 

"I know a lot about poisonous plants that grow in this climate, too." 

When he emerged from the closet, he was buttoning a fresh white dress shirt, though for several long seconds the taut, bronze skin of his lower abdomen was visible. "Let me guess," he said, his infectious amusement forcing a smile to form on my lips. "Trial and error?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"I'm sure I could get it out of you." 

I turned away to hide my flushed cheeks, licking my lips to dampen the parched skin. "That won't be necessary," I said, voice cracking. "I can organize a demonstration. Just for you." 

"Tempting though your offer may be," he replied, closing the distance between us in one step, trailing feather light fingers along the nape of my neck. "I think what I've got in mind would be more ... pleasurable for both of us. Who knows, might even help you sleep. Might ... ease the tension." 

"Odd," I mused, glancing at him, lower stomach clenching at the husky timbre of his voice. "You seem to have me confused with one of your sex slaves." 

His features darkened. "Oh, believe me, Mila, it's quite impossible to confuse you with any of them." 

I flinched, eyes landing anywhere but his face, heat burning my cheeks. "Good." 

"If you want a lesson, darling, all you have to do is ask. I'd be happy to accommodate you without all this—" he fluttered his hand in front of my face, "—bitter posturing." 

For several seconds, all I could do was stare at him in open mouthed shock. "I'm not—you can't be serious," I stuttered, back pedaling. 

"Yes, yes. You're an asexual island, Mila. I get it," he drawled, infuriating smirk back in place. "Let me know when you tire of that ivory tower and your prudish morals, little girl. Who knows, if you ask me nicely, I might just be persuaded to give you another taste of what you're so desperately craving. Since you're so fond of demonstrations, and all." 

If I had been capable of forming a coherent sentence at that moment, Asher's ears would have bled. As it was, I managed a strangled little squeak and several half baked partial retorts before I threw up my hands and admitted defeat. "Don't you have to go back to work at some point? You know, war to make, innocent lives to destroy?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 20



He snorted, eyes flicking over my frame before he responded. "I would, but I know how much you'd miss me." 

"You heard what I said about poison, right?" 

"Fine, fine," he chuckled, raising his hands. "I'm on grief leave for the rest of the week, if you must know. Until then, I'm catching up on 'paper work.'" 

"By which you mean, training your Priestess so she doesn't go on a killing spree?" I asked the sweetest voice I could summon. 

"Hm, I don't believe the rules were ever set. I could change the format a little to suit your needs," he purred, licking his lips. 

I gasped, alien heat flushing through me in an instant. It was Asher's doing—it had to be! "I'm taking a break," I hissed, heading for the only place that could offer a modicum of privacy in our shared living quarters—the bathroom. "I can't do anymore today." 

"Sure you can," Asher replied easily, halting me in my tracks before I could make my escape. He selected a vibrant green apple from the platter on his desk before bothering to continue. "I'll let you know when you've had enough." 

"Yes, because you're an expert on what my body needs?" 

He grinned, exposing this gleaming white teeth. "I'd say I've got rather intimate knowledge of your body, Mila. But I'd be happy to do some more exploring if you're offering." 

Sweat trickled down the side of my face and I squeezed my eyes shut, ignoring the arrogance prickling my overwrought senses and the arousal coursing through my veins. I'd walked right into that, and he'd pounced on the opening like the predator he was. But in my defense, my eyes felt gritty and swollen, and if the tension brewing at the base of my neck was any indication, there was one hell of a headache coming my way. "Have I told you recently how much I hate you?" 

He chuckled and I listened to his feet on the carpet as he stepped toward me. "Here. Eat." 

I held out my hand without looking, only to have him deposit a partially eaten apple on my palm. My lip curled as I inspected his teeth marks but didn't reject his offering, instead repeating, 'You are a being of limitless patience,' under my breath. I could practically smell Asher's amusement, so rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing how ... uncomfortable he'd made me, I sunk my teeth into the fruit with enthusiasm I wasn't feeling. 

"Better?" he asked, eyes glittering with mirth. 

Curse that man ... the sugar rush did help to push away the fatigue, though it did nothing at all for the heat pooling between my thighs. I glowered at the carpet. You are a being of limitless patience, Mila. Limitless patience. "Yes," I replied, forcing a feral smile to form on my lips. 

He nodded, uncrossing his arms to hold out his hand, all traces of his insatiable sexual appetite erased from hardened features. "Good. Again." 

We didn't break from training until the sun was sitting low on the horizon and no amount of sugary fruit could keep my exhaustion at bay. Refusing his offer of assistance for fear of what skin to skin contact might do to my corrupted libido, I stumbled toward the bed, curling aching limbs into a tight, protective ball on my side of the mattress. For having done so little physical work, my body ached everywhere ... not all of it pleasurable. If it were possible, I'd actually relish the chance to soak in the public baths, privacy be damned. 

The last thing I heard that day was the sound of Asher's deep, gravely laugh, but as long as he kept to his side of the bed, I was far beyond caring. 

I woke several hours later, slave dress drenched in a cold sweat, blinded in the dark, too scared to breathe, let alone check my surroundings for signs of the horror which had wrenched my mind from a deep sleep. Without thinking, I pressed myself into the length of solid, warm male snoring softly at my back, relishing his proximity and the safety it represented. And then of course I realized who I was rubbing my backside against, and stopped moving altogether lest I rouse him with the wrong impression. The fragments of my nightmare evaporated in the face of the very real threat with whom I shared a bed. For now though, Asher remained unconscious, blessing me with the privacy I needed to sort myself out. 

In spite of making a point to begin the night alone, it was becoming habit to welcome the morning unable to determine whose limbs were whose. While Asher insisted he was not the one to initiate such contact, I had my doubts. More alarming still, however, was that my reactions to such indiscretions were becoming less and less violent with each passing morning. At this rate, it would be less than a fortnight before I was asking him if he'd slept well as I went about setting the table for breakfast, leaving him to worry about more important things, like the outcome of the war. 

No, this was just another of Asher's twisted little games and I refused to fall for it. Besides, he had Alicia and the other harem girls at his disposal. An inexperienced Woods Menace just didn't compare to trained pleasure slaves. Not that I cared to remedy the situation, of course. These were the ramblings of an overtired mind, nothing more. Neither one of us had set foot outside Asher's bedroom for the better part of three days. Any ... stirrings I may have been experiencing were due to an extreme case of cabin fever. Nothing more. 

Though to be fair to Asher, this also meant he hadn't had the opportunity to visit Alicia. If, as a result, he spent an unusual amount of time in the seclusion of the bathroom before taking his morning cup of coffee, how could I fault him for it? Especially when he was considerate enough to utilize the shield we'd spent the last days building. He did let the occasional sharp flare of pleasure slip through, but I assumed it was unintentional. Aside from the odd lewd comment, or passing subtle innuendo, Asher made no advances on me. 

Contrary to what I'd expected, in fact, he hadn't tried convincing me to take care of it for him—which saved me the trouble of thinking of a retort scathing enough to match such an absurd request. Of course. 

No, I had no problem with him taking care of ... business, if he continued to leave me in peace. Win-win situation, as far as I was concerned. I'd just have to work harder on the fragile wall between us so his pathetic baser urges didn't affect me while I was sleeping and defenseless. Yes, it was simple, really. Asher may have been a formidable warrior who'd demonstrated impressive control over his new Priestess gifts, but he was not infallible. I'd just have to get up before he did, and then he couldn't violate me while unconscious. It would be impossible. 

Asher twitched in his sleep, squeezing me closer as he rubbed his cheek along my shoulder. The contrast of his scruff on my delicate skin caused my back to arch—quite against my will, of course. I bit back a frustrated groan as a tremor rippled along the length of my spine. Why wasn't he afflicted by these ridiculous midnight musings? Why was I the one cursed to lay awake at night, tension strumming through my entire body while he slept on, blissfully unaware? But then, hadn't Asher mentioned something about 'easing my tension' during a brief respite from training? I was certainly no expert on the matter, but I had a strong inkling this was the precisely the sort of tension he'd been referring to, the vulgar beast of a man. I had half a mind to shake him awake and force him to explain what he meant. This was his fault, after all, this ... this alien heat pumping through my blood. He was the source! He was the reason for this anxiety twisting my muscles and keeping me awake at night. It only seemed fair that he should be the one to deal with it. 

I kicked the blankets away, uncaring if the sudden, violent action woke the man wrapped around me in my desperation to cool feverish skin. The very notion of such weakness bordered on unhinged hilarity. Ask him for help? With this of all things? For fucksakes, I might as well ask him to have me delivered to the harem with his other girls. No, I'd just have to attempt to ... handle my own business as he did every morning. I could do that, right? Paying myself a little extra attention wouldn't be admitting defeat. It was only natural. 

But what if my absence woke him? What if he caught me pleasuring myself in the middle of the night? What if— 

"The fuck has you so worked up?" he rumbled, shifting against me, left hand tracing my ribs before coming to rest upon my still-clothed hip. 

I bared my teeth in the darkness, lower back flexing, bottom grazing the seat of his groin. "I'm fine," I hissed, doing everything I could not to break down entirely and press into him. 

"Mm, y'sure?" he asked with a great yawn, the tone of his voice indicating just how close he was to resuming his restful evening. 

"Yes I'm fucking sure," I snapped, scrubbing my face with both hands. "Just go back to sleep, and leave me the fuck alone." 

Asher stiffened, coming fully awake in an instant. I hadn't made an effort to emulate his hushed, nighttime voice. No, like the lunatic he said I was, I'd halfway shouted at him, leaving no doubt that I certainly was not fine. Neither of us moved for several seconds, each struggling to get a handle on the situation. That is, until Asher took a deep breath and loosed his Priestess senses, pushing aside my shield to sample my mood through our accursed dual bond. 

"Fuuck," he breathed, grip on my hip tightening, bunching the fabric of my dress. Using the same hand, he pulled me against him, against the rapid thickening of his cock. Not a man to waste an opportunity, Asher grazed my shoulder with his teeth, groaning when I whimpered and pushed back. "Fuck. Yes." 

Shivering, I seized a handful of sheets, panting with indecision. I couldn't let this happen! 

Lips and teeth traced the vulnerable column of my throat, forcing a tormented whimper from my lips. Of its own accord, my head tilted to the side, granting access, a silent plea for more. 

To let this happen was ... it was ... stupid. Yes. That was it. Utterly idiotic. I'd regret it in the morning. I'd spend more time than usual avoiding myself in the mirror, hating such a profound display of weakness ... 

A shaky moan vibrated through my chest as Asher thrust his cock against the back of my thigh, and I gasped, slick heat pooling between my legs. Work hardened fingers pushed the material of my dress high on my hip, exposing my bottom to the chill of the night, giving him no resistance. 

Fight this, Mila! Don't let this happen ... don't lose yourself, not to him ... not now, not after everything you've been through. You're stronger than this. 

What if I'm not? What if ... I don't want to be? 

His wandering hand left me to fumble with the front of his boxers, freeing his length, preparing to take this as far as he could. His flesh was scalding, leaving a blazing trail wherever it touched. Marking me ... coaxing ... 

Oh Goddess, no! You can't. You'll lose everything to him. He's a Caledonian Elite—an active slaver, for fucksakes! 

Yes. 

And I'm a murderer. 

He stroked himself against my skin, nipping the flesh behind my ear, then soothing the sharp sting with the tip of his tongue. And when I was sure I wouldn't be able to remain conscious long enough to finish what I'd started for the intensity of this moment, his hand left his cock and snaked around to my front, gently prodding my pussy, testing my readiness. What he found must have been acceptable, for he growled, sinking his teeth into the muscle between neck and shoulder, weight supported on a trembling right arm. I welcomed the pain, wondering for a brief instant if he'd drawn blood before my brain ceased firing altogether. 

Asher nudged my left leg out of the way with his knee, pushing me onto my stomach with a trembling hand on my left shoulder. This shift allowed him to hover over my prone form as he guided his cock toward the pounding heat between my legs. He stroked the length of me with his thick, blunt tip, wetting it, teasing me ... teasing us both, if the strain radiating through our bond was any sort of judge. 

A broken, uncertain whine tore its way free of my throat, and I pushed back against him, opening myself. 

Panting against the back of my neck, Asher settled his weight over me after positioning himself on the edge of my entrance. He didn't, however, begin to thrust, as I wante—had expected him to, but aligned his torso to match mine, muscular chest pinning me to the mattress. When he was settled, his breath warmed the shell of my ear, ragged ... primal, sending gooseflesh rippling over every inch of my skin. Hardening my nipples to aching points. 

I flinched when he planted a delicate kiss at the base of my neck, just below the ear, cringing into the mattress to avoid more of the same. Whether it was our bond, or nothing more than his male perception, he noticed. 

In one swift motion he scooped his right arm under my armpit, large hand coming to rest at the base of my throat, fingers circling my airway. I froze, waiting for him to squeeze, waiting for him to force my submission. 

Using nothing but the strength in his thumb on the line of my jaw, he guided my head to the left, not stopping until I was looking at him over my shoulder. Onyx Caledonian eyes glittered at me in the semi-dark, refusing to let me look away. And then he began to close the distance between our lips, never so much as blinking. 

But kissing was for lovers. 

And I just wanted him to fuck me. 

I needed to even the balance between the stains on my soul and my mortal form, couldn't continue to exist as the walking contradiction I'd become. Refused to eat meat on lofty principle, yet able to kill when it suited my own selfish needs. Condemned the sex slaves for a life they had not chosen, but though of little else when Asher was not otherwise occupying my mind. The list was endless. Yes. I needed this, and Asher was the only one who could give it to me. He was just as twisted by this world as I was. 

Warm lips settled on mine for a brief instant before I snarled and pulled away, wrenching the muscles in my neck to do so. 

"Mila ..." Asher rasped, shifting again in an effort to give me space. He cleared his throat and I could feel him fighting the instinct to bury himself as deep inside me as he could get—fighting, and winning. "Mila, I won't—" 

Of all the times to grow a fucking conscious! Stupid, contrary man. 

I arched my back, lifting my hips off the bed, the globes of my ass reconnecting with his lean hips and raging erection. With the elegance of a practiced whore, I reached between my legs, wrapped my fingers around his girth, and guided him home. 

"Motherfucker," he hissed, unable to stop until there was nowhere left for him to go and I was stretched to the limit, impaled on his twitching cock. 

I could hardly draw breath, couldn't think past the delicious pressure of his weight over, around, and inside me. Asher shivered above me, still restraining himself even though I could feel a savage need pulsing through him, knew what it cost him to resist the ecstasy I'd had but a taste of. 

Cursing me, he pulled back, though he couldn't quite bring himself to withdraw completely. "I know what you think you're doing, and I won't—" 

"Shut up," I moaned, forehead dropping onto the pillow. 

"Punishing yourself like this isn't—" 

"Asher," I hissed, reaching back with my right hand until my fingers found the elastic band of the boxers still snug on his hips, tugged aside in his haste, but not discarded. I fumbled for a moment, then slipped past the flimsy barrier and gripped the taught muscle of his ass cheek, forcing him to sink back into me. "Shut the fuck up." 

Indignation flooded our bond and he snarled, plunging forward and seizing both of my wrists in one swift motion, crushing me beneath him as he wrenched my arms above my head. Before I could do more than twist my face out of the pillow, Asher was pounding into me with a ferocity I couldn't hope to match. 

Ah, yes. This was the savage brute I remembered ... the wild, reckless abandon I needed to sooth my twisted soul. I let the euphoria of his conquest consume me, lost myself in the pure fury of this lust between us. I didn't fight the tension building within, but embraced it. I needed it. This, right here ... right now ... this was perfect. 

My breath hitched as the tension became too much. "Y-yes," I moaned, voice broken by the unrestrained flexing of Asher's hips slapping against my skin. 

"I don't think so, Mila," he snapped, coming to a halt with one final, breath taking thrust. Without moving off me, he switched the care of my right wrist to his left hand, searching for something stuck between the mattress and the headboard. When he found it, the rattle of steel chain was a clue too late in arrival. 

"W-what are you doing?" I asked, hating the tremor in my voice. "Hand ... handcuffs?" 

"Hm," he grunted, leaning back. 

I squealed, this new angle allowing him to rub against the back wall of my pussy. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant, yet I was unprepared for the intensity. The metal of the handcuffs, on the other hand, bit into the delicate flesh of my wrists, causing a tendril of genuine panic to flutter in my chest. 

Asher felt my discomfort, and laughed, slapping my ass with an open palm. "Why are you frightened, my little wild cat?" he purred, luxuriating in his ability to sit back on his haunches and use me at his leisure, pinning my thighs beneath his own. No longer concerned with what I might do with my hands, Asher seized both cheeks of my ass, using them as handles to move me over the length of his cock. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked like a slave so you can blame me when you've been satisfied?" 

"Asher," I whined, no longer able to focus on the pleasure of this sordid act for the fear bubbling in my chest. "I—" 

"You what, Mila?" he hissed, moving back and forth at a steady pace, thumbs tracing the lips of my pussy as they moved around him. "Thought it might be fun to see how far you could push me? Or did you merely wish to see if my restraint was limitless?" 

"N-no, of course not, you fucking—" 

"Were you testing me, I wonder?" he continued, ignoring me, accenting his every word with a powerful thrust, seating himself within me only to withdraw before I could acclimatize to his rhythm. "Hoping I'd continue to give you your space, were you?" He laughed, breathless with the thrill of untainted pleasure flooding our bond—it was almost enough to make me forget my fear. "Sorry to disappoint, Mila, but I'm not a good man. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But you know that better than most. So it couldn't be that ..." Pausing to push the material of my dress higher, he circled my waist with both hands, silent for a few long seconds, enjoying himself. "Ah, yes. You thought you'd like to be in control, didn't you?" 

I couldn't form a coherent response—my body had taken the reins, reacting only to physical sensations and emotions Asher projected through the bond. Completely under his control. For every bolt of fear that raced down my spine, my inner walls would contract, flexing the tiny muscles responsible for orgasm. In spite of the abrupt change of pace, regardless of Asher's somewhat predictable betrayal, I was racing closer to the finish. 

"Forgive me, Priestess, but the last time I let you have your hands while I was otherwise engaged—" he punctuated this last with his deepest thrust yet, forcing a delighted gasp to burst from my lips. "I woke up with this pretty new jewelry and spent a week in the forest, hunting your fine ass down—" he dropped his palm onto the right globe of that very same bottom, the slap resounding through the room and my traitorous body. "You understand why I'm reluctant to give you another chance to cause trouble, don't you?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 20



His monologue was falling on deaf ears. I was so close, just a little ... more ... 

"Aw, come on, Priestess," he drawled, circling the tight ring of untouched muscle bared before him, pushing at that forbidden entrance with a moistened thumb. "I can't hear you, slave." 

"Ah, fuck," I whispered, not wanting to reach my completion with his thumb buried in my ass. "Fuck, I—I underst—" 

"Pardon?" he husked, pressing a little harder, flooding my mind with his own arousal, pushing me to the brink. 

"I—I understan ..." I whispered, trailing off as I lost my battle, so close to the release I needed—only for him to abandon me completely, a quivering, dripping mess chained to his headboard. "No!" I cranked my neck around, trying to find him in the dark. "Asher, you piece of—" 

His palm landed on my previously unmarked cheek, cutting me off. "Come now, Mila. Is insulting me really in your best interest at the moment? I could just leave you here ..." he pulled at the knot behind my neck, loosening the ties of my dress. "All chained up ... unsatisfied ..." He tugged the silky material away from my heated, sweaty skin, leaving me naked ... exposed. "Soaking my sheets ..." A lone finger plunged into my pussy, thumb flicking over my clit for a few seconds, building me back up in an instant. "Unable to find satisfaction without a helping hand." He chuckled, the deep raspy sound only adding to the fire. "You know, I don't even really need to keep fucking you for this to be good for me. Not with this heavenly visual stimulus laid out for my viewing pleasure." 

I cried out when he withdrew his fingers and denied me again. "I hate you," I whined, twisting to bring him back into sight. 

True to his word, Asher was stroking himself, eyes glued to my splayed femininity. "So—uh—so fucking sexy." The sight of raw, male passion nearly tipped me over the edge. 

Tears blurred my vision, such was my extreme level of frustration, and I opened my mouth to beg him for it ... to plead that he have mercy and bring me with him into orgasm. "Ash—Asher, I need—pl—pleas—" 

He lunged forward, cutting me of by sinking into me with a single, brutal thrust. "But this is so much better," he groaned and leaned forward, draping himself over me, chest to back. He looped one arm under my armpit and found a secure handhold on the opposite shoulder, pinning me in place as he picked up a torturous rhythm. The other hand, meanwhile, had slipped around my hip and found the sopping folds of my pussy. Asher timed his thrusts to perfection as he played with the hypersensitive bundle of nerves, strumming back and forth over my clit as I jerked beneath him. "And this way," he rasped, voice not quite so smooth and cultured now ... breath hot on the side of my neck, lips moving along my skin. "This way I get to feel you come apart on my cock, as I—holy shit—as I fill you with my come." 

My breath caught as I listened, shivering as he spoke directly against the shell of my ear. Entranced. 

"Now, Mila. Come for me. Oh, God, come with me. Come with me." 

And I did. I shattered in his arms, bucking and shuddering around his length, mind flooded with Asher's simultaneous ecstasy as he did as promised, filling me with his incompatible seed. If I could have, I would have cried out with him, would have heightened his experience with my helpless screams. But I couldn't—my voice was lost somewhere between my brain and the waves of pleasure cascading through me. I was silent, curling into myself as black stars sparkled at the edges of my vision. 

After the sweat cooled and his cock had begun to soften within me, Asher was the first to recover. He rolled away from me, leaving me cold in his absence. Desolate. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he got out of bed. The pads of his bare feet slapped on the tiled bathroom floor a few seconds later, and I knew he'd gone to relieve himself. If my hands hadn't been chained to his bed, I might have seen to the sticky mess coating my inner thighs ... but he'd left me here, the selfish pig. Abandoned me to the sick feeling spreading through my chest. What have I— 

"Come here," Asher whispered, unlocking my wrists with a tiny silver key. Not allowing me to wriggle free, to flee to the bathroom and lock the door as I had the last time we'd had sex. Instead he pulled me closer and handed me a warm, wet hand towel. 

"I'm not doing that with you here," I hissed, hugging myself. 

"Suit yourself." Asher lifted one shoulder and proceeded to swipe the cloth between my legs—much to my horror. 

"What is wrong with you?" 

"At the moment?" he asked, settling on his back and positioning my head on his chest. "Not a damn thing. Go to sleep." 

Sleep. What a nice sentiment. 

It had been at least half an hour since the steady thump-thump of Asher's heart had slowed from its frenetic pace and he'd obeyed the command he'd given me. At least fifteen minutes had gone by since the last time he'd twitched, and only a handful of seconds from the moment he'd begun to snore. 

I knew because I'd been wide awake for every damned moment, pinned to his side ... counting the seconds until the sun rose. This new bout of insomnia was not borne of the euphoria I'd experienced while running on Marco's spare strength. It was not due to the overwhelming tension that had woken me earlier in the evening, and it wasn't due to a lingering sense of guilt for my rather promiscuous actions to deal with said tension. No, the bright, unforgiving light of morning was reserved for that paltry emotion. 

Sleep, I feared, would continue to remain elusive until I could quiet the chaos in my mind. There was so much I had to do! The Priestess Bible needed a new, more secure home before Asher or, god forbid, Beau found it. I had to figure out how to protect the Priestesses from Tyra's genocidal tendencies before it came down to a firefight. And, to top it all off, I had to decide if I had, in fact, lost my mind or if the Watchers were living entities of some sort. And if so, why me? 

I ran my nail over a tiny bump on Asher's chest, trying to let the minor imperfection distract me. Under normal circumstances, his heat alone would have been enough to dampen the swirling of my mind. But not tonight, not when the most pressing of my concerns was the late Mrs. Harper Tilcot. Crazy or not, she had what I didn't—allies. Never mind what happened under cover of darkness, Asher and I had only just begun to work on being civil toward one another, and I was certain neither of us would go so far as to consider the other an ally. It was going to take time, eons even, for us to reach that stage. And while we squabbled like spoiled children, Tyra was undoubtedly cooking up one hell of a plan. 

She knew the inner workings of the Caledonian army better, perhaps, than the man currently acting as my pillow. Which was bad news indeed for the Priestesses and their Elite counterparts, though the latter may not die with the former, as the rebels were hoping. That particular honor was reserved for Empaths alone, for those who could not separate from the power flowing through their veins. 

In other words, me—and by extension, Asher. 

But with the Priestesses of occupied Elora dead, Tyra would have her revenge. 

My lip curled. 

Maybe he wasn't my first choice, but like it or not, Asher was all I had. Yes, I'd have to tell him in the morning, or continue to risk the lives of my people for the sake of my pride. He'd probably be furious that I waited so long to tell him, but it couldn't be helped. It was sensitive information, after all. I had to be sure I could trust him before— 

The air pressure in our room changed, sucking at the curtains hanging limp over the window. The front door. A cold sweat blossomed over my skin and I loosed my senses, drawing on both sides of the bond without thinking. Adrenaline pumped through my blood, sharpening my perception of the world. I could hear footsteps, quiet at this hour, careful not to wake anyone with measured, deliberate placement. 

Moving up the stairs. 

"Asher," I hissed, jabbing him in the ribs with my index finger. 

"Hn." 

"Asher!" 

He shot out of bed faster than I would have thought possible, long legs carrying him to his desk and a certain, recognizable Elite handgun stored within. "What? What's the matter?" 

"She's here," I whispered, blinking in the eerie green glow illuminating our room, my senses locked on the approaching energy. "Tyra's in the house." 

***** 

Okay! That's it! And before you hate me for the cliffy, you have madam DeathandTaxes to thank for that one. Get 'er! 

Okay. I won't say a damn thing about where I'm at with chapter 21, because it pisses off the Chaos Gods and my family really needs a fucking break right now. 

Until next time! 

Myra Danvers riding a level 45 Ice dragon through a Chaos Hell Storm



The Last Tritan Ch. 21



Welcome back, and Merry Christmas! (At least I hope this goes up before Christmas arrives so that you may read this at your leisure.) As an added Christmas bonus, I'm hoping to hammer the next chapter out as fast as I possibly can. It's completely laid out and I'm thinking that it shouldn't take me very long ... says the one notoriously bad at predicting such things. Eh, fingers crossed, right? Anyway!!! Chapter 21~ Enjoy. 

Myra Danvers





"Asher," I hissed, jabbing him in the ribs with my index finger.

"Hn."

"Asher!"

He shot out of bed faster than I would have thought possible, digging through his bedside table for a familiar Elite handgun stored within. "What? What'sa matter?"

"She's here," I whispered, blinking in the eerie green glow illuminating our room, my senses locked on the approaching energy. "Tyra's in the house."

"Who's 'ere?" he asked, rubbing away the remnants of sleep with the back of his hand, weapon still aimed at the door. And although I could feel the adrenalin pumping through him as clearly as I felt my own, his hand was steady.

"It's Tyra," I said again, but paused when my throat stuck on her name.

Asher's head snapped around, obsidian eyes searching my face. "Tyra?" he asked, voice no longer hoarse from interrupted sleep, but incredulous.

"Be quiet," I whispered, eyes darting toward the door. "She's right outside. She'll hear you."

Stark naked, Asher continued to stare at me for a few long seconds, face slack, eyes wide. The floorboard just outside our door groaned and Asher shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Fucking hell, Mila. I nearly had a heart attack."

"What are you doing?" I asked, clutching the bedsheets closer to my chest as he stumbled around in the dark, kicking aside a pile of dirty clothes.

"The fuck you think I'm going to do?" he snapped, pulling on a rumpled pair of trousers and a long sleeved shirt. "Going to greet my cousin."

"Your cous—" I gasped as my foggy, sleep deprived brain finally put it together. "Asher no," I said on a desperate inhale, gathering the bedclothes around me as I dashed to the door, pressing my back to the chilly wood separating us from the vile creature on the other side.

"Mila, what are you—"

"Please, you can't ..." I whispered, my voice fragile, barely audible to the man before me, let alone any uninvited eavesdroppers. "You can't let her in." I placed a hand on his forearm, fingers splayed in an effort to touch as much of him as I could, to impart the pulse pounding fear through the thin material of his shirt. What the hell was she doing here, creeping through the house at this hour? Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. Did she know I'd seen her with the rebels after all? Had I wasted my chance to save the Priestesses, wallowing in my own silly emotional breakdown? Oh God, she was here to kill me—there was no other reason for her presence, or at least none that made sense. She was here to finish was General Striker had started, to end my life and set the genocide of my people in motion.

Asher's hand settled around my wrist and I found his eyes in the dark. "What's gotten into you, Priestess?"

I pressed my back against the cool wood behind me, bracing myself as I tried to push him away from the door. "Shh, she's listening."

He pulled my hand away from his chest, but kept his fingers locked around my wrist. "What the hell, Mila? She's probably trying to decide if I'm awake so she can tell me she's arrived safely. Get out of the way." Asher guided me behind him, my vehement protests ignored though his brows were furrowed, head tilted to the side as maneuvered me out of the way. And then, as if my pleas were spoken in a language he didn't understand, he opened the door and said, "Hey, Trya," slipping out of sight without letting me see the woman in question. "Everything went well with your travels, I take it?"

"Mm, they did," she purred, her voice sounding muffled, as if it were pressed against Asher's solid chest. "It was a pleasurable trip, all things considered."

I shuddered, thinking of the particular brand of pleasure to which she was referring. And yet, I pressed my ear to the door, terrified of missing a single, nauseating word.

"Glad to hear it," Asher replied. "You'll have to tell me about it in the morning."

"Oh, did I wake you?"

Of course she did, the vile beast! Who creeps around the house in the middle of the night, uninvited? I tightened the sheet around myself, preparing to fling the door open and confront her myself, if need be.

"It's okay, I'm just glad you got here safe. I was beginning to wonder if I'd need to send someone after you."

She giggled, the sound high and out of place at this hour. "Don't be silly, Asher. You'd come for me yourself."

My lip curled, and I tried to block Asher's blinding presence out of my mind, focusing everything I had on the other woman, trying to will her away.

"Stop it," Asher barked and I cringed, palms pressed to my temples, fingers tangled in my hair as he gave me a vicious mental shove, turning our bond against me with ease.

"I-I'm sorry," Tyra stuttered, her voice strained and uncertain. I grinned in spite of the alien pressure building inside my head.

But Asher laughed it off and I listened to the sound of retreating footsteps as he led her deeper into the house, fingers resting on the door handle, weighing my options. "You know I'd come for you, Trya. You're family. But listen, it's late and you must be exhausted after such a long journey, and ... and everything else."

"I am," she agreed, radiating an unmistakable, sickening lust. They were cousins by marriage, but still—did this woman have no decency? Were her legs so easily parted for any man with power?

"Uh, right," he replied, and I felt a flicker of unease wind it's way through Asher's mind, tied as he was to the emotions of others. "Come, I'll show you to your room."

"And how is that saucy little Priestess of yours doing, Asher? Still giving you trouble?"

I gasped, sure now that she was indeed here for me. He couldn't be alone with her without knowing about the danger he was in! But how could I tell him without also telling Tyra, without revealing I had indeed seen her with the rebels? The answer, when it came to me, was so obvious I slapped my forehead with a groan. And then, not wanting to waste another moment, I darted across the room, as far away from the door and the pair outside it as I could get.

"Asher," I hissed, pressing the two tiny buttons and activating the Control Chain fused with my right bicep, speaking directly to his mind. "You cannot trust that woman. Don't let her have your back, Asher please. Please, you have to trust me. There's something you don't know, and I'll only tell you if you come back right now. Please? Just point her in the right direction and come back." Tears began to gather at the corner of my lashes. "Please come back."

The Watchers brushed my mind, offering the lure of calm nothingness, but I grit my teeth and pushed them away, squeezing my eyes shut with the effort. Now was not the time, not with that woman hanging off Asher, planning to do God knows what to him when he wasn't looking—

"Mila," Asher whispered and I flinched.

"Just come back," I replied, lips moving against the warm gold set in skin.

He snorted, pulling my stiff fingers away from the Chains. "Open your eyes, you little lunatic. I'm right here."

Blinking, to rid myself of the salty moisture dampening my lashes, I did as he bade, surprised to find him crouching before me. "H-how ..." I trailed off, peering around him for any sign of Tyra. "Where is she?"

"In the guest room down the hall. Care to tell me what's got you so worked up?"

A shiver passed through me, chased by a wave of gooseflesh, prickling the tiny hairs all over my body. This was it—decision time. Though there wasn't any real decision to make any more, not if I was serious about embracing life, to do everything in my power to save the Priestesses. And yet, telling him the woman he'd named family was a traitor to his people and may be here to murder him would require finesse. I took a deep breath, meeting his eyes in the predawn gloom. "Did she ... did she try anything?"

Asher's brows drew together, but he shook his head. "Of course she didn't. Look," he said, fingers tightening around my slender wrist. "I'm running short on patience, Mila. Just tell me what the fuck is going on. Out with it."

"It-it's Tyra," I whispered, heart fluttering against the fragile skin of my lips.

"Yes, I gathered that," he drawled, placing his hands on my shoulders and guiding me to sit at the plush chair behind his desk. "What about her?"

"She ... she ..." Asher's dark eyes were narrowed, but he'd retreated behind his unreadable warrior's mask. "Why is she here?" I asked instead, wilting under his cold stare.

"I think that should be rather obvious at this point."

"I wouldn't have asked if ..." but I trailed off, trying to keep up with him. "Oh. You invited her to stay here."

"I wasn't about to leave her out in the cold, Mila. She's family."

My head dipped in silent acknowledgment. "By marriage, though right?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"I-I mean, if she hadn't married your cousin, you'd have no ties to her, right? No reason to let her stay?"

He sat on the edge of his desk, the dark material of his trousers brushing against my bare thigh. "Mila, get to the point."

"She's ... I'm ... it's kind of a long story." I shook my head and chanced a peek at his face, only to find his features set, thunder clouds gathering behind his dark eyes. "Where has she been these last days?" I asked in place of a confession, trying to gather my courage. "Why is she arriving at such an absurd hour?"

"She's been in the Capital dealing with Harper's estate."

No she hasn't. But I bit my tongue and said, "Okay then, where's her son? I find it hard to believe any new mother would be willing to part with a newborn so soon after birth," I coaxed, willing doubt and suspicion to grow in his heart.

Asher stiffened and his eyes shifted away from mine. "This is a war zone, Mila. It's no place for a single mother to raise a child."

I frowned, reading the subtle marks of a lie written across his face. But why? What cause could he possibly have to lie about the boy, unless—my lips parted on a silent gasp. "You told her not to bring him here. Because of me. Because it isn't safe."

He rubbed the nape of his neck, looking to the ceiling. But he didn't argue. "He's an infant, Mila."

"And you don't ... can't trust me with a child so close." My gaze dropped to my lap, to the pale, clenched fists I found there.

"Mila," he began, taking a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

I waived him off, heart too heavy for the confines of my chest. "No, it's okay. I can't argue with your logic, can I? The child wouldn't be safe here, and n-neither would anyone ... I don't ... Oh," I gasped for the second time, eyes flicking back to his face. "I get it now—why you've been keeping me hidden away up here. Having food brought in. You're protecting them." But the last half of that sentence, the part that would have revealed the precise nature of the hurt scratching away at my brain, was left unsaid. But it didn't matter. He heard it, loud and clear.

"I'm just taking temptation out of the equation until you can control yourself. That's all."

All I could offer in response was a single nod before I broke away from his cold gaze. After all, we both knew it was far more likely that I'd never be able to master the darkness twisting about my soul, and that too, went unsaid. "Can I ... can I ask you to do something for me?"

Asher nodded, seeming to welcome the obvious change of subject.

"Promise to hear me out?" I took his hand—masking the slight tremble in my fingers with sharp, jerky movements—and pressed his warm, calloused palm to the base of my throat. "My shield is down," I whispered, silently beseeching the Watchers to stay hidden, to remain my secret for as long as possible. "You'll feel it if I'm lying to you, Asher. I—" my throat worked to swallow, though it was far too dry to complete such a task, "—I need you to believe me."

After a long pause, in which Asher held me immobile with nothing more than the flicker burning in his dark eyes, he nodded. "Tell me."

"It—it's Tyra. She's—" I fluttered my hand in front in the space between us, "—she's sick, Asher. Her mind is broken. She blames the Priestesses for Tilcot's ... for your cousin's death. And in a way," I said, shrugging, conscious of Asher's strong fingers wrapped around my throat, though it was of my own doing. "I suppose she's right, but ... she wants revenge. On the Priestesses."

"All of this from sensing her walk past the bedroom door?"

"No," I replied, looking away as I cleared my throat, bracing for a fight. "No, s–she was with the rebels in the mountain." He stiffened, nostrils flaring, head rearing back, "—Or rather, she had been with them for some time, from what I could gather. I saw her with my own eyes, Asher. Hanging off their second in command, more ... familiar with him than a grieving widow has any right to be. No newborn baby in sight."

"Impossible," he breathed, fingers tightening around my airway.

"She's your mole, Asher," I pressed, struggling not to pull away when his essence flooded my mind, searching for any hint of deceit. "The rebel leader—" I choked, remembering sightless steel-blue eyes and the sick rush of power his death had given me. "He had plans to murder the Priestesses. And he was ... he was excited to do it, too."

"Bullshit," he hissed, releasing me and whirling away in one fluid movement.

And then I did cringe, hating the way my heart plummeted as he seethed. "It's not. You know it's not."

"Do I?" he snarled, closing the gap between us, eyes blazing. "It's all just a little too convenient for my taste, Priestess."

"That's because it makes sense, you fool!" I cried, surging to my feet, matching him, unwilling to let him willfully ignore the truth of this. "She watched her husband die with Sasha, watched her perfect, entitled future vanish with his death and it broke her mind." I pushed him back with an open palm on his chest, using all my might to derail the denial simmering in his heart, wishing for skin to skin contact to force him to feel the truth of my words more intensely.

"She was the one who gave the rebel General ... General St-Striker the idea to slaughter the Priestesses, Asher. He told me himself, right before I murdered him for it—" my voiced cracked on a broken sob, but I pushed on, slipping my hand under the collar of his shirt, touching the heated skin between shoulder and neck. "I had to do it. He left me no choice! He wouldn't listen to reason, not even when I explained what really happened with Sasha and Tilcot. It didn't fit into his perfect little plan—but I did."

Asher's knees bumped the edge of the mattress and he sat, now forced to look up to meet my frantic gaze.

"He was all too eager to tell me about his plans, you know," I whispered, voice trembling with repressed emotion. "It was nothing to sacrifice one runaway Priestess. He said it would boost troop morale." I laughed, cold and hard in the chill of the night. "And the worst part is the horrible irony of it all. I'm the only other Priestess capable of taking my bound Elite with me into death, and the only one ruled by my birthright. Don't you see? If they found out you'd died with me—and they would have, with Tyra on their side—it would have been all the justification they'd need to go ahead with their plan. To kill the Priestesses."

"But it wouldn't work," he insisted, breathing hard through his nose. "The others won't die with their Priestesses and would still have access to the power they had before they were bound."

"They might," I allowed, flexing my fingers below the hard length of his collar bone, running my nails over heated skin. "But that doesn't matter, does it? At least not to Tyra. She doesn't give a shit about the war, and she doesn't care what happens to the Elites. She only wants the Priestesses dead. She wants revenge."

"You're—"

"I'm not wrong, Asher. You know I'm not."

"Then why am I only hearing of this now, if it's not some elaborate plot to manipulate me to your profit?" he spat, fury pounding through him. And then it was my turn to pull away, to seek strength from some inanimate object—anything but the blinding heat of the man before me. "Oh no, I don't think so," he snarled, surging to his feet after me. Strong arms encircled my waist, tossing me effortlessly onto the rumpled bedsheets. "You don't get to hide yourself now, Priestess. Answer the question." He followed me down, bracing his weight on his left forearm, using his free hand to pry my thighs apart before settling between them. I didn't fight him, not now, when it was so essential he believe me, not even when the fingers of his right hand returned to my throat, adding enough pressure to hint at violence without using it. "Why tell me now, why not—"

"Because I'm a coward," I whispered, silencing him with my confession. "I spent too much time feeling sorry for myself, too much time being ruled by emotions and not enough time using my brain." My lip trembled but I did not cry, refused to indulge the chaotic emotions swirling within me any longer. "Because I wasn't sure if I cared enough to fight anymore. Because I was a selfish, pathetic little girl, and ..." I shrugged, the skin of my shoulder brushing Asher's forearm. "And I was scared that trusting you with this would mean I'd lose whatever twisted, fucked up power struggle there is between us, let alone what trusting you means for whatever is left of my soul. To save the Priestesses is to ensure the Elites stay in power, when it would probably be better for the world if none of us were a part of it anymore. But we've already established that I'm too selfish to make the hard decisions, haven't we? Which means I'm willing to help you destroy the rebels to save the Priestesses. Besides," I whispered, a slow, sad smile curving my lower lip. "I haven't any cards left to play. I was stalling while time was running out. None of it mattered, really. You're the only person I ... you're the only one I can turn to. I see that now."

Silence settled between us as he digested my words, glaring down at me, his heat and weight more oppressive than the tension strumming through the air.

I cleared my throat. "That's it. I can't offer a better reason for my behavior. I haven't got one."

Asher shifted, then rolled to the side, releasing me. "Shit."

"Yeah."

Sucking his lower lip between strong, white teeth, Asher chewed on the short facial hair growing just below, making the tiny hairs rasp in the silence growing between us. It was an action I'd never seen him do before, a nervous tick, and my eyes followed the path of his teeth, rapt with fascination. "Tyra's the mole." He pressed his back to the headboard and shoved a hand through his hair.

As he digested my words I watched him from my supine position, hardly daring to blink for fear of disturbing this fragile peace.

"Fuck it all, I don't want to believe you, Mila. I really don't."

"But ... but you can't help it," I said, seizing his hesitation and rolling onto my knees, tightening the displaced sheets as I went. "You can't help it because you know I'm not lying to you. You can feel it. And it makes sense, doesn't it? Even if you don't want to believe me." I clutched at the blankets wrapped around me, eyes fixed to his stoic, shadowed face.

After several long minutes, he nodded, sharp and terse, and I drew in a shaky breath, head spinning. "So ... what now?" I asked, twisting my fingers. "She can't stay here, obviously. You'll have to have her arrested. I think can help you subdue her without killing her," I paused, nose scrunching as I concentrated on her dim life force flickering in the distance. "She shouldn't pose too much of a threat between you and I, even if she has some weapon that could kill the Priestesses."




The Last Tritan Ch. 21



"Don't be ridiculous, Mila. I'm not having her arrested."

"You're not—what?" I gaped at him, unable to find more eloquent words. "But she's—"

"Dangerous? Yes, you've said." He stretched his long legs out before him, lips curving in a tight smile. "That's why she's going to remain here."

"You can't be serious," I whispered, gathering my feet beneath me. "I'm not staying under the same roof as—"

"Think about it, Mila," Asher said, lunging forward to snare me in his unbreakable grip before I could break away. "You've just been handed a traitor to your people, all dressed in a perfect little bow. And the best part," he purred, pulling me closer, breath warming my cool cheeks, "Is that she doesn't know she's lost the advantage." I tilted my head to the side, belatedly insuring Tyra wasn't listening at the door. "So what should you do, hm? Turn her in before she can cause any trouble? Or," he brushed a tangled clump of hair off my forehead, "Wait for her to reveal herself and the details of her plan?"

"That's ..." I frowned. It was brilliant, really, but ... "That leaves us vulnerable, Asher. Open to a sneak attack. How are we supposed to get any rest with that woman lurking just down the hall, huh?"

He snorted. "And what are you expecting her to do, Mila? Attack you here, in your sleep?"

"Why wouldn't she? Have you forgotten what it will mean if she manages to kill either of us? The rebels will have their validation, Asher."

Shaking his head, Asher laughed, the deep rumble vibrating through my chest. "She wouldn't dare."

I bared my teeth at his stupidity, glaring at him in the dark. "You're underestimating her just because she's a woman. Don't be an idiot. Neither of us is going to be able to get any sleep with her here."

Grumbling under his breath, Asher stood then moved to his desk, withdrawing a small glass jar from the top drawer. Then, without looking up from his task, he measured a spoonful of white powder into a glass, splashed it with a liberal amount of his trademark amber liquor, and returned to my side. "Here, drink this."

I accepted the mixed drink with a scowl marking my face. "What the hell is it?"

"It will help you sleep."

My jaw slackened and I met his eyes with a gasp. "Your solution is to drug me?" I pushed the glass back into his hand, intending to splash him with the offensive gesture—but he moved with me, rocking the glass to prevent it from going to waste. "You may as well just knock me out and toss me at Tyra's feet, you bloody—"

"You won't be senseless. It's a dose I'd be comfortable giving to a newborn. It'll just ... make you drowsy, that's all."

"You've lost your mind, if you think—"

"It's either that or stimulants."

"Why can't she stay with one of the other Elites? She'd still be under thumb, and with someone who could handle it if she tries anything." I snapped my fingers. "And if she does manage to kill one of them, the rebels will know their plan won't work ... though, obviously that's not ideal ..." I blushed, realizing how callous that sounded only after the words had left my mouth. "It's a good compromise."

"Maybe," he allowed, setting the glass on his bedside table. "But it's not happening. Asking her to leave for no apparent reason would be suspicious in the extreme, and I'm not willing to risk losing this opportunity for a few nights of lost sleep." He stood, brushed the crease out of his pants, then said, "I'll speak with Lieutenant General Hastings tomorrow morning. If you're right and Tyra is here to prove herself to the rebels, we'll come up with a counter attack."

"But—" I shifted onto my knees, pressing the sheets to my throat as I went. "You can't bring him here, Asher. He's an Elite ..." I trailed off, finding the inky carpet far more interesting than the handsome features of the man standing before me. "I won't be able to resist ..."

He blew out a noisy breath. "Fuck. I guess not. And I can't bring you to him for the same reason."

"If you leave me here with her, I ... I can't promise ..."

"I know."

"So what's the solution?" I asked, running my tongue over my elongated canines. "We have to tell someone."

Asher crossed his arms and pressed long fingers to his lips, head tilting to the side as he thought. "Well," he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "You could just go back to sleep ..."

"Don't even say it," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I'm not taking any sedatives, you moron. What if she tries something while you're gone?" Asher snorted but didn't voice the scorn I could feel radiating off him. "Oh!" I cried, snapping my fingers. "Marco. Marco's the solution."

"I'm not following."

"He and I were alone for several days, and he's still here to be bitter about it. What's a few more hours? Besides, he's the only one who knows everything about ...this." I said, fluttering my fingers in the space between us. "He could stay downstairs and occupy Trya while I stay up here, out of temptation's path."

"Not bad," Asher said, dark eyes traveling over my face. "While I'm gone, I can check in with you using the Chains."

"'Kay."

"Good. Come here," he said, pulling me to my feet.

Scrambling to keep the sheets wrapped around my nudity, I asked, "Why?" in a fragile voice.

"I'm correct in assuming you don't intend to sleep tonight?" At this, I nodded, glancing at the door, causing a deep sigh to skate along the back of my neck. "Thought so. Might as well get ready for the day." Without a backward glance, he disappeared into his closet, grumbling under his breath.

"You're mad," I said, following him with small, uncertain steps, ready to bolt for the door if his mood should shift.

A deep, humorless chuckle preceded his return from the closet, a length of black silk draped over his left arm. "What's the point of being angry with you, Mila? What purpose will it serve, hmm? You would have waited until she was in this very house to tell me either way."

I opened my mouth to respond but realized he was right. My chin dropped.

"Exactly. It's a waste of energy." With an expert hand, he wrapped the slave garment around me, allowing me to keep my modesty hidden as he worked. "Step out of that," he said when he'd finished securing it, tugging at the bulky sheet. Not wanting to provoke him further, I did as he asked, shifting and wiggling to pull the second layer of fabric away.

When I was finished, Asher produced a gold chain with a delicate pendant, placing it between my breasts with a thoughtful tilt to his head. "W-what are you doing?"

"Well," he murmured, reaching behind my neck to loosen the ties of my dress, holding the scraps of fabric in place with his palm when I gasped. "You can't leave this room with your new jewelry on display, so we have to improvise." And with that, he looped the tails of fabric around the golden chain then crossed the ends, securing both the pendant and the front of my dress in the process. Next, he pulled the pendant through the gap so it sat high on my breastbone, gleaming in the half light. My eyes widened—it was the very necklace I'd found in his closet when I'd been packing my bag of supplies before my escape, the one that looked so similar to the Tritan symbol for Priestess.

Focused on his task, Asher guided one of the silk tails around my right bicep, hiding my illegal Control Chain beneath. "Ingenious," I breathed as he did the same on my left bicep, tucking the ends away.

"Yeah, thanks. I've been thinking about how to hide that for the last few days."

"So," I said, dragging out the single syllable longer than necessary. "Since being angry with me is a waste of energy ..." I dug my toes into the plush carpet beneath my feet, "I saw something else that might be important."

"Of course you did," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well ... as you know, I've been inside the rebel's fortress."

"Get to the point."

I picked at the gold on my right wrist, trying to ignore the sweat gathering along my hair line. "I don't know about you, but while I was inside the mountain, it was really hard for me to sense you."

"I felt the same thing."

"I thought you may have," I whispered, taking a step back.

"Mila," he growled, invading my personal space in an instant.

But I threw my hands between us and blurted, "I've seen the one thing they don't want you to know about."

"Which is what?"

"It's a shield. Exactly like the one you shot at in the field the night we were first bound, only ... this one is bigger."

"How much bigger?"

"It covers the entrance to the tunnels, and unless you're willing to blast a path through solid rock, you're not getting through." Deep lines formed between his brows, and I continued before he could say anything, my voice breathy and strained. "But I know how their shield works. I saw it. O-or rather ... him." I broke eye contact, shoulders sagging.

"Meaning?"

"It's a boy. An Elite boy. They've got him locked up in a filthy little cage, forcing him to power the shield ... and," I shivered, fingernails digging into the meat of my palms, drawing strength from the pain, "And I left him there. I—I had too. He ... his energy. I tried—but I couldn't—"

"You saved his life by leaving, Mila."

I snorted. "I didn't do a damn thing."

"You're the one who walked away."

"Maybe," I allowed. "But I'm being honest, I was going to kill him. I would have enjoyed it." I shivered, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because ... you stopped me."

"Ah," he rumbled, and took a step closer to me, warming me with his proximity. "I see."

I peeked at up at him through my lashes, trying to read him. "That ... that was you, wasn't it?"

"I believe so. I couldn't figure out what you were doing at the time, or why I was struck with the inexplicable desire to drain the life from my best friend and everyone else around me. But I knew it was coming from you."

The muscles of my jaw flexed. "I—I'm sorry."

His shoulder lifted. "What for? I felt the intensity of your ... desire, Mila. That's why we're training—so that you can learn to fight it."

"Asher ..." I said, pressing my lips together. "It's going to take years to learn that kind of control. If it's even possible for me to do so at all. How much longer can we stay hidden away up here? How much longer can you put off your duties? I can't be around anyone b-but you without—"

"Then don't think of it that way," he said easily, brushing his fingers along the edge of my collar bone. "We've got an advantage for the first time, Mila. Look forward, not back."

"Well aren't you the perfect little optimist?" I grumbled, glaring at the floor as he chuckled. "Right." I cleared my throat, trying to hide the blush heating my cheeks. "You said something about stimulants?"





The sun had risen by the time Asher managed to figure out how to brew a pot of coffee, cursing the complicated looking machine and spilling black powder all over the kitchen counter. I'd been happy to watch, perched on the end of the counter, legs swinging as he struggled. Tyra, as far as I could tell, was sound asleep at the far end of the house, dreaming of revenge or whatever evil plot was lurking in her twisted heart.

"Here," Asher said, passing me a steaming mug, which I inspected with a curled lip. "I didn't put anything in it, Mila. Mixing coffee and sedatives doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"There's no such thing as too cautious," I replied, taking a sip of the scalding drink. "Bleh! This is horrid," I coughed, tongue lolling, nose wrinkled.

"Excuse me," Marco scoffed, strolling into the kitchen, lips tilted in a confident smirk. "But such blasphemy shouldn't be tolerated under your roof, Asher." And without pausing, he liberated the mug of coffee from my fingers and took a deep swallow, followed by a theatrical sigh. "I'll happily punish your little night terror. Just say the word."

I grinned, exposing my canines. "You're more than welcome to try, Marco. I've so missed our evenings together. They were so ..." I paused to savor Marco's grimace then said, "... invigorating."

Asher snorted, poured two more cups, added a healthy spoon of sugar and a splash of cream to the mug on the left, then handed me the modified beverage. "Try that."

Marco grunted as I took a leery sip. To my complete shock, he used my distraction to brush the hair off my shoulder. The unexpected contact made me jump and I cringed away, sloshing milky, tepid coffee all over my exposed knee. "Good to see you two are getting along," Marco drawled, fingers trailing over a tender spot on my shoulder before I could twist away.

"For fucksakes, Marco," Asher growled, blotting my knee with a tea towel and taking the coffee from my stiff fingers.

I, on the other hand, was craning my neck in an effort to understand both his comment and dull ache his touch had exposed. When I found it my cheeks burned hot, and I pulled my hair over my shoulder, unable to raise my eyes, toying with silvery ends in shaking fingers. The angle of the raised skin, coupled with the slight pink coloration left no question to how and when I'd come by those marks—or more importantly, who had put them there.

Asher stepped forward, his hip bumping the table between my thighs. Although he faced Marco his fingers lingered on my knee, stroking the sticky residue and warm skin left behind by the coffee. "You're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

Marco chuckled. "Yes, sir. I certainly do. And you'd be lost without me." Moving to the sink to deposit his empty cup among the other dirty dishes, Marco missed the glare Asher tossed his way. "You have to put up with me as payment for dragging me out of bed at this hour, rambling some nonsense about a traitor."

With a sideways glance at me, Asher said, "Can you sense her?"

Frowning to block out those closest to me, I searched the upper floor until I found the thready trail I'd come to associate with Tyra, and nodded.

"Good. Keep your attention on her while I fill him in. I don't want any unwanted listeners."

Tipping my head to the side, in the direction of Tyra's room, I pushed Asher's hand away from me, needing to be free of his touch to better focus on my task. "She's the only other one in the house?" I asked, and it was Asher's turn to nod, his dark eyes also focused on the ceiling, brows creased in concentration. "Then she's sleeping. Talk away."

"That's fuckin' creepy," Marco muttered, rubbing the gooseflesh off his wiry forearms.

"Maybe. But it's useful." Trusting my senses over his own, Asher pivoted, leaning against the counter to my left, close enough to warm my thigh without touching me. "My late cousin's wife is a person of interest."

Marco's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Holy shit. How sure are you?"

"I'm meeting the Lieutenant General in the next hour."

"Holy shit," he said again, looking in the direction Asher and I had indicated. "How do you know? What did she do?"

"I can't say how I know," Asher replied, glancing at me. "But I've got it on good authority this person was overheard divulging sensitive information to a group of people who might have the resources to do something about it."

Marco's dark eyes found mine, flicked back to Asher's face, then he nodded once. "Understood. What's the plan?"

"We don't know the specifics," Asher admitted, again chewing at the patch of hair below his lower lip. "But we know the targets." He collected my cold fingers and held up my hand, tapping the golden circlet embedded in my wrist before releasing me.

"Targets? Plural?"

Nod. "We're under the impression the third party needs evidence to go forward," he gestured at the space separating us, then drew his finger across his throat. "Which is why you're here. This one can't be around the other Elites for the time being, due to—"

"I remember," Marco interrupted, shooting me a dark look.

"And I can't leave for my meeting without some insurance of my own."

"Understood," Marco repeated, nodding. Features set in a cold mask, Marco stepped forward, pulling his weapon free of its holster then handing it to Asher whose touch caused it to glow with a fierce, green light for a moment before he passed it back.

"There shouldn't be any problems," Asher continued, jerking his thumb at me. "This one will be upstairs keeping out of the way while you're entertaining my guest."

"You trust your source?" Marco asked, arms crossed over his chest.

For his part, Asher didn't hesitate. "I do."

"Then I'm with you."

"Good." He turned toward me. "Mila?"

"She's quiet," I murmured, not meeting his eyes.

Asher pushed my cup of coffee back into my hands, then said, "Finish this while I find something to eat."





After breakfast, Asher saw me back to our rooms, locking the door behind him then sliding the key under the gap should I need to defend myself or escape. Nothing had been said before he left, no important last words, meaningful glances, or comforting gestures were needed. We had a plan, and if it went as expected, Tyra would still be in bed before he returned with the support of his superiors. I was determined to prove I could be useful, could be more than a liability in a delicate situation—but that didn't stop me from glaring in the direction of the guest room, senses locked on the traitor slumbering down the hall.

Every time I felt her stir I retreated, terrified that I was thrusting my anxiety into her sleeping mind, sightless eyes fixed on the wall, heart pounding until she drifted off again. It was only a matter of time before she woke—there were, after all, innocent women to be murdered, evil plots to be set in motion. None of which could happen if she slept the day away. That, and part of me was hoping she'd try something devious to prove my suspicions correct, if for no other reason than to confirm that my time within the rebel mountain hadn't been a figment of my imagination.

The Watchers were agitated and had been trying to connect with my mind since I'd finished eating breakfast, but I hadn't let them through until Asher had gone. Their combined presence had flooded my mind the instant I'd relaxed my guard, comfortable only because of my solitude, ever leery of Asher discovering them. Or not. I shrugged, chewing my thumbnail to the quick as I watched the woman beyond the door. Asher had to accept me—crazy or not. He no longer had a choice.

"Watch where you're going!" an unfamiliar voice bellowed from the street below, echoing through the narrow alley behind Asher's house. My head whipped to the side with a startled gasp, and I darted to the window to see who was making such a racket.

"Me?" Came the indignant reply of a tall, dark haired woman flanked by two sandy haired male slaves. "I'm not the one stupid enough to bring an undisciplined slave in public, peasant."

A portly man rounded the corner, his large belly preceding his every step. "Peasant, am I?" he snarled, clenching his fists at his sides as a beautiful young woman scrambled to gather a basket of spilled fruit. I could see her fingers trembling from where I stood.

One of the Caledonian woman's slaves stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the slight girl kneeling on the ground, half a dozen oranges filling her thin arms. "Leon, get back here," she snapped, slapping his chest with a bejeweled hand. "Let the clumsy twit clean up after herself."

"Yes, Mistress."

My lip curled, but I was not given the chance to formulate the exact nature of my disgust with Caledonian slave owners, as the racket in the street had succeeded in doing the one thing I'd spent the last two hours hoping would not come to pass.

Tyra was awake.

In that moment, I was so focused on her that I felt her stretch the sleep from her limbs, almost shivered when her bare feet touched the cold floor. The dispute unfolding on the street below could no longer hold my interest the way she could. Voices, which a moment before had held the entirety of my attention were no longer audible as I listened to the soft fall of feet coming down the hall. Had she no need of the toilet upon waking? Was she so intent on her foul mission that she couldn't take the time to relieve herself? I bared my teeth, backing away from the door on silent feet.




The Last Tritan Ch. 21



Without conscious decision, my fingers flew to the control chain on my right bicep, hidden from sight beneath the black silk Asher had positioned there. My search for the two tiny buttons capable of connecting me to him was a lost cause, what with the frantic beat of my heart making my fingers sweat and shake, destroying any dexterity I may have otherwise possessed.

A throaty sigh echoed just beyond the thick oaken door and the Watchers burst into my mind, comforting with their almost-presence. "Asher?" she whispered, much too quiet to be heard if that were truly her intention. I gathered every ounce of dark will burning inside me, ready to defend myself should this viper make an attempt to enter this room. And then, just when I thought my heart couldn't possibly beat any faster without painting the walls with gore and innards, the door handle began to turn. Slow ... cautious ... not allowing the internal mechanisms to grind together. Silent.

But the door was locked, and I held the key. When Asher came home, I was going to throw myself at his feet in thanks for his forethought.

"Tricky, tricky," she muttered in a sing-song voice when the door wouldn't budge. And then she walked on, leaving me frozen to the floor, jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache.

"Fuck," I hissed, sinking to my knees as I continued to follow her decent down the stairs, dabbing at the sweat soaking my hair line. It was time for Marco to do his part, to distract her until Asher could return with reinforcements.

I lurched to my feet, stumbling toward Asher's desk and flipped over a clean glass, pouring out a splash of his fine liquor. It burned going down and I coughed, pressing the back of my hand to my lips. But as heat spread through my chest, I had to admit the potent liquid did have an appeal, at least as an aid in steadying frayed nerves.

I listened until I heard Marco's deep voice rumble in greeting, though his words were distorted through the layers of brick and mortar. I chewed at my index nail. Would telling Asher about this development be the smart thing to do, or would I be interrupting his meeting with baseless fear? Marco was a trained soldier armed with an Elite weapon. Surely he, of anyone, would be fine with her until Asher returned?

Fingers steadied by alcohol, I slipped the key into the lock, turning it so slowly the click was inaudible, though my ear was a scant few inches away. Simply leaving the room felt stupid, like I was betraying both myself and Asher with mind boggling arrogance. But I crept forward, every sense pushed to the limit, locked on the dim flicker of energy from the Caledonians below me. I didn't stop until I could hear the low murmur of voices from the floor, only pressing my back to the banister when I was certain I was in no danger of discovery.

"And where is the master of the house today? Surely he can't be back to work already?"

"'Fraid so, Ma'am," Marco replied, his easygoing voice soothing and light.

She gasped, and I imagined her pressing an elegant hand to her lips in outrage. "But that's absurd! The poor boy's had to deal with so much. The d-death of my dear H-Harper—" she sniffed, though if the tight, sick anticipation pulsing off her was anything to go by, the sound effect likely had more to do with an autumn cold than the grief of a new widow. "I'm sure his promotion to Major has been stressful in itself. Oh," she added, as if it were an afterthought. "And let's not forget that wretched Priestess he got himself tied to. The poor man. Where might the horrid little beast be today? He doesn't let her out of the house, does he?"

My lips curled as heat stained my cheeks. No, actually, he didn't let me out of the house, thank you very much. But it had more to do with preventing a massacre than preserving his social standing in the eyes of deceitful whores like her. Besides, I preferred it this way. The less I had to interact with the plague of Caledonians roaming the streets of this stolen city, the better.

Marco laughed, snapping me out of my venomous thoughts. "His Priestess isn't that bad, really ... once you get past the snarling and the teeth, of course."

"So she's here?"

"No ma'am."

"Ah, that's too bad. I'll admit I didn't waste a great deal of my time with my husband's little trollop, but I've got experience with disobedient slaves. You know, there wasn't a slave in my household who had the gall to make eye contact with me, let alone talk back the way Asher's Priestess does. And there's good reason for that, I might add. I'd love to spend just a few minutes with her. I'll be sure to speak with Asher when he returns. We can think of it as my thanks for his generous hospitality. Where did you say he'd gone?"

"Major Rawlings had a meeting with the Lieutenant General himself this morning, ma'am. Something about a lead on a rebel camp spotted in the south, I believe."

"Indeed?" she gasped, but my neck dampened with nervous sweat that wasn't mine. "The south you say? I did hear rumors they'd gone to the coast, now that you mention it. But of course, no one really knows for sure."

I rolled my eyes but congratulated Marco's subtly—he knew as well as I did there were no rebels to the south. But Tyra was certainly eager to admit hearing a rumor confirming the sporadic lie, wasn't she?

Marco sighed. "No doubt this will be yet another dead end, too, the slippery cowards! I wish they'd come out of hiding and fight like men."

She giggled, high and manicured. "Oh, all in good time, darling. All in good time."

I shivered, sinking deeper into the shadows.

"Now, are you hungry, Marco dear? I'm sure I can whip something up. Won't take me but a moment."

"Eh, why not?" he replied, and it was all I could do to remain where I was, not to go charging into the kitchen and slap some sense into that bloody fool. Couldn't he hear what she was saying? I wouldn't eat food prepared by Tyra for all the power in the world. And then, for a brief instant, my heart actually stopped beating. What if her goal was to poison him so she was free to roam the house? Tyra's mind was riddled with holes, for fucksakes. There was no predicting her actions, no reasoning with that particular brand of crazy. For all either of us knew, murdering an unsuspecting soldier was perfectly reasonable from where she was sitting. Maybe she'd done it before—I had no doubt she had plans to do it in the future, even knew who her target was.

What she hadn't counted on, however, was the pure, blind fury stewing in the pit of my stomach. I was intimate with said rage on a level she would never be able to comprehend, could make it work for me in a way she wouldn't see coming until it was much too late. I bared my teeth, clenching my fists and gathering a dark shroud of power around my shoulders. She wouldn't lay a single, perfect finger on my Priestesses or my Elite, not while my veins sang with the strength to do something about it. Whatever pitiful store of strength her willowy body contained was mine. All I had to do was walk down there and claim it. It would be nothing to take it from her, this foul woman who interrupted my sleep with her pitiful plots and schemes.

She'd underestimated me, the slimy bitch, and she'd pay for it with her life. Her death would mean nothing to the world, except perhaps a black mark on the pages of history—a mark that could be filled with something better. Something brighter. Teeth bared, I stepped into the light, the superior power of an Elite Priestess whipping the small hairs on my arms to attention. The flicker of two heartbeats prickled my skin, beckoning to me, wafting up the stairs with a seductive flick, whetting my limitless appetite for power.

The Watchers burst into my mind, splashing me with their emotionless presence, bathing the frenzy of Empathy in a frigid, emotionless void. With a muted snarl, I whirled on the spot, heading back to the seclusion of our rooms, hardly remembering to walk on the balls of my feet to deaden the sound of my passage. Seconds later, my back was pressed against the locked door, and I sucked air in through my nose in quick, shallow breaths.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I hissed, sinking to my bottom, wrapping my arms around my knees to quell the bile searing the back of my throat. Asher couldn't have been gone for more than two hours. Was I really so incapable that I couldn't survive without him for so short a time? Where was my sense of honor, of willpower? "Well they aren't dead," I whispered to the Watchers, knowing I wouldn't have been able to stop after eliminating Tyra, knowing Marco would have been next. "So I guess this is a victory, right?"

And yet, I had a sense Asher may not see it that way at all.

After I was sure I had a handle on the hunger for energy—burying myself in the Watchers cool strength—I took a deep breath and flung my senses to the floor below. I did not release said breath until I was certain neither of our house guests were aware how close they had come to death.

"Asher," I whispered, walking to the far side of our bedroom. "I just wanted you to know that Tyra is awake and she's trying to feed Marco." I paused, feeling a little silly talking into my armpit, then continued. "I wouldn't put it past that fool to actually consume her cooking. Oh, and if you don't come back soon, I can't guarantee either of them will be breathing when you do. Hurry back!" I added with false cheer, releasing the buttons with a sharp flick of my wrist.

There was a twenty second pause, which I spent counting my steps as I paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, and then Asher's voice filled my mind. "Don't do anything stupid, Mila. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't move."

I stilled, trying not to hear the dull murmurs of the duo in the kitchen, letting Asher's familiar, powerful essence fill my mind. Anything to distract from the stomach turning need crawling through my veins ...





True to his word, Asher's fierce glow did nothing but hurry toward me over the next fifteen minutes. He was moving at a steady pace and took no detours, and when the front door finally banged open, it shook the whole house. Instead of focusing on his close proximity, I turned my attention inward. I could hear voices, and when the distinct tinkle of laughter drifted up the stairs I allowed the tension to drain from my body, waiting to him to come to me.

It didn't take long for him to thunder up the stairs, shouting, "I'm going back to bed," to those who remained in the kitchen. "Come get me if you need anything, Marco."

A smile flickered over my lips, listening to the subtle, unspoken context between those two.

"Mila," Asher whispered, rattling the doorknob. "Let me in."

Without looking, I reached up from my position on the floor, turning the key I'd left in the lock.

"Where are y—" he stopped short, finding me seated on the floor to his right, knees tucked under my chin.

"If Marco got himself poisoned, I'm not going to heal him."

Asher knelt before me, dark eyes searching mine, elbow braced on knee. "They haven't eaten yet. She's got a stew on the stove, but Marco's not stupid. He won't eat it, but I'll mention it to him all the same." His fingers twitched, but he didn't touch me. "What are you doing on the floor?"

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, chewing the inside of my lip. "Waiting."

"This ..." his fingers flicked in my general direction. "It'll get easier, Mila."

My left hand curled into a tight ball as I chewed at the pinky nail of my free hand. "What took you so long?" I barked, not wanting to follow him down that particular path of conversation.

"The Lieutenant General wanted the Curator to know of Tyra's betrayal. I had to tell the story twice."

I rubbed at my Control Chain. "Do they know about us?"

"No. Not yet."

"What did you tell them?"

He sighed and took a seat next to me, back pressed to the door. "That I overheard Tyra talking to her rebel contact about a plot to destroy the Priestesses."

"Have they got any reason to question you?"

"No. I've never lied to them." Before now.

I nodded. "What are they going to do? About her?"

"For now," he said, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "They agree with waiting for her to reveal herself as the traitor. Brigadier General Viridan is hand picking a group of soldiers to watch her from a distance. I brought a few of them with me just now so Marco isn't alone with her. But ..."

"But?"

"Fuck."

I swallowed. "What?"

"They want to lure Tyra into attacking as soon as possible."

"Oh." The crack in the floorboard at the edge of his toe caught my attention, and I focused on it. "They need bait."

At first, I thought the hollow thud of his head bumping the wood behind him would be his only response, but then he said, "I'll be close enough to intervene at all times, should ... things get out of control."

"Sure," I replied, sinking my nails into my palm. "No big deal, right?"

He snorted and I watched his lips twitch from the corner of my eye. "If you say so."

"And hey," I said, dropping my chin to my knees and wrapping my arms around my shins. "We've got an advantage they don't know about, right? If you feel me slipping, you know ..." I waived my hand, not needing to voice my fear of the darkness, "You can distract me. Like you did in the mountain. I'm sure I won't be able to kill her before someone stops me."

For a minute, he didn't answer, letting the strained conversation die. "Fuck, Mila, I tried—" he broke off, running his teeth through that patch below his lip. "There was nothing I could say that would be a good excuse to keep you away from her. Nothing that would make sense without having to tell them everything. The Lieutenant General himself said your temper would be a fantastic way to provoke Tyra into action."

I smiled at the floor. "Well he's not wrong. I'm sure I can get that bitch to tell me everything. It's my methods he won't like. But," I said, stopping him before he could comment. "What happens if we're too late? What if the plot is already in motion and Tyra's just here to watch the show?"

"We've got a safe house set up for the Priestesses. No one will be able to get near it."

My brows drew together in a frown. "What if their plan is a bomb, Asher? Isn't it a little short sighted to gather them all together in one convenient location?"

He chuckled. "It might be, if the safe house wasn't a bomb shelter buried under the city."

"Oh," I said, nodding. "That's good then. They'll be safe. Good."

"They?" he asked, watching me from the corner of his eye. "You're going with them, if it comes down to it Mila."

"Hmm, let's think about that for a moment," I drawled, pressing a finger over my lips. "Let's lock the unstable, energy hungry Priestess in a room with some of the most powerful women on the continent and see what happens. I'll bring snacks. It'll be fun."

"What happened this morning, Mila?"

Using the sharp point of my canines, I chewed at the skin inside my lip, making it bleed. "Oh you know, the usual. Tyra tried to get in here and I kinda lost my shit."

"She tried—"

"Yeah, and it was creepy, too," I said, turning a little to watch his face. "She was muttering under her breath when she realized the door was locked."

"What did she say?" he asked, eyes wide.

I cleared my throat and said, "Tricky, tricky," in a high pitched imitation of Tyra's voice, lips twitching with amusement.

The color drained from Asher's bronzed cheeks. "Fuuck," he breathed, shooting a sick thrill straight to my loins. The last time he'd said that ... all breathy and ... I shivered. "That is creepy."

"Yeah," I shrugged, shifting away to hide the blush heating my cheeks. "When she went downstairs I was ..."

"Curious?"

"No ... not really. I just wanted to hear her talk. To make sure she's as crazy as I think she is. That my time with the rebels wasn't just a dream or whatever."

"I see. And?"

"Oh, she's redefining the word," I replied, twisting a lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. "And I'm pretty much certain she's here to kill me, judging by the way she was pumping Marco for information. But that's when I started getting mad, thinking about her trying to murder my—the Priestesses, and you know," my eyes flicked back to his face, "trying to get revenge, or whatever. I started thinking about how easy it would be to just end it ... her, I guess. Which led to thinking about the—the rush of—of power, and ..." The heat of his hand settled between my shoulder blades, but I didn't pull away. "I was this close to walking down there," I said, holding up pinched fingers to demonstrate just how close I'd been to the edge. "But then the Watchers—"

"The Watchers?"

"Uh ..." My cheeks were burning, heart pounding with the slip but I pressed on as if I hadn't mentioned my phantom hitchhikers. "I can't go to the safe house with the others, Asher. Tyra and Marco are nothing compared to the Priestesses. I haven't been near one of the others since I've been back, but ... I don't know if ... I think ... I'll kill them all." I laughed, chewing at my thumbnail. "Maybe I'm the rebel's secret weapon. All they have to do is wait for me to go flying off the handle. It doesn't take much, does it? I can't even leave this fucking room without you—"

"We'll deal with that if it happens, Mila," he said, calm and quiet beside me, tracing a pattern along my hairline. "Who are the Watchers, Mila?"

"I can't—you can't lock me in a room with them and just hope for the best, Asher. You can't."

"Fine," he sighed, getting to his feet. "Don't tell me. Because keeping secrets from me has a history of working out for you, doesn't it?" He peeled his black army issue jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair, running a hand through his dark hair before turning back to me.

"Asher," I whispered, looking at the floor.

But he spoke before I could think of some way to explain my wild 'Watcher Theories.' "I may have a solution for all of—" he flicked his fingers in my direction, "—this. It's not permanent, but it might just help you get a handle on everything."

I watched him for a moment, taking in the tightening of muscles across broad shoulders, lowered head, and averted eyes. "What is it?"

"It's worth a shot," he hedged, pouring a healthy amount of liquor into the glass I'd used.

"If you say so," I said with a shrug, also getting to my feet.

"Great." He drained the glass in one hard swallow. "Let's go."

The color rushed out of my face, leaving me dizzy in its absence. "You—what? We can't leave. Weren't you listening to anything I just said? I'm—"

"You'll be fine. It's not far."

I took a deep breath, trying to push away the desire to confront Tyra and pull her life from her body, then nodded. If Asher thought he had something that might help me control the darkness, it was worth a shot regardless of the risks. And now that he was back, I could use him as a shield, let him curb my volatile nature. "I need shoes."





It was apparent Asher had been considering this plan of for quite some time. We exited the house through the back door after Asher spoke with Marco in hushed, urgent tones. The word poison drifted toward me, easing the majority of the tension in my neck as I waited. Orders presumably given, Asher and I took the back alleys until we reached our destination. Not a single person, free Caledonian or otherwise, saw us—for which I was profoundly grateful, considering my recent brush with the darkness within. As a countermeasure, however, Asher kept his fingers wrapped around the back of my neck, guiding me in more than one way with the skin to skin contact.

"Where are we?" I whispered, taking in the sparse decorations and lemony tang of concentrated cleaning products.




The Last Tritan Ch. 21



Asher didn't stop walking after the door snapped shut behind him. "Jail."

"Right," I said, edging closer to the exit. "I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's probably the only way to guarantee I don't—"

"Oh, for fucksakes, Mila. I'm not leaving you here, you lunatic."

I frowned, fingers brushing the door handle. "Well of course you're not," I replied, filling my voice with as much scorn as I could muster. "You'd never do something so tasteless—"

Spinning on his heel, Asher wrapped a strong hand around my wrist. "Calm down, Priestess." His lips twitched and he pushed me ahead of him, separating me from the only exit.

A high, unnatural laugh burst from my tight lips. "Calm down? Who said I'm not calm? I'm the very definition of peace and serenity."

"Right," he snorted, fingers tightening around my wrist. "Just take a deep breath. If I wanted to tie you up we wouldn't have to come here to do it. Actually," he breathed, brushing the hair off the back of my neck, lips ghosting past my ear. "That's not a bad idea."

I shivered but shook him off. "Not happening. Why are we here?"

Rather than answer, Asher typed a key code into heavy steel door and pushed me through when it glided open. My nose wrinkled, bombarded as it was by the scent of unwashed bodies and cheap laundry detergent. Choosing to give him my trust instead of nag him until he told me everything, I followed as Asher moved past the tiny prison cells. There were four in total, but three were unoccupied. It appeared the Caledonian military didn't have much use for prisoners.

"Here we are," Asher said, stopping before the last cell on the left. Inside, crouching in the shadows was a filthy man bound in chains, complete with gag and blindfold. On the floor to his left was a plate of food—left largely untouched—and a tin cup of what may have been water, though the contents had been spilled across the damp concrete floor. The cell door was secured with a heavy chain linked to a padlock, which was glowing with a familiar, Elite green.

"Okay, I'll admit it," I said, stepping away from the man behind the bars as his head tilted in the direction of my voice. "I have no idea what this is about."

"Don't recognize him, Mila?" Asher asked, pulling me in front of him, both hands on my shoulders.

"No ... should I?"

"Look closer," he whispered, nudging me toward the cell.

Frowning, I did as he bade, taking a careful half-step forward. I scrutinized the disheveled man before me with narrowed eyes, but aside from the dark, obviously Caledonian mop of filthy hair, I couldn't place the man. "Asher, I don't—"

"No? Well I admit, the guards haven't treated him with the luxury he's grown accustomed to over this past week, but," he paused to touch the side of my chin, directing my gaze back to the prisoner. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the man who first took you as a slave and destroyed your forest."

I gasped, stumbling back and pressing myself against Asher's hard chest. "Jasper."

"Yes," Asher said, his unseen smile evident in the deep timber of his voice. "And he's all yours, Mila."



Well, there you have it! Yet another cliff hanger ... I'm not sorry! It should be expected by now, yes? ;) You know what to do! Let me know what you think in the comments, or via email. I usually respond within a few minutes, because I signed out of my real life facebook, and now exclusively use the one for my Myra Danvers profile. Now I'm going to go get holiday drunk with my mum and dad, which is obviously also the best time to do some writing. Heh. Happy Holidays!

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 22



Okay, my Pretties, here it is. I'll save my usual ramble for the end of the story, because I expect you're probably anxious to get to this chapter. ;) But I'd like to thank my glorious team, without whom I'd be wandering the streets of my rural neighbourhood in sub-zero temperatures, forever lost. (Baron VonKarrman, Alie, unorigionalnames, and J Spe. Dear god, I hope I'm not forgetting anyone. If I am, you know it's not my intention!! I've had to give up caffeine, and my brain doesn't work anymore because of it. Please don't hate me!!! ;) )

And without more of my ramblings ... chapter 22!

"And he's all yours, Mila."

"Mine?" I asked, tongue sticking to dry teeth. "W—what do you mean, mine? Like a pet? Because if you're trying to give me a present, Asher, I'd have been much happier with a bowl of fruit."

He chuckled and pulled away from me, fussing with something before returning his hand to my shoulder. "No, Mila. You won't be taking care of Jasper. At least not in that sense."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, turning to face him, putting the broken figure of Jasper out of sight.

"Your Empathy is a weapon, Mila," he rumbled, stepping closer, fingers trailing along my lower lip. "It's dangerous, yes. But that's because it controls you. Maybe the reason you're having such a hard time mastering it, is because you're trying to contain something that shouldn't be put in a box. Maybe," he said, turning me in place, forcing to look upon the broken form of Jasper again. "It just needs an appropriate outlet."

My lips parted and I drew in a sharp breath, intending to berate him for suggesting what may have been the stupidest thing I'd ever heard.

But nothing came out.

My fingers curled into a tight fist as that dark, shameful part of me purred and stretched.

Jasper had caused the most harm of anyone I'd ever known, had hunted innocent men, women, and children, and had sold them into slavery—myself included. And the Tritan forest ... that irreplaceable, ancient wood ... the history ... the animals ... my home ... reduced to numbers on a balance sheet.

Surely he deserved to die for his crimes ... and ... why shouldn't my hand be the one to do it? "You ..." I swallowed, hard, wrestling with the monster surging to life within me. "You want me to kill him?"

"Yes," he admitted, brushing the back of my neck with warm fingers. "But what I want isn't important."

"Not important?" I asked in a breathy voice, only half listening for Asher's response. Without my conscious will, I took a step forward, edging closer to the villain bound and gagged, laid out before me. An offering to the darkest part of me.

"You need this, Mila," he murmured, moving with me. "You're strong. A warrior by circumstance. A survivor." The heat of his palm settled over my left hip, delivering a gentle squeeze before nudging me forward. "But that's been taken from you, hasn't it? And yes," he said, gathering my hair and arranging it over my right shoulder. "I'll admit I played my part in that." Lips pressed against my neck, puckering against my skin. "I collared you. Bound you to me," his teeth traced the damp path his lips had made, making me shiver in spite of his words. "Took your freedom."

At his admission, my lips curled and I made to turn, to face him on a snarl as he spoke of my slavery in that seductive, quiet voice.

But his hold was firm and he continued speaking, refusing my rising temper. "I can't apologize for it, either."

I nodded, teeth bared. "Because you're not sorry."

"No. I'm not."

I bristled, trying to squirm away from the heat of his touch. "Fuck you."

"Would you rather I lie to you, Mila? Would you have me fill your head with meaningless, flowery words, knowing they weren't true? That no matter what's been said, you know part of me—the Elite part—lives for the pure, raw power of this twisted ... forbidden bond between us? As I know you do?"

"I ..." my voice trailed off, and I swallowed the snappish retort, getting lost in the seductive lure of Jasper's life force. "I ... no."

Warm breath tickled the nape of my neck. "Besides ..." His hands slid down my ribcage, fingers tightening over my modest curves before settling on the angle of my hips. "Words alone can't replace what you've lost, can they?" Asher took a step, urging me toward the man who hadn't started this, hadn't even been the one to capture me in the woods. And yet, he'd played the biggest part, next to the man whose breath was dewy on my skin, whose voice was a soothing purr in my ear. "Take it, Mila."

"Take what?" I breathed, looking down my nose at Jasper's filthy, broken figure ... losing my struggle against the darkness.

"Control," he whispered and I shivered, gooseflesh prickling every inch of my skin. "Take control of this one, tiny aspect of your life, Mila. Seize it. I can't give you freedom, but I can give you this. Take your vengeance on this piece of shit. Do it."

Jasper moaned through his gag, drawing my eye with a sharp flick of my head. My nostrils flared on a deep breath as I loosed my Empathy, allowed it to fill the room, glorying in the richness of Jasper's terror. "Yes," I whispered, closing the distance between us, fingers clutching at the cold steel bars separating me from my intended victim. Asher reached around me, pouring his power into the strange, glowing lock until it clicked and the door swung open.

"Go on, Mila," Asher whispered, fingers brushing along my spine. "He's all yours."

Lips parted, I stepped into the cell, eyes fixed to Jasper's cringing form. Close as I was, I could feel his heart pounding an erratic beat in the still air, could almost feel it pounding in time with my own frantic heart. My tongue darted out, wetting dry lips, savoring the horrid anticipation as I stalked toward my prey, hungry ... no longer grappling with the dark wishes of my Empathy, but embracing it.

This was right ... Asher was right. I'd been cowering for too long. Weak. It was far past time that I do something about it, reclaim the fire that had kept a teen--aged refugee alive for five years, relying on nothing but her own ingenuity and drive to survive. My fingers settled on Jasper's shirt collar, knuckles brushing the coarse stubble of his unshaved neck. That girl had been courageous, had lived by her own rules, refusing to accept a life of slavery for herself and the other refugees who had fled to the forest.

She'd been feared. A force to be reckoned with. But me? Here? I was no longer the Woods Menace, but a Tritan Priestess. Powerful in my own right, yes, but seen as little more than an Elite's plaything, the secret to his incredible power ... nothing more than a domesticated pet. A slave.

"I am not a slave." A fierce, toothy grin spread across my face and I pulled Jasper toward me, digging my fingers into the meat of his shoulders. I was never meant to be a slave, and this man, this greedy, pathetic excuse of a life form was the spring board I'd use to distinguish myself. I loosed my senses, shattering Jasper's natural defenses with ease, feeding on the raw energy keeping him breathing. When I was finished here, I'd move on to Tyra, eliminating the threat she posed once and for all. No more of this subtle fuckery Asher was so fond of. She was a parasite who needed exterminating, and as Asher had said, I was a weapon. It would be nothing to do exactly this to Tyra, to watch her lovely, steel--blue eyes dim as they stared into the abyss ...

I blinked. Tyra ... Tyra was a full blooded Caledonian—and she sported the same dark features I'd come to associate with the rest of her countrymen. Right down to her inky, soulless eyes. The only person I knew with cold, steely blue eyes ... was

The late General Striker. The last man who had wronged me and had paid for it with his life ... my first victim.

I stopped, dropping Jasper's limp form with a gasp, stumbling back, trying to sever the link between us. Bile burned the back of my throat, and I shook my head, trying to banish Striker's cold dead eyes ... trying to forget who had done the killing.

"Mila?" Asher asked, touching the back of my arm.

"Don't," I snarled, jerking away from him.

"What's wrong—"

"Shut up!" I shrieked, thrusting a hand through my hair. I could still feel Jasper's life force flickering below me, beckoning me to finish the job ... it would only take one more push ... just a little more ... I screamed, kicking Jasper's hip with all force his stolen energy could afford me. He didn't react, didn't even moan in protest. Desperate for help, for someone to save me from this monster within, no matter who, I turned to Asher, trying to use his strength to help me turn away.

But he was closed to me, every single piece of him hidden behind his infernal shield. I was alone, had to muscle my way through with out his help, or be forever lost.

Blinking back tears, I knelt at Jasper's side, finding his cheek cool and clammy to the touch, concentrating on keeping his heart beating, pouring what I'd taken back into him.

Asher wrapped a thick arm around my waist, pulling me away from him, breaking the exchange. "What're you doing?" he snapped, squeezing when I began to struggle against him.

"Fuck you!" I snarled, kicking and thrashing against him. "Put me down!" And much to my surprise, he did, dropping me with little ceremony when my heel connected with the bone of his shin, hard. I scrambled to my feet, spinning to face him in gloom of Jasper's cell, cutting him off before he could speak a word. "Listen to me, you fucking arrogant bastard." I planted a hand on his broad chest, pushing him back with all of my augmented strength, ignoring the slight limp as he stumbled backward. "We may be bound together forever—and I'll admit we share the blame for that in equal parts—but I will never be your weapon, Asher. You will understand this one thing, if you understand nothing else in your entire, privileged life." I took a deep breath, marshaling my strength and newfound conviction. "I am not a slave. Not to you, not to the Empire of Caledonia, and especially not to my own sordid impulses. I will not be manipulated any longer."

Asher seized my wrist, prying my hand away from his chest. "Is that so?" he asked, the details of his emotions hidden behind his warrior's mask.

"It is."

"I see. How very noble of you."

I laughed then, a perfect imitation of Asher's callous bark. "Don't mistake my refusal to kill him for something as mundane as nobility, Asher. I'm being true to my nature, if nothing else," I said with a shrug, trying to ignore the still unbroken connection between Jasper and I. "Haven't we established I'm a selfish creature at my very core?" I nudged Jasper's still body with my toe, watching the light play with his dark, matted hair. "I don't care what happens to him, Asher, I really don't. I'm not trying to save him. You could turn him into ash right now and I would not flinch. All that matters is that I've won. Jasper will have nothing of me, not even in death. I won't have to see his eyes staring back at me every time I blink, and I won't have to share his last moments. He'll be alone."

"But more important than this bottom feeder," I continued with a careless toss of my head. "Is that I'm refusing the darkest part of me that desperately wants to do it. To end him, and everyone else who has wronged me ... wronged my people. I win," I said again, fists clenched at my sides. "I'm doing this for me. This is how I reclaim control of my life. This is how I master my Empathy."

Taking a deep breath, I stepped closer to Asher, more confident than I'd been since becoming his slave. "I can't say I'll never take another life, because I've already been that naive little girl who'd rather die than kill a rabbit for food. Every single day was a struggle to survive in that forest, but I did it. I survived, Asher, because that's what I do. It's what I'm good at." A small smile lifted the corner of my lips, and I shrugged. "I should have followed in Sasha's footsteps and ended both our lives. That would have been the noble thing to do. Yet here I am, bound to you forever, knowing I will do whatever it takes to keep us both alive. Even if that means I have to kill again," I said, voice steady, maintaining eye contact with my stoic bond--mate. "But if that day should come, it will be my choice, and not because I lost control of myself."

Asher watched me, lips parting on a heavy breath but otherwise remaining silent. I couldn't tell if it was my imagination, or if his lips twitched in some semblance of a smile. And then, without breaking eye contact, he surrounded me in an impenetrable shield of energy, cocooning me in safety before he drew his weapon. I watched, eyes wide, as he poured his strength into the gun, not stopping until it glowed a brilliant, hypnotic green. With those inky, Caledonian eyes fixed to mine, he fired, incinerating what had once been Jasper in an instant, leaving nothing more than a charred corpse illuminated by the flicker of Elite plasma. The link I'd created between myself and Jasper dissolved with little fanfare, one moment an all--consuming thorn, and the next ... a memory in danger of being smothered by the brilliant, virile display of male strength before me.

A chill raced through my blood. I didn't need to look to know there was no hope of saving the slaver, but I couldn't stop myself from facing it, couldn't look away from the truth of Elite nature. The same truth that now ran through my own blood. This is what Asher did, what he had been trained to do. And I had to admit, inspecting the smoking gore in the center of the room, he was damned good at his job.

I took a deep breath, swaying on my feet, reeling from the loss of a connection severed so abruptly, though Asher had shielded me from the worst of the death blow. Refusing the bubble of panic clawing at my throat, I asked, "Why? Surely you didn't do that just to see if I was bluffing?"

He didn't smile, as I'd expected him to. "This was an execution, Priestess. Sanctioned by the Curator himself. Bought and paid for the moment Jasper touched what could never belong to him. He was going to die today, by your hand or mine." Asher's fingers looped around my bicep, around the forbidden mark of our joint slavery hidden beneath a flimsy scrap of fabric. "You are mine," he whispered, pulling me toward the door, away from the corpse smearing the floor and back wall. "And he would have done—" Asher's fingers tightened on my skin, hard enough to bruise. "I could feel it on him ... the desire ..." his grip gentled, then trailed down the exposed skin of my back, coming to rest on my hip. "Oh, he would have given you back to me, of course. But only when there was nothing left of you."

I shuddered in spite of myself, swallowing the bile burning my throat.

"This execution was little more than a formality. Jasper was already dead and he knew it. He didn't even try to fight. Not really." He typed a code on the number pad by the door and waited for the click of the lock before he continued, looking straight ahead. "My intention here was not to manipulate you, Priestess. I ... I simply wanted to give you a chance at vengeance. It's ..." his jaw flexed and he swallowed, glaring at the heavy steel door before him. "It's what I would want. Were I ... in your position."

For a moment, I did nothing but follow him, absorbing his words, thinking of the mess we'd left in the cell behind us ... wondering if I should weep for the loss of life, even though that life had belonged to an unquestionably vile human being. Would anyone weep for him? Should they? Should I be stricken by crippling grief for the man who'd taken so much from so many, or ... or was this lightness in my chest relief? Relief in knowing he could no longer cause heartache, in knowing he'd died on his knees, bound and gagged. Indistinguishable from the countless poor souls he'd enslaved.

But then ... Jasper was just one man in a long line of many who'd been raised with the same disregard for life and equality. If this war could be won by killing everyone with the same philosophy, this was a world I wanted no part of.

"Vengeance is what I thought I wanted too," I whispered as we passed through the quiet halls of the prison, heading toward the warmth and relative freedom of the street outside. I touched his jacket--clad elbow, cheeks burning with newfound strength of will.

"And now?" he asked, eyes fixed to the path ahead, jaw tight around the words.

"Now?" I smiled, elongated canines touching my lower lip. "Now we make a plan."

"Oh good lord."

"No," I said, elbowing him in the ribs. "This will be a good one." I held up my left hand, palm up. "Priestess ..." my right moved to mirror its twin, "And Elite." I pressed my palms together, eyes fixed to the path before me, "Working together."

***

A plan. It was a simple concept, really. Find a goal that worked for both of us, hammer out the details, and execute. Simple.

"No."

"No?"

"It's not happening, Mila."

"Why the hell not?" I asked, perched on the edge of his desk, feet swinging.

"Because it's absurd and will end in death, that's why."

My lips curled. "Well aren't you just Mr. Positivity in the flesh. Excuse me for wanting to put and end to—"

"Mila. There's no building where they keep cages full of pregnant Tritan women. No place for you to go charging into, guns blazing. It's a network, you lunatic. Scattered across the entire Empire." He laughed. "It's basically nothing more than a detailed registry of Tritan lineage. There's no way to take it down with one attack, if I was even willing to have this conversation with you. And I'm not, by the way," he said, turning his attention to the tall stack of paper on the desk to his right.

I smirked. "Fine. But as long as we aren't having this conversation, I'd also like to inform you that I refuse to live in occupied Elora."

"Oh, naturally. Don't forget that you have to free all of the Priestesses before we ride off into the sunset, leaving the evil and tyrannical Caledonians to ponder their wicked ways." He scribbled his name on a dotted line, brows drawn together, then set the crisp, white page to the side before selecting another exactly like it.

"First of all," I said, holding up one finger. "You are one of the 'evil and tyrannical Caledonians,' as you say. And—" I paused to fold myself into a cross--legged sit a--top his desk, tucking the generous folds of my skirt between my thighs for modesty. "Who said I'd bring you with me?"

"Can we play make believe later, please? I've got a lot of work to do." He scribbled in the margin of the current document occupying his attention, set it aside, then began making notes on a fluorescent yellow notepad.

"And what could possibly be more important than me?" I asked, glaring at the crown of his head.

"Soldiers like to get paid, you see. And someone has to sort through their time cards to make sure—"

I yawned.

"Fine," he said, laughing. "I've been babysitting you for the last ten years of my life—" I snorted, "—and things have started to pile up. And after I'm finished with this, I have to cancel tonight's dinner meeting, arrange for someone to relieve Marco, talk to the Lieutenant General about the budget ..."

I ran my tongue along my teeth as he droned on, then took a long swallow of the hours--cold coffee in my mug, watching his profile over the ceramic rim. Ever since he'd figured out how to turn it against me, Asher had been blocking me from reading his emotions more often than he wasn't, using his shield to the best of his ability. In doing so, he'd created a relatively calm, emotionless environment for me to practice doing the same thing. It was a fine, logical plan, at least in theory. But like it or not, I needed this man, this vicious Elite whose very nature screamed for blood and vengeance. It was his strategic mind, his confidence, and most of all his trust that I required, even though I didn't deserve it. I needed to know him, and all the messy, emotional baggage that came with him, if I wanted to do something useful for my people. And I'd have to start with winning his full, undivided attention—dinner meetings and budget plans could wait.




The Last Tritan Ch. 22



A slow, full smile spread across my face, and ever so carefully, I nudged the leaning stack of paper with my knee. What we really needed was a little ... chaos.

"Mila," he warned, not bothering to look up. "Don't you dare."

"Of course not," I soothed, setting my empty mug aside. "I'd never do something so foolish ..." And then, with a casual nonchalance, I knocked the entire stack of paper off the desk, watching them flutter to the floor.

Asher stopped moving, his eyes remaining fixed to the last remaining page before him. "You think that's funny, do you?" he asked, the quiet tone distracting from the tight, white pinch of his nostrils and the thin, pressed line of his lips.

I nodded, gathering my feet if I should need to flee and said, "Yes. Yes I do."

"Hm," he hummed, rising from his seat, both hands pressed to the smooth, polished wood before him. "Is that so?"

"Oh, come on, Asher," I replied, watching his slow, careful movement, my lips curving in a toothy grin. "Your paperwork is no longer relevant."

"Oh?" he purred, stalking toward me and coming to a stop within touching distance, the oh-so-important documents crunching underfoot. "And why is that?"

"You don't need to do paperwork anymore, because you see," my breath hitched and I scooted back when he placed a hand on each of my knees, meeting little resistance as he pried them apart. "B--because we're leaving." I stifled the urge to squirm away, to hide myself from him, instead trying to look into the fierce eyes of my Elite and accept him for what he could not apologize for.

"Leaving?" he asked, brows raised, unflinching.

I nodded, breathing through parted lips, serious now. In an act of concession, I let my shield fall, hoping he'd do the same. "How long until someone discovers us," I tapped his wrist where a shimmer of gold was peaking out from beneath his long sleeve. "Discovers what I did?" When he didn't answer, I pushed on, trying to ignore the heat of his touch on my inner thigh and the ominous tight set of his jaw. "The way I see it, Asher, you don't have a choice. We have to go. Somewhere far away from here, where no one has ever heard of Tritans or Caledonians."

In one fluid movement, Asher pressed himself against me, his hips bumping the desk between my legs, handsome features twisted into a snarl. "You'd have me desert my country? My station as an Elite?" He gave me a vicious mental shove, and I winced, one eye closing against the dull ache. "You want me to run away and turn traitor to my people?"

"And why not?" I retorted, doing my best to mimic his ferocity, to ignore the hard, unyielding length of his body against mine, pressing at his mental barrier regardless of the personal cost to me. "You didn't choose this life any more than I did. What might you have been if you hadn't been born Elite, huh? If you hadn't been forced into this life?"

Asher jerked me forward with his grip on my knees, the cradle of his groin the only thing stopping me from falling to the floor. "I was born to be a soldier," he whispered, lips skating along the right side of my jaw, fingers now digging into the globes of my ass.

Of their own accord, my hands came to rest on his chest, an instinctual bid for balance. "Y--yes, but if you'd had the choice," I insisted, turning my head to the side in search of cold air, gathering my strength to push away his walls. "Would you have chosen war?"

"It doesn't matter," he murmured against my ear, proving he was my equal in this game when he began to fortify his defenses, intending to keep me out.

"Yes of course it—"

Asher made a fist in my hair, forcing my head back, exposing the vulnerable column of my throat. "Careful, Priestess. This is starting to sound like treason. If anyone were to overhear you," he murmured, dragging his teeth along my collar bone. "I'd be forced to punish you."

"Oh," I gasped, distracted, for a moment, from my goal. "But I haven't even told y--you about ... about h--how we're going to start a rebellion. It's the best part."

He chuckled, grinding himself against me, sending deep vibrations through my chest. "Ah, so now it's 'we' again?"

"Of course," I replied, turning my nose up at the man. "You're a magnet for trouble, Asher—"

He snorted and sucked my earlobe into his mouth, nibbling, not bothering to deign that with a response.

But I pressed on, digging my fingernails into the thin material of his shirt to steady myself. "No doubt someone would try to kill you mere moments after I make my second daring escape. And I am not dying for a war neither of us care about, Asher. You can be goddamned sure of that."

"My, my," he murmured, kneading my ass and thrusting the solid length of his cock against me. "We're quite sure of ourselves today, aren't we?"

He pulled my hands away from his chest, repositioning them on the desk behind me, forcing my back to arch as he leaned over me. "If you c--cared, you wouldn't be worried about them finding out about us. You'd ..." I gasped, trying to focus, to challenge his control and his morals at the same time. "You'd hand me over to the almighty Emperor this instant, and thank him for everything he provides. No questions asked." Asher, preoccupied with the hemline of my skirt, didn't respond or react to my dual assault, but I set my lips against his ear, making sure he heard and felt what I was doing. "I've already seen true devotion to the Empire, Asher. And it's a quality I find lacking in you."

He pulled back, lips moist, cheeks tinged with arousal, left eyebrow raised. An impenetrable island.

"Oh, yes, Marco was practically salivating when he spoke to me of the 'divine mission'. Eyes all glassy ... cheeks flushed with passion ... It was disturbing, to say the least." Flashing Asher a toothy grin, I tried to wriggle away from his hold, knowing my next words would serve to do nothing but piss him off. "In comparison to Marco," I purred, "You've got no drive, Asher, no ambition to climb the ranks of the Caledonian Elite. You're lazy, and you don't give a shit about the Empire's goals. There's nothing keeping you here."

Eyes narrowed, Asher hummed low in his throat. "Lazy?"

"You're positively slothful," I drawled, trying to ignore the narrow hips keeping my thighs parted, to focus on my goal.

"Right," he replied, stepping back to unbuckle his belt with one hand, kicking his pants to the side when they dropped to the floor.

I tsked, sensing victory and eying the discarded clothing. "A fine example."

"Okay," he said nodding, lips pursed, lower jaw pushed forward. "Good. Then here's another example for you, you manipulative little bitch." Without waiting for my response, Asher freed his cock from the constraints of his underpants and pushed my skirt high upon my hips, leaving me bared to his dark gaze.

But I took no offense to his harsh words, for his shield has slipped, letting me glimpse the furious tornado swirling behind his mask. Chin raised, legs parted, and chest thrust forward, I met his scrutiny head on. Asher was a means to an end, the only one I could trust with my plans for the future, for the Priestesses and their Elites, the only one who cared if I lived or died. If that concern stemmed from nothing more than simple self--preservation, I could hardly blame him for it. After all, my interest in him was born in the same fire.

When he sucked in a sharp breath through parted lips, shuddering at the sight between my legs, I did not flinch. Instead, I let my knees fall apart, knowing this was a package deal, understood that if nothing else could work, he might be more perceptive to my plans if he was sexually sated.

"Look at you," he breathed, running his thumb through the slick heat pooling between my ass cheeks. "You're a mess."

I raised a single brow, casting a meaningful glance at the hardened length of cock straining in his pumping fist.

He snarled at this, hardly taking the time to line himself up before he filled me in a single, brutal thrust. Not to be outdone, I wrapped my legs around his straining hips, meeting his desperate thrust with all the limited leverage my current position could afford. For a brief moment, Asher was still, perhaps allowing me a moment to adjust to his invasion, or more likely—given his mood—pausing to enjoy the thrill of the first thrust. Either way, I took advantage, drawing a deep breath into my lungs in an effort to relax.

And then, once I'd reclaimed control of myself, I let my head fall back, exposing the long, vulnerable column of my throat, expelling my breath on a deep groan.

Hands traveled up the length of my thighs, coming to rest on my hips. "That's it," he rasped, pulling back, pinning me to his desktop with this new grip. "Take it."

"Shut up," I hissed, using the fabric of his shirt to pull myself forward. Looping an arm around his neck, I clung to him for balance as I ran my nails through his hair. Gooseflesh erupted all over his skin and he moaned, thrusting against me, grinding his pelvis into my throbbing clit. "Oh, God," I whispered, lips brushing the hard line of his jaw, taking everything I could from our bond, letting it ease the path to my own climax.

He slowed his pace, ignoring my groan of displeasure as he pulled the front of my dress down, revealing my puckered nipples. Bending to the task, Asher sucked one taut peak into his mouth, nipping at it with the sharp edge of his teeth.

I squealed, arching away from the unpleasant ache in my breast. "W--wait! Waitwaitwait."

"What?" he snapped, his attention not diverted, rocking his cock back and forth within me, slow ... torturous.

"My ni--nipples are ..." I gasped, trying to peel him off me.

With a wet pop, Asher released me, raising dark eyes to meet mine. "Sensitive?"

I nodded, gasping for air. "Go e--easy."

A smile formed against my breast and Asher gentled his touch, using thumb and forefinger now, eyes fixed to the hardened bit of flesh. "Better?" Rather than answer, I groaned, leaning into him, letting my hands wander the length of his back unrestrained. "Fucking you on my desk is becoming something of a habit," he mused, his voice cultured, collected, and calm, in spite of his cock sinking into me at a happy pace.

"Enjoy it while you can," I retorted, catching his lower lip with the sharp edge of my canines, adding just enough pressure to threaten violence before he broke away.

"I intend to enjoy it for as long as I wish, Priestess." He abandoned my nipples, pressing me back as he loomed over me, working for better leverage.

I shook my head, stifling an alarmed squeak, trying to adjust to the change in position. "N--not likely—oh God yes—we won't b--be here much longer."

Asher's lip curled and he slipped one hand under my lower back, supporting me. "So you keep saying."

"You know it's t--true," I whispered, head lolling between my shoulder blades, gasping for breath. He picked up the pace, weight braced on his left hand while his right clutched my ass, tilting my pelvis forward, giving him better access. "We're leaving, a--and ... and I'm n--not—holy hell—I'm not about to carry this desk across the c--county just so you can bend me over it."

He shuddered, thick cock stretching me, grinding against my clit with every agonizing thrust, lips tracing frantic patterns over my collar bones. "That's ..." he gasped, hips beating against me. "That's not a bad idea, Priestess. Come here."

With little in the way of warning, Asher pulled me off the desk, wrapping one arm around my waist and using the other to support my thigh. For a few long moments, he fucked me at a full stand, muscles straining, sweat gathering along his hairline. I could do nothing but hold on, trying my best to keep the pace, not to be swallowed by his ferocious sexual appetite.

"F--fuck," I groaned, pressing my forehead to the straining muscle in his shoulder, breathing him in.

Grunting, he stumbled forward, kicking his office chair back before collapsing into it with me astride his thighs, seating himself as deep inside me as he could go with the impact.

"Goddamnit A--Asher!" I squealed, scouring his chest with my fingernails, back arching to accommodate him.

He pressed his lips to mine with enough force to bruise, mumbling, "'m'sorry," around a breathy groan.

This new angle was ... intense. He was so big, striking something deep within me I wasn't entirely sure I wanted touched. But his lips under my jaw, coupled with rough hands kneading my ass, rocking me along his length, made the perfect distraction.

"Mm," I moaned, twisting my fingers in the fine fabric of his dress shirt. "This has to go." And then, acting on pure instinct, I tore his shirt down the middle, grinning as buttons pinged in all directions. Placing my hands on his bare chest, I shifted my knees, settling them on either side of his thighs, thankful for the plush leather.

"Fucking hell, Mila," he rasped, peeling the ruined shirt away from glistening muscles. And then he moaned, dark eyes watching me as I shifted above him. A devious smile spread across his lips and he let his head fall back, looking for all the world as if he planned on settling in for a good show. "Ride it."

I leaned forward, letting my silvery Tritan hair brush his heaving chest, rocking with short, jerky movements along his cock. This new position, though it allowed me to be in control ... it was ... well ... it was hard. It was so much easier to let Asher—with all his experience—have his way ... to rely on our bond, and his touch to bring me to orgasm. I didn't know how to replicate it without his help. A scowl creased my forehead, hidden from Asher when my chin dipped toward my chest.

"Oh hell," I whispered, throwing pride to the wind, leaning closer to Asher. My tongue circled the shell of his ear. "Fuck me," I whispered, cheek to cheek, lips to ear. Seeking the easy way out. With a sharp gasp, he abandoned his illusion of leisure, crushing me to him, pumping his cock into me from below. With a smile, I pressed the word, "Please," against his lips, tangling my fingers in his thick, Caledonian hair. And then, because I knew it could very well push him to madness, I met his eyes and said, "Please, sir. Fuck me."

With a mighty roar, Asher heaved our combined weight off the chair, pulling out, leaving me standing on trembling, unsteady legs, gasping before him. My lips parted on a startled question, which he didn't allow me to voice. Instead, he spun me around, forcing me to face the large window, to present my ass to him. Planting a large, calloused hand on my upper back, Asher pushed my chest forward, chuckling when I tried to pull away from the unfriendly chill in the wood.

I shot a glare over my shoulder. "Wha—"

He kicked my feet apart, pausing to run the blunt head of his cock between my slick pussy lips before plunging home. "Yes," he hissed, planting a firm, open palm on my ass. "This is how I want you, Mila. Begging for it. Pretty pink pussy stuffed full of cock—"

"Any cock?" I asked, barely managing to hide the catch in my voice as I said it.

Long fingers wrapped around my throat, though aside from the pressure of his thumb under my chin, forcing my head back, he did not squeeze. "No, Mila," he spat, accenting the sentiment with three powerful thrusts. "I want you spread by my cock," he hissed, covering my back with his heat, catching my shoulder with his teeth, though again, the threat was implied. "Unable to fight it ... This." Drawing in a ragged breath, he moved against me, tangling long fingers in my hair, pulling me back with him. I arched my spine to accommodate him, hands planted on the desk, head resting on his shoulder.

"So take me away—" I groaned as his free hand shifted lower, brushing sensitive nipples, over the straining muscles of my belly. "Take m--me away from this place, and you can—you can ... fuck ..." I swallowed a squeal, hiccuping with the effort to restrain myself.

"Bargaining with your pussy, Mila?" he drawled, tracing the outline of the organ in question.

"Have—haven't got much else, do I?" I whispered, clenching my fists, eyes long since squeezed shut.

Asher dragged his tongue along the length of my neck, flexing his hips against my backside, driving into me ... relentless. "You'll have to come up with something better than that," he purred, thumb passing over my swollen clit. "I already own this."

"Ha!" I barked, refusing to rise to the bait. "If you did, one would think you'd know w--what to do with it. But because you don't," I continued when he laughed, cock flexing in time with his amusement. "I'll show you how it's done, you prick." I pulled his hand away from my pussy, settling it on the desk. Fuck him and our bond! I'd find my own pleasure, because damn it, his infernal teasing was driving me to madness!

"God yes," he breathed, pressing his forehead between my shoulder blades, taking a moment to gather himself. "Fuck yourself, Mila. That's so fucking hot."

Nimble fingers found my clit slippery with the tension of the last minutes, swollen ... I moaned, pushing against him, encouraged by the rasp in his voice.

Keeping his fingers tangled in my hair, Asher—incredibly—began the task of rebuilding his shield, separating me from the steady build of his ecstasy. "That's it Mila," he whispered, voice trembling. "Come for me."

I smiled in spite of my frustration, listening to his control slip, and understood why he'd do it. Why he'd want me to see me shatter without the aid of our bond. "Asher, p--please," I begged, fingers dancing with renewed determination. "Fuck me. F--fuck ... me ..."

He gasped, the splintered, desperate sound music to my ears as he pounded into me from behind ... reckless now ... unable to stop for anything, seeking his own pleasure, driven by my effort to find mine. "Sh--shit," he whispered, hips bucking. When he came, gasping against my ear, I could feel it even without the aid of our bond. I could feel his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into me, knew it by the way his fingers tightened, blunt nails scoring my hip.

"Don't stop," I whispered, twisting my head to bring my lips to his. "Don't stop, don't ... don't s--stop ..." I clenched around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from his still--straining cock, fingers a probable blur between my legs. Sucking in a shaky breath, Asher did his best to oblige me, pumping his length between my spasming walls. Wrapping his forearm around my chest, he thrust his tongue past my lips, kissing me long and deep, ready to capture my cries of pleasure.

But, as per usual, they didn't come. I froze in his grasp, shuddering around his softening cock, every muscle rigid with the effort. He continued to fuck me through every last, blissful moment, whispering nonsense against my swollen lips, preventing me from curling away from the waves of pleasure until I was limp in his arms.

Until, of course, we were interrupted by someone hammering on the door. Someone who, by the sound of it, must have been pounding with both fists as fast as possible. "Hey! Heyheyheyhey!"

Asher stumbled back with a snarl, leaving me to gather myself at the edge of his desk as he bolted toward the door. "What? What's happening?" he shouted, fumbling with the lock before flinging it wide open.

"Fucking hell, Asher, do you mind?" Marco asked, casting a pointed look at Asher's lack of attire, then leaned around him to find me, struggling to pull the remains of Asher's shirt over my shoulders. I stared back, mouth agape—I hadn't even known Marco was there, let alone right outside the door.

"Do I mind?" Asher asked, dumbstruck, pushing Marco out of my sight, back into the hall.

"Yeah, I mean I'm happy you're getting it wet, and all. But you don't have to flaunt it, ya know? Here I am, working my ass off while you're up here, fucking—"




The Last Tritan Ch. 22



"Marco!" Asher shouted, seizing the other man by his collar. "What's wrong?"

Marco blinked, frowning at his superior in confusion. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Why would you think there's something wrong?"

"Why—why would I ... What the fuck is wrong with you!" he bellowed, tossing Marco as far from him as he could. "You halfway kicked my door in, you bloody—"

"Oh that," Marco waived him off, laughing as if there wasn't a furious, naked Elite melting down in front of him. "I've been cooped up in the house for too long. Had a few too many coffees. You know how it is." Asher snarled, taking a menacing step forward—but Marco stopped him, planting a hand on Asher's bare chest. "Seriously, Major Rawlings," he said, all traces of good natured humor gone from his handsome face. "You'll want to put some clothes on—" he jerked his head down the stairs, toward the sound of approaching feet. "Cover it up."

To his credit, Asher took less than a second to react, scrambling back to the safety of our rooms and leaving Marco to deal with Tyra. Asher snagged his jacket from the back of his office chair, tugging it over sweat slicked skin, cursing furiously under his breath. When he stepped into rumpled, discarded pants, jerking them over his hips with a boyish little hop, I couldn't stop the giggle.

"Shut it, you," he snapped. "It's not funny. I'm going to kill him."

"It's a little funny," I insisted, pressing my lips together.

Asher didn't respond past tossing a glare over his shoulder, but stomped toward the door, shoulders rigid.

"Oh my," Tyra gasped, covering her mouth with a slender, dainty hand.

"Tyra," Asher replied, not bothering to cover his exposed chest—it was a decoy, and one which I heartily approved of. Distract Tyra with a bit of sweaty, male skin and she wouldn't see the poorly concealed gold glittering on Asher's wrists, peaking out from beneath the sleeves of his leather jacket. "I apologize for my attire, you've caught me at a bad—"

"Nonsense," she said, linking arms with Marco. "It's nothing I haven't seen before. I was married, if you'll recall. But listen, darling, Marco and I are going out for a little fresh air and some groceries. Just came up to ask if you'd like to come along ... but ... I see you're already ... engaged for the time being." Her lip curled as she searched past Asher's broad shoulders, presumably trying to make eye contact with me. "Would you like us to get anything for you while we're out?"

"I'm almost out of whiskey, actually," Asher replied, crossing his wrists behind his back, keeping his Chains out of sight. "Marco knows the brand. And he's buying."

"You're a cruel man, Major Rawlings," Marco pouted, pressing a hand to his heart.

"Oh, I don't think so," Asher replied, stepping back and placing a hand on the door. "I was going to murder you and be done with it. A bottle of whiskey is the very least you can do."

Marco laughed, then pulled the door closed himself. "See you in a few hours!"

I pressed my lips together. "Well at least he's making an effort to act normal around her," I whispered when they were no longer within range of my slow--on--the--uptake--Priestess senses.

"I won't even have to hide the body," Asher seethed, pouring a healthy splash of his trademark liquor into a glass.

"I hate to be contrary, but maybe you should be thanking him," I said, moving toward the bed.

"Thanking him?" Asher spun on me, slamming his untouched drink on the desk, splashing it everywhere. "Why the fuck—"

"He's taken Tyra out of the house ..." I drawled, sitting back on the plush mattress, the edges of Asher's ruined shirt gaping open. "Said he wouldn't be back for hours ..." I smiled, inclining my head toward his side of the bed. "Which gives us plenty of time to finish our ... conversation."

Asher grinned, leaving his glass behind.

***

Contrary to our somewhat combative relationship, the next hour found us tangled in soiled sheets, watching the day fade to black. Shields had eventually come down, hands heavy with angst had softened, and the spiteful, angry words common between us had given way to a comfortable silence. I wasn't quite ready to forget everything that had happened between us, of course, but the last hour's activities had been a much needed diversion—for both of us. Hell, it was nice to have the house to ourselves, to forget about Tyra's threating presence and trust that Marco would keep her under control—if only for the space of a few hours.

"I would have been a scholar," Asher murmured, an idle thumb tracing my nipple.

I lifted my cheek from his chest, twisting to see his face. "A scholar? Really?"

A dusky pink stained his cheeks. "Is that so hard to believe?"

My eyes found the well stocked bookshelf to the right of his door, and it was my turn to blush. "No, I suppose not. I just ... didn't expect you to say that."

"Eh, it doesn't matter now. All I know is war."

"Which is a good thing," I countered, tossing him a quick, apologetic smile, "Considering we live in a war zone."

If I'd been expecting him to brush me off with his trademark wit, I was in for a surprise. "Mila ... I can't leave here. You know that, right?"

Instead of answering, I wriggled out from beneath his arm, pulling a rumpled sheet around myself. "What will your government do if they find out the bond can go both ways? That you wear the mark of a slave?"

The hard line of his jaw tightened, and he wouldn't meet my eye.

"You don't know, do you?"

"No."

"That's ..." I shivered. "That's almost worse than knowing."

For a moment, Asher continued to stare out the window, chewing at his thumbnail. "They'd never stop hunting us, Mila. Do you understand that? We'd never stop running."

I held up my wrist. "I'm already a slave, Asher. You're not exactly dissuading me. I haven't got much to lose."

"The Empire doesn't take kindly to traitors, Mila. You remember Jasper?"

I narrowed my eyes.

"It took me three days to convince the Curator his death belonged to me," he explained, pushing a hand through his hair. "They like to make examples of traitors, you see. To remind the rest of us how good we have it here." At this, his eyes found mine, blazing with quiet fury. "What do you think they'd do to a bound Elite who defected, hmm? Have you any idea what they plan to do with Tyra? A woman who is literally in bed with the enemy."

"There has to be a solution," I insisted, flopping back to stare at the ceiling.

"Yeah. Keep our heads down and don't draw attention to ourselves."

I squinted at him for a long moment, face scrunched in a scowl. Before I could reply, however, Asher's lips twitched and I snorted, turning back to my inspection of the ceiling, not bothering to suppress the laughter bubbling from my chest. It wasn't long before he joined me, his deep chuckle warming the room by several degrees.

"Thanks," I said minutes later, wiping at a few tears as they wet my hairline. "I needed a good laugh."

"I thought you'd enjoy that," he admitted, rising nude from the bed, stretching his arms above his head.

"I was thinking of a solution—"

"That exists within the realm of possibility?" he drawled, stooping to reclaim his pants.

I nodded though he couldn't see me, watching the play of sleek muscles under his skin as he pulled the material over his hips. "Where are you going? We aren't finished talking about this, Asher."

"Can't get enough 'talking', can you?" he asked, glancing at me over his shoulder, a dashing smirk curving his lips.

"Ha ha," I replied, blushing. "Don't try to change the subject."

"Mila," he sighed. "We haven't eaten in hours, and I can't remember the last time I slept. We need caffeine and food before we can do anymore talking. The fucking, however ... That I can do all day."

With a toothy grin, I rose from the bed, not bothering to hide my satisfaction, letting it seep through our bond. "So you're thinking about it at least? Leaving?"

He rolled his eyes as I approached him. "Let's just say it's the least favorable option. Of many."

"But still an option."

A large hand settled at the base of my spine, closing the final few inches between us. "If you'd like," he purred, tipping my face back with a thumb beneath my jaw. "You're more than welcome to try to persuade me. I've found I'm rather partial to your particular brand of manipulation."

I scoffed, blinking up at him. "I'll do no such thing. I'm a Lady, sir. Ask Marco. He'll tell you."

"Well shit," he whispered, tugging the bed sheet away from my fingers, leaving me naked before him. "Using Marco as a credible source? Now I know you're crazy."

Thinking of the Watchers, I grinned. "Was there ever any question?"

He skimmed the side of my cheek with his knuckles, eyebrows pinched. And then, instead of answering me, he dipped his head, lips finding mine. There was no hurry, no fire behind the gesture as there had been an hour ago ... neither of us had anything more to prove. And yet, for the first time, I allowed myself to surrender to it. To ... him. Major Asher Rawlings of the Caledonian Empire. On the verge of giving him more than the sharp edge of my tongue and the charms of my body.

His lips were full, capturing mine in a gentle way that could only be described as 'sweet.' Large, work hardened hands framed my face, thumbs brushing the fragile skin beneath my eyes, from nose to ear. I shivered, placing both hands on his bare chest, scouring his skin with my nails ... marking him. The problems and challenges of the day fell away, swallowed by the unrivaled power flowing between us. Alive. Strong. Blinding.

With him, I had no reason to fear my Empathy, could set it loose without fear of the consequences. And I did so then, having no interest in a slow build, impatient now. Needy. My breath was coming in quick, shallow pants as my fingers traveled south, slipping below the elastic of his pants, searching for evidence that I was not the only one affected by ... this.Whatever it was between us.

A smile formed against my lips, and Asher sucked my lower lip between his teeth. "I see it now, Mila. You're a proper Lady."

"Shut up," I replied without heat, hopping into waiting arms, wrapping my legs around his narrow waist.

He laughed, catching me and somehow finding the dexterity to match his hardening cock against my core, separated by the thin material of his trousers. "Where has this insatiable little minx been these last weeks, hmm?"

I scraped my elongated canines along the hard line of his jaw, balanced in the strength of his arms. "I'm quite sure I don't know what you're referring to."

"Ah," he groaned, tilting his head forward as I buried my fingers in his hair, eyes closed. "You're a terrible liar."

"Cheater," I whispered, pushing my arousal through our bond, intentionally blurring the lines until all I could sense or see was him.

"Mila," he groaned, stumbling forward on unsteady feet, toward the tangled sheets that smelled of sex.

Before we got there, however, the room was bathed in a harsh yellow light, catching us off guard, blinking into the glare. Night--blind and trying to adjust, both of us struggling to separate thoughts and feelings from the other, still clutching at naked, heated skin.

"The fuck?" Asher slurred, setting me on my feet and pushing me behind him. "Who's—"

"My goodness, Asher, you've certainly been busy, haven't you?"

I knew that voice ... But who?

"Holy hell, Carina?" Asher asked, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand. "I—I have to apologize. I completely forgot about our dinner meeting—"

"Yes, I can see that," she replied, her voice low. Husky. Lip curling, I tried to reel my Empathy back ... hoping to avoid interacting with the version of Carina who got drunk off the fire flickering between Asher and I. "But if you're planning on sharing that delicious little morsel you're hiding ... it might be possible to persuade—"

"How did you get up here? Where's Marco?"

I blinked in surprise. Marco and Tyra had gone shopping an hour ago—had Asher forgotten the little scene in the hall?

"The house is dark," she purred, stepping into our room. And before either of us could react, she set a heavy basket on top of the bookshelf and closed the door behind her. "And I hardly think whatever Marco is, or isn't, doing at the moment is the least of your concerns, now isn't it?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Asher retorted, pushing me behind him, fingers splayed over my lower belly.

But the woman was relentless. "Asher," she took a step. "Baby." A pink tongue darted out, wetting lush red lips. "You've been terribly naughty, haven't you?"

"Not half so much as I'm about to be, if you don't remove yourself from—"

"Now, now, darling. That's no way to talk to your wife to be, is it?"

I bared my teeth, taking a half step forward before Asher stopped me, sending a silent shock of warning though my system.

"On what planet, Carina? Fucking hell, woman. Have you lost your goddamned mind?"

"That's not quite the way I see it," she said, and something in my heart withered in anticipation of her next words. "Not when you're positively a-glitter with such pretty gold. Tell me, darling, do those bracelets you're wearing come off? Because to me, they look rather ... permanent."

And then, as if that bewildering, unexpected threat wasn't enough, two very important things happened at the exact same time. Two things that were really one.

The Watchers had, after weeks of torturing me with wild possibilities, finally revealed the particulars of their identities.

Okay, before you say it, I know, okay? I'm really horrible this time, and I can't even blame DeathandTaxes for it, either. Though she did say something about the need to leave the readers beggin for more ... haha no! I take full responsibility for this. I'm terrible. BUT! Here's some news to make you feel better; chapter 23 is almost finished at the time I'm submitting this, and I'm hoping to have it off to Beta land by the time 22 has posted. I know I've said that before, but this time I have a blessed axe that the voices PROMISED would be able to kill a Chaos God.

Also, I just wanted to apologize to everyone for not being good with updating you in my lit comment section. This chapter had a couple of mentions to coffee. I've recently discovered that I am in fact allergic to caffeine, which kills me because I basically mainline it, and talk about it, and think about it, and forego sleep with it ... I'm thinking of this chapter as my ode to that last cuppa, because I really can't put up with the headaches, dizziness, perma cold, numb digits, or the jitters any longer. Not to mention the semi ... I don't want to say depression, because that undercuts what people with REAL depression go through ... let's call it my winter blues, instead. Anyway, this has been a ramble, and it's time to let you resume your daily lives. But you know what you glorious readers could do for me? Comment on this chapter? Let me know what you thought. That far outweighs a vote, if you must know. I'm dying to know if this chapter gave you the feels, or if you're dead inside because of it. Even you, the shy one in the back there, yes, you. Pl-uhhh-easssee give me your thoughts. I needssss. I needsss.

Until next time,

Myra Danvers wielding an enchanted infinity axe



The Last Tritan Ch. 23



Hellloo you glorious sugar noodles! This is the long awaited chapter 23. I'd like to take a moment to thank Baron VonKarmann and unorigionalnames for all their wonderful help on this chapter. And now, without further ramblings from me, here it is! Enjoy! 

***** 

The Watchers had finally, after weeks of guessing, revealed themselves. 

I gasped, heart squeezing inside my chest, every muscle flexing against the impossible truth. "Holy hell," I whispered, stumbling back, not seeing anything in the room around me ... focused on nothing but the mysterious duo. 

"Mm," Carina moaned, lips pressed together in an attempt to conceal the smile twisting her features. "The way I see it, Asher ... darling ..." she stepped closer, pressing a slender hand to his bare chest before he slapped her away. The rejection did not, however, deter her. "You're going to do exactly as I say, aren't you?" 

"Like hell, Carina. I don't know what you think you're seeing here, but I can assure you—" 

"You can assure me all you like," she purred, licking her lips. "And I look forward to you trying, of course. I'm sure it will be ... invigorating. But I really don't see any reason to keep my mouth shut about this ... union, if that's what you want to call this abomination." She fluttered her fingers at the space between us, eyes narrowed. "I mean, just think of what the Curator would do for information like this! Think of the reward!" At this, she giggled, pausing to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

Asher reached for my hand, pulling my cold fingers into his, hidden behind his back. 

"If only you had something to bargain with," she mused, lower lip jutting forward in a pretty pout. 

"Spit it out, Carina," Asher snarled, stepping back, herding me toward the bed. "What do you want?" 

Her eyes followed us, glittering in the semi-dark. "I thought it would be obvious at this point," she murmured. Her teeth flashed when Asher took a step forward, his large frame rigid, muscles hot and trembling. "But I'll humor you." She clapped her hands, casting an appreciative eye over Asher's tanned flesh. "We'll be married, of course!" 

I swayed, trying to bring my attention back to the matter at hand, to focus on the conversation going on around me. The Watchers, however, were having none of it. They scratched at my resilience, pushing through my flimsy shield with little effort, trying to get through, to touch the hypnotic pillar of strength linked to my mind. Trying to get to Asher. 

With an anguished sob, I wrenched my mind away, forcing the Watchers back, trying to contain them behind my poor excuse for a shield. Carina was close enough to count my pores, and if the Watchers managed to break through my defenses ... if they managed to touch Asher under these circumstances ... 

No. 

I bared my teeth, marshaling every stray wisp of willpower I possessed, pulling away from my Elite with a single minded determination I'd never experienced before. He was too strong to make a sound of protest, too experienced on the battle field to do more than tense at my abrupt withdrawal from his mind. But his confusion seared through me, and without looking Asher pulled me closer, urging me to press my nudity to the length of his strong back. Steadying me. And in spite of my newfound mental solitude, I seized his forearm, nails biting deep, clinging to him ... needing his cool strength to ground me. 

He squeezed back. 

A pretty tinkle of laughter filtered through my mind, and I glanced up just as Carina took a step toward us, radiating toxic fumes of ill-intent. "Aww," Carina cooed, clasping her hands before her. "New love, blossoming before my very eyes." She swiped at an invisible tear, but the gesture was ruined by the gleaming white smile stretched across her lips. "Isn't this exciting? Oh, I'm so glad you've accepted my terms!" 

"I've done no such thing," Asher spat, but it was an act, this bravado. We were trapped, and the only way out was ... through. "I don't see any reason to bend to your demands. Especially when—" he glanced at the door, senses flaring out around him, "—there's no one here to witness what comes next." 

A feral grin blossomed on my lips, and I took a half step to the side. Fuck my morals and my hard-won freedom; this viper had seen her last sunrise. 

She made a funny little sound at the back of her throat. "I must say, Asher, I'm a little disappointed. Death threats are so pedestrian, don't you think? And you're spoiling the mood! We both know I'm untouchable," she scoffed, tossing her thick mane of dark hair over her shoulder. "You think me so stupid as to come here unprepared? Come now, you foolish man, I know how ... delicate you Elites are about your pride. Besides," she sniffed, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I'd hardly be an appropriate match for an Elite if I hadn't planned for a little resistance on your part." 

"You're bluffing," Asher retorted, his voice tight and hard, pushing me back toward the bed. 

"Maybe I am," she admitted with a careless shrug. "But I suppose that's a risk you'll have to take, now isn't it?" When Asher made no move to follow through on his threats, Carina continued. "Or, you could look out your window, darling. That's my escort idling on the street. Right there. The silver one. Go on. Take a look." 

Asher remained frozen to the spot, every muscle in his body rigid. I tucked my fingers into the waistband of his pants, needing something solid to hold on to. 

"Oh, fine then," she murmured, pressing a single long finger to plump lips, wicked dark eyes finding mine. "Don't look. But it's time to make a choice. Are you willing to throw everything away for the sake of one slave, Asher?" He quivered, seething with impotent rage as he stood between us, hiding my nudity from sight—but he couldn't answer that, and Carina was far from finished. "I'm not being unreasonable. You can keep your little whore, and I've no objections about whomever else you decide to share your bed with." 

"Spectacular," Asher snarled, fingers tightening around mine, long past the point of pain. 

"This marriage shall be a political one," she stressed, ignoring him as she spoke in the low, soothing tones of an animal trainer. "I'll provide you with an heir, and in return you'll provide me with the luxury of your station. Simple. Clean. Win-win." Shooting Asher another gleaming smile, she turned, moving back to the large basket she'd set beside the door. "All I really need from you at the moment, darling, is your signature on the dotted line." She returned with a flourish, producing a single ominous document. 

Even from my position behind him, I could see Asher's lips curl. "You carry that around with you?" 

Past a condescending tilt of her head she did not answer. Instead selecting a pen from the mess on his desk and held it out to him. When Asher hesitated, knuckles white around mine, Carina laughed and said, "Come now, there's really no way out of this. Accept your defeat with a touch of grace, if you could. You look like a child! I won't tolerate a husband of mine sulking over a little extortion." 

"Then find yourself another husband," he snapped, pushing his free hand through his hair. 

And then, try as I might to force them to remain hidden, The Watchers surged to the forefront of my mind, refusing to be caged any longer. My shield crumbled as they reached for him, saved from detection by nothing more substantial than his inattention. 

And I did the only thing I could think of under the circumstances. Laughter spilled from my lips, squeaky and high pitched. It was just too much! It was one blow after another in this hell hole, each more brutal and damaging than the last. Was there no end? There was but one thing I knew with absolute certainty—Carina had to go. If she left of her own accord, or in pieces, I no longer cared. My mind was straining at the seams, trying to keep too many conflicting forces separated. 

"Oh, go on, Asher," I said, stepping forward, confident, heedless of my nudity and the bewildered stares of the other two. I plucked the page from Carina's fingers, turning back to my bond-mate. "Just sign it. She's got us." 

Asher's face slackened as he regarded me, eyebrows almost touching his hair line. "You can't be seri—" 

"What about this situation doesn't seem serious to you, Asher?" I drawled, placing my hands on bare hips, an unhinged smile fixed to my face. "The woman keeps a marriage certificate on her person. Just waiting for a chance like this to pop up. I think that's pretty much as serious as it gets, don't you, darling?" 

"No, there's ... I won't—" he coughed, sweat dampening his brow as his eyes darted toward the door. But there was no running from this. Not now. I could feel the realization crawling up his throat and he glanced at the door. I retrieved a clean pen from the desk—one Carina hadn't touched—and forced it into Asher's tight fist. 

For a moment, he did nothing but stare back at me. There was no shield between us, nothing to stop the terror and anxiety from swamping my mind. Though the untrained eye would see nothing but his warrior's mask, firmly in place, keeping the truth hidden from unworthy spectators. The Watchers, free of their restraints, were content to do what they did best, hovering at the peripherals of my mind ... observing. And thank the hated, fickle Deity toying with our lives, but at that moment, Asher had eyes for nothing but me. 

The struggle to maintain this veneer of semi-calm while standing unclothed between two Caledonians was not a fight I had any hope of winning, or at least not for any length of time. Already my smile was growing brittle and a bead of sweat had run unobstructed from the back of my neck to the crack of my ass. If he didn't sign that goddamned paper in the next thirty seconds, if I had to endure Carina breathing down my neck for more than a minute longer, I would explode. And for the sake of the Watchers, I would not allow that to happen. 

Asher swallowed hard, clenching his fist as he cast one final, meaningful glance in my direction. 

I waived my hand, urging him on. "Just do it." 

I, Major Asher Rawlings, hereby accept the proposal of marriage to one, Carina Von PenceEltis, and agree to all the terms and conditions stipulated within this Document. 

These terms and conditions, hereby known as "The Terms," bind both parties under Caledonian law, and as such, are subject to punishment should dispute arise. 

Under no circumstances ... 

And so it went, filling an entire page with legal garble neither Asher nor I stopped to read. He simply scrawled his name in an unrecognizable, faltering script at the bottom of the page, and pushed it across his desk, his features waxy under his natural tan. 

Blackmail successful, Carina grinned, inspecting his signature with narrowed eyes. "Oh, I'm so excited! A wedding! Asher, darling, I think this calls for a celebration, don't you?" 

Asher—dark, glassy and eyes fixed to the page clutched in Carina's long fingers—didn't respond. He couldn't. 

But the Watchers surged again, and whether it was to demand attention, or out of boredom with the dwindling drama, I no longer cared. I had had quite enough of this charade. "Get out." 

Her lips curled in a hideous imitation of her earlier polished smile. "I hardly think you're in the position to tell me what to do, little Priestess. According to this document, you are now my property just as much as his." After tucking the precious combination of ink and paper into her basket, she pulled out a bottle of wine. "Now," she said, clapping her hands. "Where do you keep the wine glasses? And this room is an absolute pigsty, Asher. We'll have to chat about that ancient house keeper you've got on staff—" 

"Get. Out." 

"Excuse me?" she spluttered, setting the bottle down with a heavy thud. "You'll mind your manners, you—" 

"You've won your little battle, Carina," I sneered, trying to burn her with my eyes. "Now get the fuck out of here before I remove you from sight." 

She blinked, her head snapping back as if I'd laid hands on her. "I ... why you little ... Asher! You can't let her speak to me that way!" 

I took a step toward her, placing a hand between her generous breasts ... right above her healthy, beating heart. "Asher might have qualms about ending your life, Carina," I purred, holding eye contact with her though she stood many inches taller and had the protection of her clothing. "But you'd be foolish to mistake me for someone with the same affliction." 

"Ha!" she scoffed, slapping my hand away. "You're a Priestess. You have no power of your own." 

The smile that had been hanging off my lips got a second wind, and I buried myself in Asher's despair, feeding my insatiable Empathy, unleashing it. "Believe what you want," I whispered, grinning now, tilting my head as I pushed, filling her with the full force of Asher's misery, reveling in my power over her. "But you'd better make a decision soon ..." I drawled, mocking her earlier words. "Patience has always been a finite resource with me. And my handler," I continued, jerking my head at Asher's slack face, "Well, he's out of commission for the time being, I'm afraid. You'd better go find something else to do with yourself before I decide to have a little ... fun." 

At this, the Watchers reached for her, a helpless reaction to my blood lust, to the bottomless appetite of my Empathy. I snarled, causing Carina to squeal as I tried to claw them back, trying to protect the Watchers from death's taint staining my soul. Whether I lived or died, neither Carina nor my accursed Empathy would have any part of them. 

The mirror image of my shell-shocked bond-mate, Carina's face was ashen as she stumbled toward the door, completely under the thrall of my Empathy. "I ... I think I forgot to ... I have wedding plans to make ... engagement dinner to organize. I ... I have to go ..." 

"Yes. You go do that. Run along now." 

With trembling fingers, she gathered her things, forgetting the wine in her haste to find the exit. I followed her to the door, locking it behind her before sinking to the ground, back pressed to the solid oak. Every ounce of righteous fury pumping through my blood had chased Carina from the house, leaving me hollow and cold. I winced—'hollow' probably wasn't the best choice of words at the moment. Nails digging into my palms, I shivered, struggling not to buckle under this new pressure. 

The Watchers, as always, retreated to the peripherals of my mind. 

"Fuck," Asher whispered when Carina slammed the front door, making the house shudder in her wake. He pushed a hand through his hair, making it stand at attention. "We're so fucked." 

It was almost enough to make me laugh—he didn't know the definition of the word. Yet. "Asher," I swallowed, wrapping my arms around my waist, trying to pull myself together, to put the reins on my Empathy so I could attempt to face the next pressing issue. "There's something I need ... Something I need to tell you..." But the words were stuck. 

He retrieved the crystal decanter from his desk and sank into his plush leather chair with a groan, scrubbing his face with his free hand. "Carina's not going to be satisfied until she's got you in a cage and has my balls on a platter," he muttered, swirling the dark liquid around and around. 

"Asher that's ... Are you hot? My God, I'm sweating ..." my voice broke and I shivered, cold now in spite of the moisture dampening my palms. "Marrying Carina is ... it's really not ..." 

"It's a complete disaster, is what it is," he supplied, tilting the decanter to his lips, eyes squeezed shut. 

I stood, moving toward him on unsteady legs. "Asher," I tried again, taking the bottle from him. "Now isn't the time to cloud your judgment with alcohol. There's something you need to know." 

"Now is the perfect time," he snapped, reaching for the bottle—but I retreated, clutching the cold crystal between my breasts. "Oh for God's sake, you damn prude. What the hell is wrong with you, Mila? And why are you, of all people, in support of my marrying Carina?" 

"I'm not," I whispered, trembling now, from head to toe. "But it doesn't matter, because it's not—" 

"Doesn't matter?" he roared, surging to his feet, chest heaving. "Don't you understand what this means, you stupid girl!" 

"What does it matter?" I snarled, matching him in all his glorious, irrational fury. "One woman between your sheets, or a thousand, the result is the same!" I whipped the decanter at him, losing the internal fight with my temper. It went wide and shattered against the side of his desk, splashing glass and whiskey everywhere. "It doesn't matter if it's me, Carina, or Alicia! We have bigger problems—" 

"Alicia?" he barked, scowling at the mess of whiskey and glass. "What the hell does she have to do with anything?" 

I laughed, pushing both hands through my hair. "Oh, please, Mr. Innocent. Have you forgotten that I was there?" 

"And where pray tell, was I in this little fantasy land we're living in?" 

"You were fucking Alicia, you bastard!" I screamed, cheeks flushed with passion. "Why else did you bring her along, hmm? A pleasure slave hunting an escapee? It's ridiculous. What was it, Asher? Couldn't go a few days without 'getting it wet?'" I sneered, quoting Marco, breath coming in heavy pants. 

Asher put both hands on his hips, throwing back his head as he started laughing, tossing me out as he erected his shield. "How long have you been sitting on that one, Mila? Waiting for the perfect moment to use it against me?" 

I blinked, face twisting into something sour. If I was honest, I'd forgotten about the strange tryst on the mountain side, had let go of my anger toward Asher for putting me through it—or so I'd thought. Actually ... I didn't know where this venom was coming from ... it was irrational. I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. There really were more pressing matters at the moment. "Look, forget I said anything. I'm over it. I have to tell you about ... about ..." I choked, couldn't even begin to form the words in my mind. 

"Oh, no," he replied, nudging a large shard of glass with his big toe, careful of the edges. "You brought it up, Mila. Now tell me how much I enjoyed Alicia's talents. I'm dying to hear your version of events. Since you were there and all." 

Sweat gathered along the nape of my neck, and I swallowed several times, trying to work up enough saliva to form words. "This isn't relevant," I whispered, seeking something solid to hold on to. The room was spinning. "I'm ... I shouldn't have brought it up." 

Asher was pacing now, focusing on the topic at hand, and I couldn't blame him for it, not really. It was easier to direct his anger at this trivial topic, at me, than it was to think of everything that had just transpired with Carina. "Oh good. Shall I summon her now, then? My cock is in need of a thorough sucking." 

"Asher!" I shouted, slamming my hands down on the desk, trying to force the right words out, and failing. "You can fuck whomever you please, you pigheaded—" 

"I haven't touched her!" he returned, veins bulging in his neck, cheeks flushed red. "I haven't been with Alicia in years, you crazy little bitch—" 

I shrieked, lunging across the distance between, slapping him as hard as I could. "I'm not crazy, Asher, I'm pregnant!" 

He blinked. 

Then his mouth dropped open. 

Then he blinked three more times and closed his mouth. Blood began to gather under his skin, outlining the shape left by my hand, standing in stark relief against his usual tan. 

I pressed my hand to my lower belly, confirming the flutter of two tiny ... somethings. The Watchers. Stronger than they ever had been, more present than the first time I'd sensed them, but still ... nebulous. Unformed. Yet their presence beneath my palm was unquestionable. So faint ... so fragile. But alive. "You said—" I hiccuped, lips trembling, "You said it was impossible, so I didn't ... I didn't even consider it. Not once. I thought The Watchers were nature spirits, or that ... or that I'd lost my mind." I stumbled backward, searching for his chair with my free hand, for the other was still hovering over my bellybutton. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 23



"It's impossible," he whispered, but all the color had drained from his cheeks. 

"Oh Goddess," I whined, voice splintering, sinking into the chair. "It makes so much sense in hindsight, doesn't it? It's hormones. I've been so out of control because my hormones are ... are out of sorts." My head dipped, and I rested my forehead on the edge of the desk, trying to find cooler air. "You said it was impossible. Even ... even S-Sasha said that we ... we're incompatible, so I didn't think to look for them inside m-me. I thought they were ghosts ..." 

"Mila," Asher cleared his throat, sounding more confident now, hip bumping against his desk in front of me. 

But I cut him off. "It's the Chains. Oh Goddess, how could we have been so stupid? Every time I tried to find them, I looked out. It was exhausting, be-because I was dumping energy in the wrong direction. I should have been looking inside ... though I probably wouldn't have found them anyway, would I? They're hardly anything right now. Barely more than a wisp of life. So tiny I couldn't sense them at all until just now." 

"Hey," he shushed, trying to flood my mind with his calming influence, letting me back in as easily as he'd cast me out. "Mila. I'm telling you it isn't impossible. There's got to be another explanation." 

I glared at him, hand still pressed to the flutter of new life within me. "Then come here and feel them for yourself." 

He swallowed, but stepped forward, reaching a hand toward my belly. And if I happened to notice the way his fingers trembled, I held my tongue, instead replacing my hand with his. 

"Do you ... do you feel them?" I asked, eyes glued to his face, desperate for his answer. 

He let out the breath he'd been holding, shoulders sagging, relief plainly etched into his pale features. "No. There's nothing there, Mila." 

"What are you talking about?" I snarled, pressing his palm deeper into my belly, trying to force him to feel the truth. "They're right there, idiot. Look harder. They're only little—" 

"Mila," he whispered, pulling away, brushing his fingers along my lower lip. "It's been a stressful day. Fuck, I don't blame you—" 

"Don't patronize me, you son of a bitch!" I pushed him back, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. "I'm not wrong, Asher. I can feel them, right here." 

"That's impossible," he returned, adamant now. Sure of himself. "Even if you got ... if you got—" he waived his hand toward my belly, at a loss. 

"Pregnant." 

"Yes, sure. Even if it happened the day you put the Chains on me, you wouldn't be able to tell yet. It would be nothing more than a collection of cells, because it takes longer than ..." For a moment, he trailed off, head tilted toward the ceiling. "It takes longer than ten days for a b-baby (dash)" 

"Two," I snapped, baring my teeth. 

He blinked. "Two what?" 

"Two babies. The Watchers are plural, you moron. And it would take longer than ten days for them to develop, if—" I stressed, holding up one finger to silence him, "If they weren't the product of a twice-bound Priestess and her halfwit Elite." 

"Mila." Asher squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand over his face. He was haggard. 

I stood, pacing back and forth behind the chair, wrapping my arms around my ribs. "Goddess, what are we going to do?" 

"We are going to sleep," he whispered, trying to lay a hand on my shoulder. "And in the morning, when things are clearer—" 

"I'm not imagining this!" I shrieked, stumbling away from him. "You're not a Priestess, Asher. You may have better control over your power, but your senses aren't as strong as mine. And you certainly don't have a better sense of my body than I do." My voice trailed off to a whisper as I continued pacing, back and forth, back and forth, chewing the inside of my lips until I could taste the coppery tang of blood. "Goddess," I whined, blinking back scalding hot tears. "This can't be happening." 

"It's not." 

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, I pushed a hand through my hair. "What will your government do to them, Asher?" I asked, pressing a trembling hand to my lips, trying to see a future where children born both Elite and Priestess were welcomed with open arms—because that's what they were. I could feel it. They were strong ... already powerful. "Oh Goddess they'll be slaves from the moment they're born. Test subjects. A-and—" tears spilled over my lashes, "And what of the Priestesses? What of the Elites? When the Empire finds out, they'll want more children like The Watchers. An army of little super soldiers, conditioned from birth to kill without remorse. An army of twisted, broken Empaths like ... like me ... They'll add us all to the Program hours after they find out, and—and ..." 

Asher stopped me, pulling me into his embrace, filling me with his cool strength. 

And then the Watchers surged to life, pulsing within me as they gobbled up their father's energy, the strongest they'd ever been. Strong enough, even, for Asher to feel them. "Holy shit," he breathed, releasing me as he stumbled back, sinking into his chair, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open. "Mila. You're fucking pregnant." 

I slid to the floor between his knees, shivering, hating myself for the direction of my next thoughts. "I know," I whined, burying my fingers in my hair, eyes squeezed shut. 

Asher shook himself, a bitter bark of laughter escaping him. "I mean, fuck it, right? What's one more epic problem to deal with?" 

"No. It's going to be okay," I whispered, clutching at myself. "It's going to be okay, right? Because ... because there has to be some way to undo it. There has to be ... I can't ... I won't allow them to taken as slaves." 

At first, he didn't respond. He was preoccupied with the bottle of wine Carina had left behind, busy trying to pull the cork. But then he did a double take, head twisting to stare at me. "What do you mean, 'undo it?' You want to terminate the ... the ..." 

"Get serious," I whispered, amused in a peripheral sort of way that he couldn't bring himself to name my affliction. "I'm not fit for motherhood. It's a bloody miracle I've made it this far in life. Can you imagine me responsible for the wellbeing of ... of ... two ... Oh my God!" I cried, breaking down, tears threatening to streak down heated cheeks. "I can't, Asher. I can't." 

My declaration was met with the distinct sound of liquid splashing into a glass. 

After my moment of paralyzing panic had passed, after I had swallowed the need to flee this room and never look back, I stood, eying the bottle and extending a pale, shaking hand. "Pour me one." 

Shock flickered across his face. "You can't have alcohol, Mila. You're ... you have to think of ... them. Fucking hell. Twins? You're sure?" 

Shivering between his knees, stark naked, I nodded, lower lip trembling. 

Cursing, Asher came to me on the floor, leaving his glass behind as he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. "Mila—" 

The doorknob rattled, cutting him off and illuminating—again—the blind spot in our superior senses. But I was long past the point of caring anyway, and it didn't seem terribly important at this junction. 

"Major Rawlings?" Marco called through the heavy oaken door. "What's with all the shouting?" 

Asher guided me to the bed, pulling a rumpled dress shirt over my head before storming back to the door and wrenching it open. "And just where the fuck have you been?" he snarled, grabbing a fistful of Marco's coat, the muscles of his back flexing and bunching beneath tanned skin. 

"What do you mean, 'where have I been?' I've been running errands for you," our guest replied, holding up a bottle of sparkling amber liquid. Shield lowered, Marco's confusion filtered through my mind—a sentiment with which I happened to agree. "I took Tyra to the market, remember? And I come bearing gifts." When Asher stilled, broad shoulders tense and rigid, Marco placed a hesitant hand on his forearm, over the soft gleam of gold. "Perhaps we should take this behind closed doors, Major. Away from curious eyes?" 

"Fine," Asher replied, brows drawn together, looking back at me over his shoulder. 

I nodded, though I didn't bother to hide my concern. Forgetting things wasn't a good sign. "Where is she now? Who's with her?" 

"Reese and Aiden," the soldier replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched his superior beneath heavy brows and narrow eyes. "They don't know why I asked them to come, of course, but they know the drill," he said in a clipped, brisk voice. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, Asher, but ... when was the last time you slept? You look ... I haven't seen you this strung out since we were stationed in the West." 

Asher laughed, sounding more than a little unhinged as he retrieved his glass, drained the wine in one swallow, and then took the bottle of hard liquor from Marco. "Where'd you get this horse piss?" 

"Shitty whiskey is what you get for sending poor old Marco out on a liquor run while you hole up in here with the lovely Lady Wildcat," he nodded in my direction, "and having the gall to make me pay for it. On my salary!" 

"Whatever. It'll do," Asher replied, broke the seal on the bottle, then filled his glass to the brim. 

For a moment, Marco stood still, eyes flicking between us. And then, when he'd taken enough time to absorb the tension in the room, he asked, "What the fuck happened while I was gone? It's been less than two hours." 

"Well Marco, since you must know," Asher replied, sinking into his chair and propping his bare feet on the desk. "In the last forty-five minutes alone, I've been blackmailed into marriage, accused of fucking Alicia, slapped, and found out I'm to be a father. Am I missing anything, Priestess?" 

Blushing, I bared my teeth and shook my head. "No, I think that about covers it." 

Marco's mouth dropped open. "Hang on, what? Who's getting married? Why are you getting blackmailed? And—" he coughed, running a shaky hand through his hair, "I must have heard that last bit wrong. Did you say your father is coming here? Please tell me that mean old sonofabitch is making an unplanned visit." 

Asher took a healthy swallow, grimacing, then tilted his head against the headrest and continued, voice flat and dull, eyes squeezed shut. "Carina barged in here less than an hour ago, saw the Chains and seized her chance. Then, at the insistence of my Priestess," he said, shaking the bottle in my vague direction, "I signed the document, thereby tying myself to that scheming whore for the rest of my days. But that's not the best part." 

"It's not?" Marco asked, his face pale in the dim lighting. 

"Go ahead, Mila. Tell him the happy news." 

I glared at Asher as he took another swig from his glass, stood, and removed the temptation from his path. "If I can't have any, neither can you." 

Marco backed away from me, holding both hands out before him. "No." 

"No?" I asked, my face twisting. 

"Nope. It's not possible. You can't be ... you're fucking kidding me, right? You two went stir crazy up here and cooked up this little plan to fuck with my mind, didn't you?" 

"'Fraid not," Asher replied, holding out his hand for the bottle. "My barren Priestess is indeed preg—" he coughed, and snatched the half bottle of wine for a healthy swallow, then said, "Twins," in a breathy, defeated voice. 

"Fuck off. Really?" Marco took a step forward, eyes too big for his face. "Well shit. Now I wish I hadn't bought that bottle of gut rot. This feels like a top-shelf kind of moment, doesn't it?" 

At his words, I collapsed at the foot of the bed, burying my fingers in my hair, forehead pressed to my bare knees. "Oh, Goddess," I whined, curling into a tight little ball. 

Marco knelt before me, resting a warm palm on my forearm. "You have to breathe, Lady Wildcat. In a pattern. I think it's, in-in, out-out. Ready? I'll do it with you." 

"I'm not going into labor, your bloody fool," I snarled, lurching away from his touch. "I'm having a panic attack! Get off me." 

For a moment, Marco was blessedly silent, but then he smiled, stood, and retreated to Asher's walk-in closet. "Honestly don't know what you two would do without me. Here we are," he said, emerging from the closet, arms filled with extra pillows and blankets. And then, if that wasn't strange enough, he placed the pillows in a neat line down the middle of the bed, dividing it in two. 

"What ..." But I trailed off as he approached. 

He placed his rough, warrior hands on my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. "You may be the most powerful pair of morons in this city—" at this, he laughed, the sharp bark interrupting his stream of thoughts. "Hell, you may even be the most powerful bound pair in the entire Empire. But you're not invincible. You need to sleep, just like the rest of us powerless plebeians. And I'm not talking about the sweaty, nasty kind, either." Marco pushed me toward my half of the bed, urging me to sit. "This is your side, my Lady. And you see that wall of impenetrable, fluffy white death right there? You shall not cross it." 

"And you," he continued, marching over to Asher, every inch a commanding officer for the moment. "You will not speak, touch, look, or even think of her for at least eight hours. I'd prefer it was longer, of course, but I have a feeling the current circumstances won't allow for that." 

"Marco," Asher spluttered, trying to brush his subordinate away. 

"Don't give me that shit, Asher," Marco retorted, swatting Asher's bare feet off the desk with the back of his hand. "I'm not the one who's fucking himself ragged between the thighs of his favorite new toy, am I?" 

At this, Asher snarled something incomprehensible, but stumbled toward his side of the bed at Marco's urging, running a hand down his face. 

Marco nodded. "I'll stand guard by the door until morning, and then we can deal with ..." he fluttered his fingers in my direction, "All of this." 

Asher flopped down beside me without complaint, face first, fully clothed, his deep groan vibrating through me. 

At this, Marco withdrew, taking the bottle of cheap gut rot whiskey and the office chair with him as he went. It was impossible to tell if he'd done so to keep Asher from getting blind stinking drunk, or if he intended to do so himself. Beside me, hidden by four spare pillows and two extra blankets, Asher was silent, trapped within the torment of his mind. As was I. 

I cleared my throat. "Asher ... I ..." 

Marco pounded on the wall, pushing the door open with his toe to pin me with a dark glare. "Don't make me get into that bed between you." 

A hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to burst from my lips, and I said, "Is he serious?" in an almost inaudible whisper. 

"Probably," Asher returned, speaking into the pillows beneath him. "And he'll probably enjoy it much more than he should, deviant that he is." 

Marco laughed from the hall. "No such luck, you perverted old man. You haven't got the right bits, and the Lady runs a little too hot, if you catch my meaning. Even for me." 

Asher's deep laugh was muffled by the pillows, and after his initial amusement, he lapsed into silence. Frustrated by the lack of action I glared at the ceiling for the count of twenty, then took a deep breath, preparing to verbally assault Asher. 

"Marco, what on Earth are you doing in the hall?" 

Tyra. I swallowed back the venom and stilled, forcing my attention away from my blind spot as I tried to focus on the walking nightmare lurking just beyond my vision. 

"Oh you know—" I heard the distinct tinkle of liquid in glass, "—was just telling the Major about our find in the market before he hopped in the shower. He didn't appreciate my choice in whiskey." 

Tyra chuckled. "You knew he wouldn't," she said, and for a brief instant, her form blocked the crack of light spilling into our room. "Is the Major(dash)" 

"He's sleeping," Marco interrupted, voice hard and unyielding. 

"Well," Tyra huffed, moving away from the door, warm yellow light filling the black void she'd left behind. "No need to get snippy. Reese wants to play a game of Masuco, if you're up to it. I've just come up to fetch a deck of cards." 

"Nah, I've got enough entertainment right here," he replied, shaking the bottle again. 

"Suit yourself." And then she drifted away, allowing Asher and I to breathe in her absence. 

"How can you consider sleeping with so much going on?" I hissed, sitting up and peering over the wall of deadly pillows between us. 

"Because I'm exhausted, and I'm—we're making stupid, dangerous mistakes," he replied, rolling onto his back, dark eyes glittering in the half light. "I'll be more effective if I can think straight. We both will." 

With a frustrated sigh, I nodded. "I know ... but ... I'm not tired. I don't know if I can sleep with her here." 

Without answering, Asher rolled out of bed, stumbling toward his desk and the small glass vial of white power he kept within it. 

"Asher, no," I said, pulling my feet beneath me. 

"This is just enough to take the edge off, Mila," he replied, tipping a measured spoonful into his used glass. "It won't ... you won't be completely senseless." 

I hesitated, watching him pour a splash of wine into a glass, then turn toward me, stirring with his finger. "Asher ..." My hands drifted down, covering my belly and the two tiny flickers hiding within. 

"It's a natural sleep aid, Mila. Derived from a seaweed that grows on the southern coast of Droa-nia (dash) Capital island," he added at the confused twist of my features. "And this is a fraction of the dose I gave you before the funeral. They'll be safe. Trust me. Please?" 

I sighed, eyes downcast, and took the glass from his warm fingers, tossing back the sleep-aid in a single shot, then wiped my mouth with the back of one hand. 

And slept. 

*** 

To his credit, Marco stayed just outside our door all night, guarding us from Caledonia's ambitious women for a few precious, much needed hours. While it was true I wouldn't have known if he'd left his post, as dead to the world as I was, I trusted Marco's loyalty to his commanding officer. There had been—and still was—so much to think about, so much happening around and to us that sleep had seemed like a luxury we could ill afford. Until, of course, we'd gone too long without it. 

Asher was right. It shouldn't have been possible for Carina to have caught us unawares as she had. We'd been foolish ... too caught up in building a bridge between us to notice the Hell Storm gathering on our door step. But it was too late now, wasn't it? Quite possibly the most powerful Elite Priestess combination alive had been cornered by a woman with a pen, a paper, and some well-placed threats. 

I snorted, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, hating the aftertaste of the sedative thick on my tongue. That pretty fool didn't even know a fraction of what was truly going on, but she'd managed to pin us under her thumb all the same. And to make matters worse, there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it. At least ... not yet. 

Groaning, I arched my back, trying to shake off the long hours of the night, sure I'd woken in the same position in which I'd fallen asleep. The Watchers surged within me, sipping at my rested energy. I stilled, senses turning in to assess the truth of their identities with the benefit of a calm mind. Me, of all people, pregnant. With twins. Now their periods of wakefulness and unexplained disappearances made sense—they must have been drifting in and out of 'consciousness', too young and fragile to handle the extreme levels of stress in both my blood and mind. 

My eyes snapped open. "Asher," I whispered, peaking over Marco's impenetrable wall of fluffy white death separating us. 

"Hn." 

I swallowed, trying to get a handle on this ever changing environment. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 23



The bed shook as he shifted, rolling onto his back and scrubbing at sleep-swollen eyes. "Mila?" 

But I didn't know what to say, how to voice the most recent fear plaguing my mind, and couldn't make a sound. 

After a moment, Asher propped himself up on his elbow to watch me as I deliberated. "You know," he said, voice rough and breathy, dark eyes capturing my complete attention, "I always thought I'd handle the news better than I did. That I'm ... to be a father." 

I lifted a shoulder, but wrenched my gaze away from his. "I didn't exactly react with charm and grace, myself." 

"Yeah," he agreed, a smirk crinkling his eyes. "But you've already been established as a raving lunatic, haven't you? I expect you to do something unexpected, even at the best of times." 

"It's what I'm good at." 

He rolled his eyes, but reached over the pillow, turning my face toward his with the pad of his thumb. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, content to share the worry, anxiety, and fear through the privacy of our bond. The Watchers surged against me as Asher's powerful mind lingered behind my shield, drawn to the surplus energy they could sense ... hungry for it. 

"We're in a lot of trouble, aren't we?" I whispered as his eyes went wide, hand drifting to cover my flat lower belly. 

"It's amazing," he breathed, ignoring me. "They're so ... strong already. Not really aware, and yet ..." He poured a tiny amount of power into me, through his palm on my skin—and The Watchers reacted, reached for it, taking everything he offered. 

"I know," I whispered, blinking back tears. They calmed when Asher cut off the supply of energy, lazy and full, no more powerful than they had been when I woke, but ... sturdier, somehow. More. 

"Do you think ..." he trailed off, eyes glassy and unfocused. "Do you think they'll be both? Elite and Priestess." 

I nodded. "Yes." 

His eyes hardened, and he pulled away. "It's time to get up. We've got a lot of scrambling to do." 

A shiver passed through my blood, but I let my questions go unspoken. The answers were already there, swirling in my mind. 

Asher dressed, yanking pants over slim hips as I wound a length of black silk around my midsection. "Help me hide the Chains?" I asked, head tilting back so I might meet his eyes. 

"'Course," he murmured, buttoning his shirt with long nimble fingers before taking the tails of silk from me. As he began to secure my dress, using the same pendant he had the day before to stop the front from drooping, a strange sort of peace began to bleed into my mind. It was new, this sense of ... surety, and it had nothing to do with the warrior standing before me, wasn't the cold, battle hardened indifference Asher relied on. It came from within me, from hard-won confidence I'd gained from living in this place. 

When he was finished, and the illegal Chains had been concealed beneath black twists of silken fabric, he opened our bedroom door. "Marco," he said in an undertone, ushering the sleepless man inside. 

"Mornin', Major," he mumbled, clutching a steaming mug of coffee with both hands. "Day's already started, I'm afraid. Good or bad news first?" 

"Good," I said without hesitation. 

Marco raised a single dark brow in my direction, then tapped the pendant sitting just below my collar bones, and said, "That's an ... interesting choice in accessories." 

Asher shrugged, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "It's true enough." 

"Sure, sure ... but don't you think it's ... I don't know, a little too obvious?" 

"What's the good news, Marco?" I interrupted, having both a lack of interest, and a half formed inkling of the pendant's meaning. But there was no time for that now. 

For a moment, he didn't respond, but I stared at him until he inspected the coffee in his hands and began to speak. "Right. Good news is we're pretty sure Tyra's ready to make her move." 

I swallowed, sucking in a long, slow breath. 

"Bad news," Marco continued, taking a sip of the steaming hot beverage, "She's probably going to strike during your engagement dinner. Which is tonight, for the record." 

Asher scrubbed at his face with both hands, giving me a glimpse of his fury before I pushed him away. Neither the Watchers nor I needed the extra stress. 

"If I may," Marco asked, leaning against the closed door, continuing without waiting for Asher's permission, "Why the fuck is she still breathing? Carina, I mean." 

"Because," I said, stepping forward. "A wedding engagement is better than being investigated for murder, don't you think? Besides, it's a convenient, irrelevant distraction. No one will be getting married." 

Asher's head tilted toward me, a curious expression crossing his hard features, indecipherable without true access to him. 

"I hate to tell you this, Lady Wildcat, but it's his signature on the dotted line. She's already submitted it to the—" 

"It doesn't matter," I said again, taking a seat behind the desk and pulling a pen and sheet of paper toward me. "There is a way out of this mess. We only need to find it. Now sit down and tell me everything that happened while we slept." 

Marco blinked, taken aback, no doubt, by my tone. But he obeyed without so much as a glance in Asher's direction. "Carina's been and gone already this morning, as you might have guessed. Though I will say she was white as a sheet until Tyra told her you two were sleeping. What did you do to her?" he asked, astute enough to direct the question at me, rather than the man at my back. 

I smiled, letting the malicious gesture touch my eyes, but said nothing. 

Marco shuddered. "Nevermind. I can guess. Anyway, she said she was only stopping by to inform her beloved she'd made dinner plans for the evening, and that he should pick her up at shortly after nightfall. Oh, and to leave that vile little creature behind, because she's not fit to be seen in public. Her words," he said with a smirk, raising his hands in defense. 

"Go on," I replied, suppressing the urge to return his grin. 

"And then ... Well, let's just say if I had my doubts about Tyra before, I'm free of them now. As soon as Carina finished speaking, Tyra all but pounced on her, demanding to know every detail of the dinner, right down to the drinks being served." Marco cleared his throat then, and said, "Oh, that simply won't do!" in a high pitched, squeaky imitation of Tyra's voice, managing just a hint of madness in his tone. "You must allow me to invite all of the Priestesses and Elites on base. A small, intimate affair isn't worthy of this joyous occasion, you gorgeous thing! We must have them all." 

"She said that? In that exact order?" Asher asked, no hint of amusement visible on his features. 

"She did," Marco confirmed. "Priestesses and Elites. All in the same room. Tyra's idea." 

"Good. That's easy enough," Asher said, glancing at me. "We'll have every Priestess tucked away before noon, while armed undercover soldiers are stationed on street corners and throughout the buildings. They won't get close enough to see a Priestess or Elite before we have them." 

I shook my head. "No. That won't work. If the Priestesses aren't there it will tip Tyra off." 

"And how will she send a warning message, Lady Wildcat? I won't let her out of my sight, and by the time she realizes something's amiss, it will be too late to stop whatever plan she's hatched." 

"Don't even think it, Mila," Asher added in a low, dangerous voice. "You're not going anywhere near that dinner." 

"Uh ... Actually," Marco said, features twisted into an apology, "she is. The Lieutenant General is hoping Mila can provoke Tyra into rash action." 

Asher spun away, cursing under his breath. 

"No, it's okay," I soothed, reaching for him without thought. 

He shook me off. 

I pressed on. "We're going to be smart about this—" Marco snickered, and I glared at him. "Shut it, you. Asher," I continued, moving to close the distance between us, and placed a hand on the tight muscle of his forearm. "We are strong. With your added power, I can locate a sleeping child from miles away if I try hard enough. But ..." I glanced at Marco, was looking a little distressed at my proclamation, "When you're near me ... I'm blind." 

Without moving Asher nodded. "It's a double negative. Carina shouldn't have been able to ..." He swallowed. 

"As much as it pains me to admit it, Marco's right about keeping us seperated. We can't afford to ... get lost right now. I'm not—I'll try to keep my shield in place, but I know ... we both know I can't maintain it like you can. You have to keep me out." 

For a long time, Asher said nothing, merely watched me from the depths of his dark, Caledonian eyes. And then he dropped his shield without warning, flooding my mind with all the frustration, sorrow, and fear coursing through him. I nodded, unblinking as he pulled the shield back in place, securing it ... barring me, eyes going cold and black as I lifted my inferior shield and looked away. We would not be taken unaware again. 

"Do we have any idea how she plans to attack?" Asher asked, voice flat. 

"Could be poison, a suicide bomber, or an all-out attack," Marco replied with a shrug, his tone the equal of his superior. 

Asher extended his hand, and without needing a verbal prompt Marco placed his weapon in Asher's outstretched palm. "Did Carina say where this farce of a dinner is being held?" 

My bond-mate charged the sleek silver gun, as Marco answered. "She wanted to do it here, but Tyra insisted they petition the Lieutenant General for the use of the mansion. I don't like it, Asher. It's on Tyra's home turf." 

"A suicide bomber won't get anywhere near that house, Marco. And we'll place armed guards on the roof in case they've created some sort of projectile. They'll shoot it down before it gets close enough to do any damage. Same goes for an all out attack. There's no way they're killing anyone tonight." 

"What about poisoning the food? If Tyra's on the warpath, she may have planned for this to be her last meal." 

"We eat before we go," I said, rubbing the gooseflesh popping up on my arms. "I doubt Carina's planning a Mila friendly meal anyway. I'm not exactly her favorite person, and she probably hasn't forgotten about that pair of shoes I ruined." 

For a moment, Asher said nothing, jaw tight and fists clenched at his sides, avoiding eye contact. "Marco, inform the Lieutenant General of the preparations I want made, then come back here to get ready." 

"Sir," Marco replied, touching two fingers to his forehead and departing without a backward glance. 

The silence left in his wake was all consuming. I cleared my throat, wrapping my arms around my ribs to ward off the chill crawling down my spine. "It feels strange ... being alone in my head," I said, looking anywhere but his face. "Well ... mostly alone." 

Asher's eyes drifted closed, his face twisting at my words. "You can feel them now? The Watchers?" 

I nodded, hand drifting to the place where they rested, quiet for the moment, still fat and lazy from Asher's energy infusion. 

"Stop doing that," he said, glaring at my hands. "It's a dead give away." 

"To what?" I returned, hands on hips, head tilted to the side. "I'm a bound Priestess. Getting pregnant is impossible, remember?" 

"This isn't funny," Asher snapped, tanned cheeks tinged pink. "You're going to be the only Priestess there, Mila. There will be no one else to take the attention away from you. No one to distract from the fact that I still haven't broken you." 

I swallowed. "So teach me." 

"What?" Asher asked, face going blank. 

"This ... it has to look real, right? Teach me how to act like a proper, broken slave." 

For several long seconds, Asher merely stared at me in open-mouthed shock, apparently unable to speak. And when he could manage it, the way he said, "Mila ..." was hoarse, strangled, and sent a curious little shiver down my spine. 

I shrugged, offering a humorless tilt of my lips. "'S'okay. It's temporary, right? No big deal." 

He brushed the hair off my face, looking down at me with unreadable eyes, large hand coming to rest at the back of my neck. "A slave lives to serve her Master." At this, he added gentle, yet insistent pressure to my shoulder, urging me to my knees. "She is quiet, with eyes downcast until told to do otherwise, for her behavior is a reflection of the man holding her collar." His hand trailed along the edge of my jaw, coming to rest on my chin, tilting my head back to maintain eye contact. "She will not speak without the approval of her Master, and will address him as Sir. If there's some cause for confusion," he murmured, nudging my knees apart with the tip of his toe, adjusting my posture, "She looks to her Master first." 

From my position on the floor, I couldn't help but notice the-tell tale bulge at the front of his trousers, and I shot him a toothy grin, breaking the spell. "Should be easy enough," I said, voice trembling, and Asher snorted, though his fingers remained on my chin. "As long as you agree not to push me too far. I'm a terrible liar to begin with. If you try to force me to eat meat or let someone put hands on me, I can't make promises. But I'll probably do worse than barf on an expensive pair of shoes. Oh," I added, shooting his thick cock a pointed glance, "And nothing ... sexual in public. I can tolerate anything for a short period of time ... except that." 

He pulled me to my feet, then turned away, letting out a deep, frustrated breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Mila ... what about ..." 

"It's okay," I replied, hand settling over The Watchers as they slept. "We've still got some time before ... before I start showing. We'll think of something." 

"So ... your plan to ... to terminate the—" he swallowed, unable to finish the sentence, unable to meet my eye. 

I blinked. "No. We have time," I said again, reaching out to touch his elbow. "Time to think of our options before doing anything drastic. But I they won't be slaves, Asher. They won't. If I can do nothing else for them, I will spare them from a life of slavery." 

Fists clenched, Asher trembled beneath my palm, but after a few tense moments, he nodded and changed the subject. "This dinner is going to be a disaster." 

"So we go in prepared for anything," I replied, opening the top left drawer of his desk and pulling out the familiar hand gun. At my touch, it lit up the room with a fierce green glow, and Asher cast a wary eye over his shoulder, one brow raised in question. "I'll be on my knees beside you, yes?" 

A terse nod was his only response, dark gaze fixed to the weapon pulsing with life in my grasp. 

"Good. I have an idea." 

*** 

"My goodness, Asher, you look so handsome!" Carina squealed, embracing her fiancée as he opened the car door for her, generous breasts pressed to his chest. "I'm so excited. Everyone is going to be there tonight. It's to be the party of the season. Can you believe Tyra's generosity? Pulling strings to get it held in the ballroom of her former mansion. And the Lieutenant General himself said it was just the thing we needed to boost troop moral after that nasty string of bad luck we've been having. Unfortunately the Curator won't be there, which is a shame, of course. But he said he was terribly sorry he couldn't make—what the hell is she doing here? I thought I told you not to bring that little monster." 

Asher offered her a cold smile as he settled himself beside her in the back seat. "Did you now? Marco must have failed to mention it." 

"Oh, yes. Terribly sorry about that, sir," Marco drawled, guiding the sleek black car away from the curb. "You know me. Mind's just riddled with holes." Beside him in the front seat, I had to repress a smile, already struggling to maintain the air of 'besotted, house-broken, well behaved slave girl.' The vehicle was on loan to Asher from the garage of the Brigadier General Viridian, as the remains of Asher's car were, in Marco's words, 'a complete and total loss, and should be left to rest in the beautiful field where she could be at peace.' 

"No matter," Carina sniffed. "The rest of the Elites will have their Priestesses there, so I suppose yours won't be out of place." 

No one corrected her, and after a few tense moments in which Carina tried to set my hair on fire with her eyes, her mind drifted to the mundane blatherings of a woman in the midst of last-second wedding preparation. All without the benefit of a brain-to-mouth filter. By the time we arrived at the steps of the former Tilcot residence, I was sitting cross-legged in the front seat, eyes closed, breathing in steady, controlled breaths. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to turn in my seat and demand her silence, or to reach out and test the resilience of Asher's shield, to seek comfort in his calm strength. 

"My lady," Asher murmured, offering his hand to his new fiancée as she stepped out of the car. 

A slight, pink blush stained her cheeks. "Thank you." 

Asher turned without looking at me, arm in arm with Carina. 

"Go, Lady Wildcat," Marco hissed, unbuckling my seatbelt and nudging me toward them. "I have to park the car." 

Eyes downcast, Priestess senses strained to the limit, I trotted after the handsome couple, touching every living thing in close proximity with my mind—except, of course, for my Master's. The temptation to sink into him, to lose myself in his rational, confident mind was almost—I shook myself, focusing on the task at hand. If there was a threat approaching, I would sense the ill intent long before it became a true danger. I ran my palm over my belly as The Watchers woke within me, feeding them a surge of energy as their father had hours ago. 

"No distractions," I whispered, giving them just enough to fill them, enough to make them lazy and quiet. It was a handy trick. 

The walk to the dining hall was without incident. It gave me the time to scan the building's inhabitants for malicious intent, trailing a measured five steps behind my betters as a good little slave should. But nothing stood out, and as far as I could tell the ornate house was filled with Caledonian soldiers who were either bored, antsy, or horny. Nothing out of place, except for the unusual number of soldiers milling about. 

"I had this dress shipped in from a dismal little city in West. I can never remember the name of the place, but they have a way with fabrics, don't you think?" 

"Mm," Major Rawlings hummed, head tilted to the left as he inspected an ornate vase displayed on a pedestal. 

"Oh good. I've already chosen a tailor to design your suit for the wedding. Have you got time next week for a fitting? They'll come to us, naturally, so it won't be an inconvenience for you. Oh!" she cried, slapping his arm in her delight. "My father has a very talented slave in his household, and you'll never guess what his trade was before he came to work under my father." At this she waited an appropriate half second before continuing, "He's a master baker! My father can't eat second rate pastries, you see. They give him heart burn. The Emperor himself orders these amazing little cookies by the cart full whenever there's an imperial gala. Naturally we'll have him do the wedding cake. Do you think—" 

"Ah. Brigadier General," Major Rawlings said, shaking Carina off to clasp the elder man's hand in a firm shake. 

"I hear congratulations are in order, my boy." 

"Indeed they are," Rawlings replied, placing a hand on Carina's lower back, propelling her forward. 

"Thank you, Conrad. I'm so happy you could make it," she purred, a pretty smile gracing her features. 

"Ah, hell," he replied, patting the slight paunch in his midsection. "I only came for the food." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 23



"You dog!" she cried, landing a playful slap on his shoulder. 

"Careful, lady. If you keep that up, Asher might just find himself without the charms of a beautiful young bride." 

"Oh hush, you old lech," she said, cutting Rawlings off before he could respond, "Or your wife will hear you all the way from the Capital, and she'll be here before you know it, breaking all known land speed records to put you back in your place." 

The Brigadier General laughed, offering Carina his arm as he guided her into the dining hall. "That she will my dear." 

I moved to follow, but Rawlings laid a hand on the back of my neck, stopping me before I'd taken a step. When they were twenty paces ahead, he said, "You getting anything?" from the corner of his lips, eyes darting everywhere but my face. 

Hands folded behind my back, I shook my head, eyes drifting toward the floor. 

He didn't respond past a squeeze of my shoulder, then left me to follow as he entered the dining hall. 

*** 

"So tell me, Conrad," Tyra said, tucking in to a beautiful arrangement of steamed baby bird snuggled in a nest of thin, white rice noodles. "Where is your Priestess this evening?" 

Brigadier General Viridian chewed slowly, pressed his serviette to his lips, and swallowed before speaking. "She's come down with a touch of the flu, I'm afraid. Nasty virus it is too, claimed most of the Priestesses over the last week, or so I'm told." 

"How dreadful," Carina simpered, cleaving her nestling in two. 

"Yes," Viridian agreed, taking a sip from his glass. "Wouldn't want the bug to spread now, would we?" 

"Oh, heavens no," Carina said, nodding, sipping at her wine. "Besides, the silly little chits get to keep our men to themselves all day. I think we can afford a meal or two without them kneeling obediently underfoot, hmm?" 

I shifted, trying to get the blood to flow past knees stuck in the same position too long, casting my senses past the confines of this room. 

"I will say," Carina continued, taking another dainty sip from her glass, a rosy blush staining her high cheekbones as she hiccuped. "I will say, your Priestess has been remarkably well behaved this evening, Asher darling. It's been—" she squinted at the clock, lower lips caught between strong, white teeth. "It's been two whole hours, and not one cause for discipline." 

"Hmm," Asher hummed, raising his glass. "Yes, she's been quite a handful these past weeks, but I'll admit the breaking of her has been especially rewarding. Isn't that right, pet?" he asked, running a hand through my hair. 

I blinked. "Yes sir," I replied, gazing up at him, a soft smile playing around the corner of my lips. 

"Yes, well," Carina said, lips curled into an ugly sneer, "It's a pity your Priestess hasn't come down with the flu, Asher." 

"Is that so?" Asher asked, and the Elites around the table stilled, all eyes sliding to Carina's face. More than one hand drifted below the table and the air in the room crackled with the collective power of no less than six bonded Elites. 

But Carina continued speaking, either ignorant of the danger crouched on all sides, or deep enough in her cups to throw caution to the wind. Oddly enough, I found myself hoping for the former. "Oh come now, Asher. One evening of good behavior isn't enough to fool anyone. She's an animal! And as sa'matter of fact," she continued, slurring now, "I'm having second thoughts about allowing the little beast to continue warming your bed." 

Asher's fist clenched at his side, tracing the outline of the weapon concealed under the edge of his formal dress coat. "I'm sure we can make amendments in the Engagement Agreement," he agreed, voice light. 

"Oh good, I was worried you'd have an issue with that," she continued, tearing off a piece of underdeveloped wing. "But I think it's necessary, don't you? I mean, once we have children, she'll have to be caged at night." She laughed, crunching tiny bones between perfect, straight teeth. "Can you imagine her around a baby, Asher? What a disaster that would be." 

Asher paled, but nodded and said, "I can only imagine." 

"And what of you, Priestess," she spat, glancing in my direction. "I've a hard time believing you have nothing to say on the subject." 

"I shall do as my Mistress commands," I demurred, eyes downcast, locking on her elegant, glittering red shoes. 

"You're damn right I command it," she sneered, and I watched her shadow retrieve her glass. But for the moment at least, she appeared mollified by my submission. And Asher's fingers were no longer twitching on the trigger of his weapon. 

I smiled, and cast my mind elsewhere. The Priestesses were all deep within the Earth, huddled together in a tight, terrified ball of power. Not for the first time, I was grateful I wasn't with them, struggling against the darkest part of me as the others prayed to their Goddess. I wrenched my mind away, letting the blinding pulse of their collective lives simmer at the back of my conscious. They were safe. But the Rebels wouldn't have a fraction of that power, and it was taking every ounce of concentration I had to look away from the hypnotic dancing patterns of the Elites closest to me. No, the Rebels had an unexpected advantage in this—one unknown even to them. They were all but invisible to me in a city filled with super powers ... so how then, was I to find them before they were standing right in front of my eyes? Before it was too late? 

A slow, satisfied smile spread across my lips, hidden by my bowed head. It was true the Rebels were without power ... but they'd adapted the unsavory tactics used by their would-be conquerors, hadn't they? 

I flung my mind further away from this room filled with high strung Elites, prissy, drunken socialites, and scheming widows, searching for another slave. Searching for a boy of Elite strength ... And found him with ease. 

"Have you heard about the latest scandal occupying the house of Galpeck?" one of the Elites down the table asked Viridian, drawing the conversation away from Carina's spiteful, drunken ramblings. 

I squeezed Asher's ankle, maintaining my position on the floor at his feet. 

He didn't look at me, but his fingers dropped to my head, toying with a stray lock of hair. 

I leaned into his touch, tapping three times at the skin above his sock. 

Passing me a dinner roll, Asher met my eyes, and I nodded accepting the food. "Thank you, sir," I murmured, adding, "I found them," in an undertone so quiet, he had to watch my lips moving to understand. "Gathered in the forest to the north." 

"Tyra," Carina simpered, leaning against the widow. "I'm bored. Didn't you say something about entertainment?" 

Again, the room stilled, ripe with the fury of every man present. "Oh, yes of course, my dear," replied the snake, patting Carina's arm with a bejeweled hand, oblivious to the tension crackling around her. "I imagine they'll be here shortly." 

And then something occurred to me, and my nails sunk into the skin of Asher's ankle, making him inhale with surprise. The Rebels wouldn't be so stupid as to bring the boy here where he'd certainly be recognized. Even if they'd managed to corrupt the poor creature's mind beyond repair, they'd still face impossible odds. It would be one young, unbound, malnourished Elite against the six adults in the room and a dozen others stationed within the manse and beyond. All primed and waiting for the slightest hint of action. 

No, they weren't on a suicide mission. It hadn't come to that just yet. But I realized I'd been looking in the wrong direction. My mind sifted through each and every person within reach, sweat pouring down my face and back, 

When I found what I was searching for, it confirmed my suspicions—the Rebels had a very different goal in mind for tonight. I pushed Asher's sock out of the way, fingers brushing the handle of the weapon he'd strapped to his ankle, in case of the worst. 

The door across the room banged open, admitting the Lieutenant General, his young aide whose name I did not know, and the one familiar face I was hoping I'd never have to see again. 

"Ladies," the Lieutenant General said, nodding to Carina and Tyra. "I apologize for the interruption, but we've got some pressing business that cannot be ignored." 

"Oh my heavens," Tyra said with a gasp, hands flying to her lips. "Well don't let us keep you, Killion. We'll get out of your way—" 

"Sit," he snapped, glaring at her until she wilted beneath his thunderous gaze. "Gentlemen." 

"What's going on, sir?" Viridian asked, standing now, his weapon drawn, spitting a dull, green fire. And excluding Asher and I, every other Elite moved to mirror him. Ready. 

"This," the Lieutenant General replied, pushing the handcuffed man at his side to the forefront, "Is young Josh Trapper of the Eloran Rebel forces. And he's here to speak of peace." 

*** 

END OF CHAPTER 23 

Okay readers! That's it for now. I know some of you may be disappointed that the Watchers weren't something more exciting, or that some of you saw this coming a mile away. But I'm not sorry. I've been planning this for more than a year now (how long has it been??), so it's been a long time coming, really. :) Anyway, whether you loved or hated it, I want to know about it. I've got a big ol' binder full of thoughts and stuff for the eventual rewrite of this entire story, and your comments and suggestions all go into the melting pot. 

Puhleasse leave me a comment so that I may know the glory of your love ... otherwise I will surely wither and die ... *single tear trails down cheek, orchestra strikes up a moving ballad* 

Hokay. That's all from me for now. Enjoy the rest of your week!



The Last Tritan Ch. 24



Hey you glorious bunch! I'd apologize for the wait on this chapter, but hey... can't win 'em all. To make up for it, this chapter is roughly 14 000 words long—a long one! Thank you to the beauties who whip my scribbles into shape; Baron VonKarmann, SF, and unorigionalnames. You da bomb! 

Without further adoooo... chapter 24! 

Myra Danvers 

*** 

"This," the Lieutenant General replied, pushing the handcuffed man at his side to the forefront, "is young Josh Trapper of the Eloran Rebel forces. And he's here to speak of peace." 

Josh's keen eyes darted around the room, flicking over the tense faces of the gathered Elites. "Good evening, gentlemen." 

As one, the Elites began to speak, their outrage echoing around the room. For his part, Josh didn't flinch from the frosty welcoming, but waited with hands folded in front of him. 

Heart in my throat, I cringed out of sight, tapping Asher's thigh. "Hey," I whispered in a voice just loud enough for his ears over the raised voices of protesting Elites, all speaking at once. "If he sees me, everything comes crashing down around us." 

Asher stiffened and, without turning to meet my eye, moved his knee. I squeezed beneath the table, burying my face in the shadows and adopting the 'terrified slave in a room full of furious Elites' persona should Josh's eyes find mine. The Eloran Rebel, however, was occupied by the barrage of death threats being flung in his direction, and for the moment, took no notice of me. 

My fingers tightened around the grip of the Elite weapon Asher had strapped to his ankle, should the Rebels manage to make it past the Empire's precautions. After all, I wasn't about to sit by and wait for my fate to be decided by Caledonians. At my touch, the dark beneath the table began to glow with that fierce, unmistakable Elite light—Asher's hand found the back of my neck beneath the table and he squeezed me between his knees. 

"I come in peace, gentlemen," Josh said, raising his bound hands before him, offering the room a small, tight smile. 

"Of course, of course," Lieutenant General Hastings said, waiving the other Elites to silence and patting Josh's shoulder. "Have a seat, my boy. We're still waiting on one more." 

Taking the proffered seat beside Carina, just out of sight on Asher's right, Josh cast another wary glance around the room, keen eyes evaluating the men and women gathered around him. "One more?" 

"Yes, well I know you were rather hoping this visit of yours would be a surprise," the Lieutenant General said, his deep cultured voice resonating within my chest. "But we've been waiting for you." 

"I'm flattered," Josh replied through tight lips and said, "yes, please," when the Lieutenant General offered him a glass of wine. 

An awkward silence descended on the gathering as Josh took a sip, rolling the wine around his mouth and doing his best to ignore the tension thick in the air. It wasn't long, however, before a tiny old man shuffled into the room, followed by no fewer than four stone-faced guards. And although their Priestesses were nowhere in sight, they were flush with the unmistakable vibrant life-force I'd come to associate with bound Elites. I shivered, jamming my Empathy into the darkest corner of my mind, feeding the Watchers a careful tendril of my own life-force to keep them sluggish and drowsy. 

As one, the dinner guests rose to greet the newcomer, hands pressed to hearts, "Greetings, my lord Curator," on the lips of every man and woman present. For a moment, I could only stare at the wizened old toad, blinking as his Elite guard fell in around him. What must have once been broad Caledonian shoulders were now stooped and sunken with great age, and though it was still thick, his hair was a striking, snowy white framing a still-handsome face. Great bushy eyebrows topped watery eyes, flicking from face to face until they came to rest on the foreigner in the mix. 

It was the first time I'd seen the Curator at this proximity, and his appearance alone managed to leave me wishing I could curl up by the fire and listen to a lifetime worth of stories. 

"What have we here?" he wheezed, sitting when the Elite guard on his left pulled out a chair at the head of the table, opposite Asher. "Some Eloran scum begging for table scraps?" 

My lip curled. First impressions weren't everything. I let my senses flare out, trying to get a read on the ancient Elite jackass. 

"Not quite, grandfather," Josh replied, inclining his head, hand placed over heart. "We come to speak of peace between our two nations." 

"Bah," the Curator said, flicking gnarled fingers at the younger man. 

The Lieutenant General took the seat to Asher's left, glancing at me tucked between my Master's knees with a frown before he spoke, interpreting for his superior. "One might be wondering why you've come at all." 

Fresh sweat beaded along my hair line, warming me with the exertion of trying to read the Curator's energy. But... I couldn't find him hidden among his Elite guard. Each man present burned with the fierce intensity of a tiny blazing sun, his life-force pooling with that of the man beside him until I could sense nothing at all. Raising my shield, I squinted, trying to see through the haze of power, though it had nothing whatsoever to do with vision. 

"As I've been telling you, Lieutenant General, I am here to speak on behalf of the Eloran United Forces. This," Josh rattled his chains, "really isn't necessary. I'm unarmed." 

"A precaution," the Lieutenant General replied. "You understand." 

Josh shrugged, shifting his long legs beneath the table—bringing the edge of his scuffed, dirty boot within inches of my knee. "Your house, your rules," he murmured, taking a deep breath. "My people are tired of the war, gentlemen. Tired of fighting for table scraps, as you say, Master Curator. But we've have had four long years of living like fugitives on our own land, and there's still plenty of fight left in us. Yeh have any idea what kind of injustice that is for men of the field? What kind of a fire that sets in a man's belly?" He turned to catch the eyes of every man present, looking for what, I couldn't say. "Yeh've unleashed a monster in those hills, gentlemen. And I'm here to avoid anymore unnecessary bloodshed." 

As one, the Elites laughed, though several hands drifted to the deadly steel muzzled by holsters on their hips. 

But the Lieutenant General spoke before his Elites could do more than posture. "Why do I get the impression you've come without the blessing of your betters, boy?" 

"Because my betters would like nothing more than to sit back and watch the Empire burn to the ground, sir. But I promised a friend I'd at least make the attempt to pursue peace, if only to spare the innocent women you've dragged into this horror. I intend to see that attempt through. Waste of time or not." 

"Irrelevant," the Curator snapped, swirling a glass of blood-red wine round and round. "The Emperor does not negotiate with fugitive slaves." 

"My people," Josh said, voice low and dangerous, "are not slaves, Curator. And I've reason to believe the Emperor would reconsider if he knew—" 

The Curator slammed his frail hand down on the table, making the silverware jump. "Do not deign to tell me how my brother thinks, Eloran scum. I've heard quite enough of this drivel. Send him away." 

The Lieutenant General cleared his throat. "Your orders are impeccable, as always my lord, but perhaps we should hear what the boy has to say? If they've created some sort of weapon—" 

"Then you will take it from them, Lieutenant General," the Curator snapped, his wispy voice crackling with the force behind his words. "Your holy mission is to do as the Emperor commands. Must I remind you who speaks in his absence?" 

"Of course not, my lord," the Lieutenant General replied, a light pink dusting his tanned cheeks. "But—" 

"We do not negotiate for peace, soldier," he wheezed, coughing into a black and gold square, then drew in a ragged breath, head inclined toward Josh. "Inconsequential little countries like yours have nothing to offer the Empire, Eloran. You can either join the Empire and benefit from the Emperor's holy vision of a perfect world united under one rule, or fight until there is nothing left of your people. Caledonia shall triumph either way." 

I swallowed, trying to ignore the textbook Empire propaganda. Instead, I gathered my scattered attention, focusing on nothing but the Curator himself. Why couldn't I see him? What was it about this ancient Elite that prevented me from... I inhaled a silent gasp, eyes widening with the dawn of the truth. I couldn't sense the Curator, couldn't get a read on him through the fog of Elites in the room, because he wasn't an Elite. 

From everything I'd learned about the Caledonian social system in the last few weeks, assuming the Curator—a man second only to the Emperor, by his own words—would himself be an Elite was a logical jump. But I'd been wrong. I was sure of it now, and yet this man, this powerless, ancient man drove the most powerful army on the planet. I shook my head, unable to understand it. 

"You can't be that... that bloody short-sighted," Josh said, shaking me from my thoughts. "My people are worth more than coin on the slave markets!" 

"Funny," the Curator replied, taking a sip of his wine, "I certainly see no reason to agree with that absurd statement. But don't fret. Any worthwhile technology you have shall be sent to the Capital to be studied. If they find it innovative, it will be reproduced for the noble people of the Empire." 

Josh's face flushed a deep crimson and his jaw worked without sound as he tried to think of something to say. He shook his head, sighing as a sad smile stretched across his face. "It was a mistake to come here." 

The Curator watched him over the rim of his glass, but didn't argue. After draining the remainder of his glass, he said, "I see no reason why I shouldn't send my men into the forest to take every man, woman, and child in the name of the Empire." 

The answering smile that spread across Josh's face was something I'd never forget. "Ah, but it wouldn't be a conversation worth having if I hadn't brought something interesting to the table, would it?" 

At this, the Curator chuckled, the dry sound grating on my nerves. "All right, boy. You've got my attention. Speak your threats." 

"I'm not here to issue threats, sir," Josh replied, smoothing a crease in his worn pants, chains jingling. "Besides, if I ruin the surprise I'd have to beg asylum from Caledonia just to avoid the wrath of our Master Inventor, and that I just cannot do. Let's just say I'm here trying to avoid unnecessary battle. In spite of everything the Empire has done to us, I'm here to negotiate an alliance agreement between Elora and the Empire. We're tired of war. We want to rebuild our culture in peace." 

"An eloquent speech," Lieutenant General Hastings said, and when the Curator's waxy brow wrinkled in a frown, he added, "for an Eloran. But it's all a waste, I'm afraid." 

"Ah, so the rumors are true. The great and powerful Elites are on a short leash. Gelded by a man who's never seen battle, is that right?" 

The Lieutenant General shrugged. "And yet, here you are, seeking an alliance with the very Empire that crushed your pitiful armed forces four years ago." 

Josh bristled, shifting his feet with tight, jerky movements—the tip of his big toe brushed my knee, and I cringed between Asher's legs. "We can sling insults at each other for the rest of the evening, Lieutenant General, or I can take your answer back to my commanding officer and have a decision made one way or the other." 

The Curator pressed lips to tented fingertips as he contemplated Josh's words. His response was far from a surprise, considering his little speech about world unity and his position next to the Emperor. "I'm half inclined to pen my answer in cocky Eloran blood, young master Trapper. But then, why waste such a precious resource to make a point when my Elites could use the target practice? They've been lazy in the absence of authority." 

Hands still fisted in Asher's pant leg, I felt him tense at the Curator's words. 

"Fair enough, I suppose," Josh said, his tone cold. 

Sweat had begun to gather in the palm of my hand, wrapped tight around the butt of Asher's weapon, slippery against the deadly steel in my grip. And for a moment, no one spoke, letting the small sounds dominate the room. I swallowed, trying to keep my shield in place, to contain the chaos of my emotions... to protect the Watchers from the pain and confusion of this world for as long as I could. 

"Well," Josh said, breaking the silence. "I guess I have my answer, don't I?" 

"You do." 

"Then if it's all the same to you, sir, I'll be getting back now." 

A deadly silence settled over the room, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if the Curator would order Josh imprisoned. So I focused everything I had on the grumpy old fart, fostering indifference in his whithered heart, hoping he'd let Josh go without incident. 

Sweat dampened my hairline as I worked, and Josh said, "I truly wish we could have come to some sort of agreement." 

"Can't have everything in life," the Lieutenant General replied when the Curator didn't, still caught up in my spell. "Would you like something to drink for the road? Whiskey, wine, fine Alesian ale from the southern continent." 

"Just water, if you don't mind." 

The Curator made a dismissive sound at the back of his throat, and I sagged against my bond-mate. Asher ran his fingers through my hair, then squeezed the tense muscles coiled at the back of my neck... soothing my anxiety. And for just an instant, I could feel his shield waiver in a silent offering to ease a worry he didn't understand, to relieve my fear of Josh's presence. I rested my cheek against his knee, but refused the temptation—this farce of a peace meeting was nearing its conclusion and I could only speak of my anxiety in the privacy of our room. 

The feet of Josh's chair squealed against the tile floor as he pushed back from the table, and for a single, split second, his face came into view. "Thank you for your hospitality—Alicia?" 

My heart leapt into my throat, every muscle freezing at being caught cowering between the feet of my Elite. I simply stared into his face, unable to find the words. 

"Stand down, Eloran," Asher snapped, filling the awkward silence, fingers tightening on the back of my neck. "And take your eyes off my Priestess." 

"Alicia, how'd yeh get caught," Josh continued, his accent thickening with surprise. "There were no patrols anywhere near... I jus'... don't understand. It was a straight shot to the coast. How'd you come to be in the hands of these filthy—" 

"I-I'm sorry, sir," I stammered before he could reveal too much, eyes downcast. "But my name isn't Alicia. I-I think you must be mistaking me for someone else." 

"But you look... it's not possible..." He trailed off, staring at me with raised brows and slack jaw, until his features hardened, and he said, "What's yer name then, girl, if yeh aren't Alicia?" 

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, unable to lie in front of this audience, but neither could I respond, knowing what I knew of his life-debt to a girl named Mila. 

The Brigadier General solved the problem for me. "Her name's Mila, boy. Our resident wildcat and new est Priestess. Now if you don't mind, do as the lad said and step away from the girl before you find yourself in a very unpleasant situation." 

At the mention of my true name, Josh's face paled, was now a vile shade of waxy green as he stared at me, horror etched on his handsome face. And then, just as I feared, I watched his eyes harden with the need to do something to help me. To free me from a situation he didn't understand and to free himself of a life-debt to a girl he didn't know. Diplomacy and peace talks were no longer important to my would-be savior. 

I did the only thing I could, knowing it would either send him to his death in a fit of righteous rage, or turn him away in disgust. 

Tilting my head back until my eyes met those of my bond-mate, I curled against Asher's leg, resting my cheek against the top of his thigh as I gazed up at him. Trusting my Master to save me from this unwanted attention, to take me away. Trusting him to save me. 

Major Rawlings tangled his fingers in my hair, then traced the outline of my jaw, tightening his thighs around me. Securing me at his feet. 

I closed my eyes. 

Josh recoiled, I could feel his revulsion through my skin, and I latched onto it, pushing it with every spare ounce of Empathy I could muster. Willing him to walk away... Fostering his disgust. 

"Gentlemen," he snapped, stomping toward the door. "It's been a rare pleasure." Two soldiers stepped forward, weapons at the ready, his escort back to the front lines. I tracked him until he'd left the building, unable to breathe until he was gone. 

"Gather your men, Lieutenant General," the Curator wheezed, rising to his feet with the aid of the Elite standing at his elbow. "I want them taken at dawn." 

"Sir," the Lieutenant General replied, standing with the others as the ancient, powerless man began to totter toward the door opposite to the one Josh had used. 

But before the Curator had taken ten steps, Tyra spoke. "Oh, isn't this exciting, Carina?" 

Everyone in the room stilled, all eyes turning to watch. 

"W-what's exciting?" Carina replied, casting a bewildered, drunken glance around the room, no doubt confused by the sudden tension filling her country men. 

"Why, the Rebels, of course! Stirring up so much drama. I can't wait to see what they do next." 

The Curator and his men stopped at the door, watching the spectacle Tyra was making of herself. 

Carina cleared her throat, wine stem pinched between slender fingers. "Surely you... I... I don't think 'exciting' is the word I'd use to describe the Rebels, Tyra... Surely you're excited to see our Elites in action?" 

Placing a thin hand on Carina's forearm, Tyra said, "Oh, yes of course, dear. The Elites. Slip of the tongue." 

But it wasn't. Not a single person in the room believed that, and if a certain Elite Priestess helped enforce that, to turn the tide against Tyra, well... I happened to know she wasn't sorry for doing it. 

The Curator cleared his throat, a dry whisper over well-used vocal chords, then raised his eyebrows at the Lieutenant General before resuming his exit. 

When the sour old man was out of sight, the Lieutenant General let out a great gust of air, took Carina's hand in his, and said, "I hate to cut your engagement dinner short, my dear, but I'm afraid there's nothing for it. There are important matters to be discussed with my Elites." 

"Of course, sir," Carina replied, pushing back from the table, her drunken slur almost inaudible. 

"Nonsense, darling," Tyra purred, placing her hand on Carina's forearm. "There's nothing he can say here that would shock me, darling. I was married to an Elite—" 

The Lieutenant General snapped his fingers, summoning two young soldiers to the table. "It seems you've mistaken my polite tone as friendly banter, woman. It was an order. Get out." 

"Killion!" Tyra gasped, hand fluttering at the base of her throat. "How dare you speak to me that way, and in my own house!" 

"Please escort Lady Tilcot to the parlor. I'm afraid she's quite out of her head." He glared down his nose at her, ignoring the indignant spluttering, and said, "I'll deal with her later." 

"Yes, sir," the closer of the two escorts replied, helping a hissing Lady Tilcot to her feet. 

"How dare you, you sonofabitch! I will not be treated this way! You'll regret this, Killion, I swear it upon the—" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 24



"Have a care, Lady. You're in enough trouble as it is, what with your dealings with the Rebels. Oh yes," he continued, simmering with hateful satisfaction at the look of complete and utter shock scrawled across her angular features. "We know all about your plot to destroy the Priestesses. And I'm telling you now, Tyra, it's not going to happen. Maybe if you're cooperative, if you reveal the particulars of your little game, I might consider sparing you the unpleasantness of the Inquisitor's Dark Room." 

Tyra shifted then, the simpering, eloquent mask slipping from her beautiful face in an instant. "Oh, Killion. So arrogant. Doesn't even realize he's already been beaten. No, he doesn't. Our time together won't save him from this, if that's what he's thinking. It will be glorious, though, won't it? When it's all over. Yes..." 

"Get her out of here, soldier, and don't let her out of your sight for all the pleasure slaves in the Capital." 

"Sir." 

A few moments later, when the dust of Tyra's outburst had settled, and the soldiers had dragged her from the dining hall, Carina spoke up, "L-Lieutenant General Hastings, sir, I-I didn't know... I... My God. She wants to... I think I'm going to be sick..." 

"Oh yes, my dear. This whole business with Tyra is quite unfortunate, but don't you worry yourself over her any longer. We know you've had nothing to do with her plan. Just an innocent bystander. Major Rawlings," he said, turning in his chair to face Asher, "take your beautiful bride away from this mess. I think a good stiff drink is in order. I'm sorry you had to witness that, my dear." 

"Oh, not at all, Lieutenant General," Carina replied, resting a hand on his broad chest. "I'm... I'm just sorry for Tyra, the poor thing. She's lost her dear, sweet husband. Why, I'd be just devastated if a-anything happened to Major Rawlings." She sniffed, and much to my disgust, her distress appeared genuine. Somewhere in her twisted, manipulative heart, she burned an honest flame for the man whose fingers were tight on the back of my neck. 

"Marco is waiting outside, Carina," Asher replied in a hard, clipped voice. "I need the Lieutenant General's ear for a moment." 

"Of course, darling," she said, getting to her feet in one fluid movement, and I got the impression she was eager to be away from the stress of this place. Happy to distance herself from her friendship with a mad-woman. 

After she'd made her exit and the room was filled with nothing but the hum of six bound Elites, Asher got to his feet, planting both hands on the table before him, radiating a fury so dark, I could only stare up at him in awe. "Never again, Killion." 

For a long moment, the Lieutenant General merely watched his subordinate, dark eyes frigid. And then, "Until the moment I am relieved of my duty by the word of the Emperor, you and your Priestess are mine to command as I see fit, Major. You'd do well to remember your place." 

"And if that crazy bitch cousin of mine had managed—" 

"She didn't." 

Asher bristled, baring his teeth, readying himself for battle. In response, I slid my hand back under the hem of his trousers, fingers finding the still-warm steel of my weapon. 

At my touch, Asher jumped, swallowed hard, and wrestled his temper into submission. "I offer my apologies for my outburst, Lieutenant General," Asher said after a moment. "I was out of line." 

But the Lieutenant General sighed, and said, "Forgiven, Major. I've got a Priestess of my own, after all, and am not indifferent to the lure of their gentle nature." 

At this, Brigadier General Viridian smothered a snort of laughter. "The Priestesses as a whole are exactly as you say, sir. But that one," he continued, shooting me a wide, tension breaking grin, "is about as gentle as a hurricane." 

My hand dropped away from the instrument of death strapped to Asher's ankle, and I had the good grace to hide my grin. 

The Lieutenant General laughed along with the rest of the Elites, selected a tiny pastry from the platter before him, and stood. "I've got a date with a mad-woman, and we've got work to do, gentlemen. You've all got your duties. Let's get to it. Time grows short." 

"Yes, sir," they said as one, standing for his departure. 

Asher stooped, his hand settling beneath my elbow as he pulled me to my feet. "Time to go," he breathed, lips moving against the shell of my ear. 

I nodded, eyes finding the floor when Brigadier General Viridian cast a curious glance in our direction. "As my Master commands." 

Tossing a careless farewell over his shoulder, Asher hustled me out of the building, meeting the sleek black car idling on the curb. He opened the front door for me, pausing only long enough to secure the seatbelt across my chest before slamming the door and moving to his place in the back seat. 

"The Von PenEltise residence, Marco." 

"Sir," Marco replied, guiding the car away from the sprawling manse in the rear-view mirror. 

"Oh, Asher!" Carina wailed, draping herself over Asher's lap as she sniffled. "It was just so horrible, wasn't it? Did you hear the way she rambled? As if she was speaking to someone who wasn't there. Oh, the poor thing! And to think, she plans to strike at the Empire in such a way, to murder the Priestesses with infidel help. I'm just so upset, I don't know what to do with myself." 

"It is a rather unpleasant situation," he agreed, patting her back as he gazed out the window. 

"Oh, but she's your cousin! You must be so distraught, darling," she continued, fingers traveling up the length of Asher's thigh as the car came to a smooth stop outside of a three story townhouse. "Come, I've got a bottle of fine brandy. Let's forget the night." 

Asher nodded and opened the door, pausing at the side of the vehicle to take Carina's hand as she followed him from the car. 

My heart splashed into my stomach, sending a wave of acid to burn the back of my throat as I watched them walk away, arm in arm, the very picture of a handsome couple. 

"Don't worry, Lady Wildcat," Marco murmured, eying their retreating backs. "If he intended to spend the night, he'd have given me orders." 

"I don't care what he does with his night," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"Oh, of course not," he returned, plucking a cigarette from a slim copper box. "That scowl on your face is just your inner beauty shining through." He sparked his lighter, pausing to take a long pull of the burning herbs, then said, "Was speakin' to myself o'course," through the corner of his mouth. 

I snorted, making an effort to smooth the harsh pinch between my brows. "Open the window, you pig. You're choking me." 

He complied, a devilish smirk creasing his lips. "I've heard women suffering from your... condition can be rather temperamental. You're going to be a downright nightmare." 

My mouth dropped open, hands flying to my lower belly in subconscious reaction. "Don't you think you should be a little more... I don't know... careful with that information. You just put the window down, you moron. What if someone hears you?" 

"I'm a dangerous guy," he replied, grinning now. "And if it wasn't for the Major, you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me. Ladies love the dangerous type." 

It was my turn to snort in derision. "I think Tyra's rubbed off on you, Marco. That's what I think." 

"Or maybe I rubbed off on her." 

"If that's the case, you'd better take me back to the Lieutenant General so I can explain what's happened to the poor woman. The shock of extended exposure to you must have cooked what little brains she possessed." 

"Damn, Lady Wildcat. Spare a man his dignity, would you?" 

"You're right, of course," I replied, pressing my hand to my heart. "If you see any men, warn me so I don't overstep myself." 

He choked on his laughter, slapping the dashboard and offered me his burning cigarette. 

"Lord, no," I said, pushing his hand away and wrinkling my nose. And then, after a moment of contemplation, I said, "Thank you, Marco." 

He raised his brows and nodded, accepting my gratitude with unexpected grace. 

Light spilled from Carina's front door, drawing our attention to the figure hurrying toward us. 

Asher yanked the back door open. "Drive." 

And before Asher was fully seated, before the back door had even closed, the sleek black car was pulling away from the curb. 

*** 

I didn't comment on the lipstick staining Asher's cheek and squashed the urge to straighten the shirt collar smelling of Carina's perfume. Having intimate knowledge of Asher's bedroom prowess afforded me the confidence to know he hadn't taken advantage of his fiancée's offer to 'forget the night'. So it was with this knowledge, I was able to relax and think about things rationally, when I might have otherwise done something reckless I'd be sure to regret. After all, Asher was a means to an end, a convenient partner in a situation neither of us could control. Nothing more. 

Asher, on the other hand, was not weathering the situational stress with anything resembling his usual collected calm. "Fucking bitch," he hissed, kicking the front door open. 

"Who?" 

"Carina. Who else?" he snapped, stripping his jacket off and flinging it over the back of a chair. "Acting as if this... this..." 

"Engagement?" I offered, rummaging through a bowl of fresh fruit laid out on the kitchen table. 

"Ha!" he shouted, tearing the top off a banana and thrusting it into my hands. "Acting as if she didn't have to use blackmail to trap me into this farce. And just what," he snarled, whirling to face me, "do you find so fucking amusing?" 

"Nothing," I said, pressing a hand to my lips. 

He pinned me with his fiercest glare, using his height and size to its fullest advantage. "Did you have a good time at dinner, Priestess? Tell me, what did you enjoy more, her constant barbs at you or her suggestion to have you caged at night? Fuck!" he shouted, hurling an apple at the wall. 

"Now who has a temper?" I drawled, flicking a bit of fruit from my shoulder. But when he took a step toward me, fury making his muscles bulge and twitch, I continued, eyes never leaving his. "Oh, come on. Don't be like that, you big baby. It's funny. And you have to give her some credit." 

"Credit?" he asked, reeling back, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "You must be joking." 

"She had a goal, put the work in, and it paid off. Caught herself an Elite, didn't she? I mean, I respect her cunning, if nothing else. You're just sulking because there's nothing you can do about it. It's funny," I said again, putting the kitchen island between us when he snarled and took a step forward. 

"Yes. Hilarious," he snapped, arms crossed over his chest, fierce glare stamped across his face. 

Pressing the tip of the banana to my lips, I looked toward the ceiling, trying to hide the vindictive smirk curving my lips as I sunk my teeth into the soft fruit. "I wonder what your duties will be once you're wed? I bet you'll have to do all kinds of things for her—" 

Asher spluttered. "What? I'm not doing anything for her! You said—I'm not... there isn't going to be a wedding, Mila!" he finished, face flushed, veins in his forearms bulging under corded muscles. 

"No," I replied, eyes meeting his, "there won't, but you can't blame me for enjoying this little predicament you're in." 

"And what predicament is that?" 

"You, forced into an unwilling partnership with someone you hate. Hunted... captured by a member of the opposite sex... forced to do things against your will, in spite of all that power coursing through your veins. Forgive me, Master, but I'm going to take a moment to enjoy the irony." 

For a long moment, Asher simply gaped at me, jaw slack, eyes wide. But then, just when I thought I had the measure of the man, he licked his lips, broke eye contact, and nodded. Point, Mila. 

"Last time I checked," he said at length, pulling his sleeve back to expose the illegal gleam of gold set in his skin, still avoiding my eyes, "it's not just 'me' anymore, Priestess. Fucking hell, it's not even you and me." 

I shrugged, tossing my banana peel on the counter, free hand passing over the Watchers. Point, Asher. 

But he continued before I could respond. "This... thing with Carina... Mila, it affects us all." 

The Watchers stirred within me and I sighed, feeding them a tendril of energy to keep them calm. "And if things get out of han, she won't live to see the wedding. I'll see to that myself, if I have to. But Carina isn't our most pressing concern at the moment." 

"What—the Rebels," he breathed, scrubbing his hand over his face, head hanging low. "Of course." 

"Focus," I whispered, not wanting to push him further, but hardening my heart. "I need you calm, Asher." 

He laughed. "I can't tell you how fucked up it is to hear you say that." 

A toothy grin spread across my lips. "Hey now, I'm the most easygoing woman you know." 

He blew out a breath, returning my grin. "I'm beginning to wish I didn't know any women." 

I shrugged, but changed the subject. "It has to be the Elite Boy," I said, "It's the only thing I can think of. The only advantage they might have." 

"Fuck," Asher cursed, pushing his hand through his thick, dark hair. "Tell me everything." 

"They kept him in a cage," I whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. "They were... using his power to keep their shield up. He was so skinny, Asher. Half way to dead when I just... left him there." A shiver passed through me, but I pushed on, tearing my mind away from the image. "They were using him to operate their front door. It's a shield like the one you saw in the field outside of the city, only much bigger. It covers the entire entrance to their base, and can only be opened from the inside. By an Elite... or Priestess with Elite powers," I added, smirking. "But if they can build a shield using Elite power, what else can they do? From everything Josh hinted at, it's not a stretch to imagine they've managed to create an Elite weapon of some sort." 

"Perfect," Asher whispered and I forced my shield between us, trying to separate the Watchers from his bitter frustration. "Who is the Eloran, this... Josh Trapper to you?" 

My eyes dropped to the floor as I tried to hide the blush staining my cheeks. "He's... a friend. He and his team found me wandering through the mountains," I said at length, wrapping my arms around my middle. "They saw the smoke from the fire and assumed I was an escaped slave." 

"Hmm," he hummed, pressing fingertips to his lips. "I'll bet their offer was one you couldn't refuse. Meeting a group of rebels hell-bent on destroying the Empire. And you, flush with Elite power pumping through your veins." 

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "We could have been a lethal combination," I agreed with a shrug, grateful for his calm reaction. "But their general wanted to... execute me to boost troop morale. For no other reason than I'm a Priestess. And Josh helped me escape. Even after I murdered their General." 

He stepped around the island then, brushing the hair back from my face, long fingers tangling in the pale masses for a moment before tugging me to his chest. "Should I ask why he thinks your name is Alicia?" 

I pressed my cheek to the warm muscle beneath his shirt and shook my head. "Well it is your fault," I replied, trying to pull away, but he only squeezed harder, running his hands down my exposed back, thumbs tracing my spine. "But that's not important," I hedged, not wanting to relive the memory of Asher's hands on her skin... tormenting me with her name on his lips... I shook my head. It shouldn't matter! Who he slept with was none of my— 

"Mila?" 

"I know their secret," I continued, rubbing at my hot cheeks. "If Josh knew I was back with you... he'd think I was a spy sent to murder their General and learn their secrets. And really, I couldn't have done a better job if you'd hired me to do exactly that," I added with a bitter laugh, clenching my fists. "Josh came here today to try and stop this war, because I asked him to try. But if he knew what I'm about to do... we don't need any more enemies." 

"You're not wrong." 

But I continued speaking before Asher could say more, unwilling to think or talk about betraying the Rebels to save the Priestesses. "Why did the Curator dismiss Josh without hearing him out? It doesn't make sense. The Rebels pose a credible threat and the Curator just—" I turned my head toward the door, focused on the approach of a familiar energy pattern. "Marco's coming." 

Asher passed his hand over the stubble on his chin and narrowed his eyes at me. "You're getting good at that." 

I grinned, knowing the sharp point of my canines had given my face a savage caste. 

In return, he smirked, dark eyes flicking over my exposed skin. But in spite of his dilating pupils and the slight flush on his cheeks, he said, "We're going to need Marco's tactical expertise to think our way through this. I'm not... my brain is mush right now." 

I heard the distinct tinkle of a feminine giggle, and raised an eyebrow in Asher's direction. "Apparently he's bringing company." 

Asher closed his eyes and pressed his lips together as Marco entered the house, Alicia—of all people—in tow. "Well, I'll be damned," Marco said, grinning, his arm draped around Alicia's shoulders. "You're out of the bedroom!" 

"And it appears you're on your way into yours." 

"Oh no," Marco replied, raising his free hand before him to ward Asher off. "Don't look at me like that. It's not a twenty-four hour job. A man needs time to himself." 

"You've been living in my house, Marco. It's as close to a twenty-four hour shift as you're going to get." 

Face bunched into a dark scowl, Marco untangled himself from Alicia and nudged her toward the back side of the house, where I had to assume his bedroom was located. "I won't be long, gorgeous. Just have to take care of something. Man business." 

She giggled and ran her hand down the length of his chest, stopping at the barrier of his belt and looping her fingers into it. "Oh, I trust you'll be quick." 

At this, Marco's head reeled back and Asher snorted. "Vicious woman. Don't know why I bother," he grumbled as she sauntered from the room, plump hips swaying. "Right. What's the problem now? Tyra's in custody and Falco's team is watching the front line for any Rebel movement. I'm tired. I need a break, Asher." 

"It's not as simple as that," Asher replied, pouring his friend a mug of coffee. "We think they've created something dangerous." 

"I heard. Curator was making fun of their 'big bad surprise' when he left your engagement party. Didn't seem like he'd given it much thought." 

"Then your Curator is a fool," I replied, taking a seat at the kitchen table. 

Marco's eyebrows shot up, his eyes flicking between Asher and me. "Priestess..." he whispered, face paling, "that's flat-out treason. What the fuck, Asher?" 

"They have an Elite boy, Marco," I replied as Asher passed me a mug. "And they're using him to power shields capable of stopping your weapons. Why do you think they would come out now, if they didn't have a bloody good reason?" 

"I thought it was a plot to kill the Priestesses?" 

"They can plot to kill us until the end of time," I countered, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic mug, "but unless they have something to make those plans come to fruition, it's a lost cause. They'd never get through the Elites, would they?" 

Marco pursed his lips, hip bumping against the counter behind him. "We... Asher, should we be keeping secrets like this?" he asked, brows drawn together. 

"What's the alternative?" Asher snapped, scrubbing at his unshaven face with the flat of his palm. "If I tell them what I know, they'll think I'm in league with Tyra. And if they imprison me, it's only a matter of time before they find out about—" he jerked his chin at me, "—the Chains and the preg—and Mila's... everything else." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 24



"Shit," Marco breathed, licking his lips. "Just... just give me a few minutes. I need to think." 

"Let me guess," Asher said without missing a beat, "you need to 'think' in your room? Where you just so happened to send a very willing Alicia?" 

"You know me," Marco replied, rubbing the back of his head as he inched toward the door. "I think better when my mind is clear of distractions. Don't be jealous of my youthful enthusiasm just because you don't have it anymore, old man." 

"Traded it for stamina, pup," Asher retorted, pushing his chair back as he stood, holding his hand out to me. "Fifteen minutes, Marco." 

*** 

The snick of the bedroom door closing made me turn from the window as Asher set two plates of food on the edge of his desk. 

"Didn't get enough at dinner?" I asked, wandering toward him, never one to resist the lure of food. 

"Steamed nestlings have never been my plate of choice," he replied with a shiver, buttering a dinner roll and handing it to me. 

I echoed his sentiment, thinking of the tiny birds that had been the main course, remembering the crunch of young bones being ground between strong teeth. 

"Here, sit," he said, pulling out his plush office chair for me. 

A frown creased my brows, but I shrugged and did as he bade, letting my senses flare out around me for a moment to check for intruders. Finding nothing, I picked at the bread in my hand, rolling the little bits between pale fingers. 

"Mila?" 

I swallowed, licking dry lips. "I'm... anxious about tomorrow." 

"About the rebels?" he asked, wiping his lips with a black hanker-chief. 

"About their weapon," I said, nodding. "What if... what if we can't prepare for it?" 

Asher snorted. "They may have a few tricks up their sleeves, Mila, but it's nothing we can't handle." 

"Ah, yes," I drawled, unwinding the elegant twist in my hair, "there's the Caledonian arrogance I'm so fond of. What the fuck is wrong with you people?" I snapped, snatching a glass of water off the desk. 

"Caledonian arrogance, huh? Shall I take that to mean you'd rather be camped out there with the Rebels, starving to death in the cold?" 

For a long moment, I watched Asher from across the desk, head clear, for once, of any emotions but my own. 

Had I chosen the wrong side? I had no doubt my involvement would rob the Rebels of their vengeance by aiding the Caledonians in this, my latest mission to save the Priestesses. But the alternative... 

"No," I replied, unblinking under the icy stare of the man who had once been my most hated enemy. "I don't know if I'm making the right decision in trying to save the Priestesses, when doing so may very well mean the enslavement of any yet-unmolested countries. But I do know the Empire is wrong, Asher. A united world may have started with noble intentions, but what your Emperor is doing..." I shivered, clenching my teeth and wrapping my arms about my waist. "What he's making his soldiers... you, Asher, what he's making you do is hideous. It doesn't make the Rebels right by default, either," I said, raising my hand when he moved to speak. "I just... I can't abandon my people, Asher. I won't let the Rebels use us to get their vengeance. I can't." 

At this, I broke eye contact, gaze drifting out the window as I tried to organize my thoughts. "Does that make sense? Am I a bad person?" 

Asher inhaled through his nose, and though I wasn't looking, I could feel his eyes on me. "No, Mila." 

"Tritan has fallen," I continued, teeth gritted against the harsh truth of my words, "and no amount of tears or innocent blood can change that. I can no sooner take these Chains off than restore life to the dead. The Priestesses are still slaves, the Elorans will try to kill them for it, and Caledonia is an Empire built on the bones of conquered nations." In spite of myself, I dashed the hot burn of tears out of my eyes with the back of my hand. 

"It doesn't matter how much I hate it, my Goddess-given power grants me control over this moment." My hand passed over my belly, over the life growing within. "I will fight, as I always have," I continued, offering a tight smile to the man across the desk. "But I fight for a future that could be better than what it is right now." 

Asher's lips twitched. "Oh, come on now, Priestess. It's not so bad here. Good food, good company, and all the excitement one could ever ask for. What more is there?" 

"Yes," I laughed, and tossed my dinner roll at him, "nothing gets the blood pumping like dodging power-hungry pit vipers and a government who may or may not turn one of its greatest assets into breeding stock for no reason other than the promise of more power." I smirked, selecting a steamed green vegetable doused in a tart sauce. "But the food's not bad." 

He sunk his teeth into the roll I'd thrown at him, dark eyes glittering across the desk. "I'm sure I could—" 

A thump from downstairs cut him off, and before he'd done more than turn his head, I'd flung my senses toward the sound, searching for intruders. "Oh," I gasped, bracing both hands on the table as foreign, invasive heat shot through my system. 

"What?" Asher barked, out of his chair and hovering by my elbow before I could figure out what was happening to me. "Mila? What is it?" 

And then, in the absence of my response, Asher did the only thing he could—he lowered his shield. "Oh," he whispered, sinking to a knee beside me. "This." 

"Wha-what's happening?" I breathed, clenching my fists, trying to control the arousal rising unbidden in my lower belly. "What is 'this'?" 

"It's Marco," Asher replied, eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead, "he's with Alicia." 

"Oh God," I groaned, thighs squeezing together in unprovoked need, trying to relieve the tension building within me. "This is... shit... this is what you meant? When you said you didn't touch her? Alicia?" 

Asher nodded, breath hitching as a passionate surge assaulted us from the couple below. "Was l-looking for you and got c-caught up... F-fucking hell," he whispered, eyelids drooping as his dark eyes found mine, the space between us heating with the promise of instant gratification. 

With my shield already down, I was helpless to resist when he reached for me, stepping around the desk faster than I thought possible. Crushing his lips to mine with bruising force, he threaded his fingers through my hair, nails scraping at the base of my skull as he pulled me toward him. Perched on the edge of the chair, I scrambled for balance, bracing my hands on the sturdy muscles of his chest. 

He dropped to his knees with a hoarse groan, breaking our kiss, lips finding the hardened peak of my nipple through the fabric of my dress. 

I gasped, sliding off the chair, knees parting easily on my descent to his lap. Strong, masculine arms wrapped around my waist, dragging me to the floor as teeth pinched my lower lip. 

"Move your knee," he rasped, kicking the chair out of the way, drunk on the lust seeping through the floor. 

Invisible fingers traced the length of my spine, fisting in my hair as Asher kneaded my hips with both hands, rocking his hard length against the heat of my core. "W-wait," I gasped, arching my back in an effort to release the tension that wasn't on my scalp, but Alicia's. "Asher. A-Asher, wait." 

"I can't," he breathed against my ear, voice cracking, "I can't." 

"This isn't—oh God—this isn't... it isn't right." 

"I don't care," he rasped, pushing a length of fabric off my shoulder, rough hands scraping over my skin, sending a wave of gooseflesh cascading down my back. "Holy mother of God. I can f-feel her lips on my cock," Asher gasped, flexing against me, eyes squeezed shut. "But it's—it's not mine." 

"Ghost hands," I whispered, licking the column of his throat, just as tangled as he was, just as lost as I had been on the side of the mountain. 

"Exactly," he replied, grip shifting to my outer thighs, thrusting against me. "I want you. Fucking hell, Mila, I need you." 

Unable to respond past an incoherent grunt, I nipped the edge of his jaw, letting my canines score his skin. He sucked in a breath, head dropping back to grant me access to the vulnerable flesh at the base of his throat. I pressed my lips to the throbbing pulse I found there, tasting the salt on his skin, savoring the rasp in his voice as he murmured my name. Pinning him beneath me, I slid my hands into Asher's hair, twisting my fingers into the thick black tresses, letting my nails scrape his scalp. In response, his grip tightened on my thighs, shifting to the top of my hips when I started to grind against him. 

This feeling, being lost in our Empathy, caught up in a sexual haze that was and wasn't our own, it was all-consuming. There was no space in my head for thoughts of the consequences, for the constant back and forth between us, the battle of wills... there was only this moment, his hands on my skin, his scent making my head light and fuzzy, his groans urging me forward... I seized two halves of his shirt in my hands, tearing it apart with far more force than necessary, buttons pinging in every direction. 

And then, eyes focused on the firm, golden flesh, I traced the outline of his collar bone with my tongue... because I could tell Alicia was doing the same thing to Marco... I could feel it, was driven to do it because it felt like I already had. 

"Fuck yes," he whispered, voice cracking, eyes squeezed shut. 

I shook my head, trying to separate what was happening downstairs with what was happening now, between us. But I couldn't. I'd relied on Asher's natural talent—or years of transferable, Elite training—to allow me to taste the emotions of everyone around us, sifting through the constant threats for the next one directed at us. And it had left me wide open to this... this... 

I gasped. Asher had returned his attention to my nipples, sucking and pinching through the fabric of my dress, the heat of his mouth almost enough to shut out my whirling thoughts. But of course, nothing came easy between us, and this moment would not be the exception. The Watchers stirred, not quite waking, but drawn to the reckless energy being thrown around the room, surging between Priestess and Elite lost in each other. 

"Sonofafuckingbitch—" Asher hissed, shoving me off his lap as he scrambled away from me, pressing his back against the twisted leg of his desk, reddened chest rising and falling with each heavy, panting breath. 

Sprawled out before him, cheeks flushed hot, hair a wild, tangled mess, I tried to soothe the Watchers, feeding them enough of my life force to lull them into a gluttonous slumber. "Asher, I—" 

He shushed me, jamming the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Gimme a second." 

I nodded, though he couldn't see it, tossing my flimsy shield between us as I felt him do the same. The pace of the wild sexual frenzy began to fade, and after a few minutes the only evidence of what might have happened was two sets of pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips. 

"Are you... okay?" I asked, stifling the urge to flee to the bathroom and patch up my wounded pride. 

He laughed, eyes snapping open to pin me with his dark gaze. "Of course not." 

"I... I don't know what to say," I admitted, completely out of my depth. "I didn't meant for that to hap—" 

"For fucksakes, Mila, don't you dare apologize." 

"Okay..." I replied, trying to straighten my dress. I expected him to throw something, to shout out his frustration, but for several long minutes, all he did was stare at me, dark eyes swirling with emotions I had no access to. For the first time I could remember, the silence was not welcome and I fidgeted under his stare until I couldn't take it anymore. "Please say something," I whispered, holding back the scalding hot tears through sheer force of will. 

"We can't stay here." 

My breath caught in my throat. "W-we—what... what do you mean?" 

But he wasn't focused on me any longer. "We can't stay here. I can't—" he choked, voice cracking with the force of his emotion, "there's too much going on. Every fucking time I close my eyes there's more. Something else to focus on. And I can't—" his eyes flicked back to mine. "My father owns a cabin by the sea, a day's travel outside the capital. We'll go there until—" he coughed, eyes flicking toward my navel, and he tried again. "I won't let them be corrupted before they're even... shit." 

I swallowed, rubbing at the tension in the back of my neck. "Are you serious? You'll take me—us—away from here?" 

"What choice do we have?" he returned, inspecting the floor. 

My heart hurt, squeezing so hard I missed three breaths and saw tiny dancing stars glimmering before my eyes. We could run. No more Tyra. No more Carina. No more Caledonia or Elora, no more war and uncertainty. No more slavery—because I could see it then, the future he was offering... raising a little family in a cottage by the sea, withdrawn from the cruelty of the world. A future where slavery was a bad memory between us, and nothing more. 

I choked back a sob, shivering as I watched the path to that future burn... as I lit the match myself. "Asher, we can't. We can't." 

"Yes we can, Mila." He stood then, vibrating with anxiety. "We'll be hours away before anyone even knows what's happened. We'll get so far away from everything we won't even need to think about shielding them from—" 

"No. We—" I hiccuped, "we can't." 

"We can!" he bellowed, dropping to his knees before me, seizing my shoulders in a fierce grip. "Just get up, Mila. We're leaving." 

"Asher," I whispered through my tears, placing a small, pale hand on his forearm. "It won't work. If we run now, before we're ready, they will never stop hunting us. It's true... you know it is," I pressed, voice unwavering as he gaped at me. 

"Fuck them," he snarled, giving me a little shake. "We are strong, Mila. They can't touch us." 

A cold bark of laughter burst from my lips. "We aren't invulnerable. What just happened is a perfect example of that." 

He shoved a hand through his hair and said, "It won't matter if there's no one around." 

"And what of the others?" 

"I don't give a fuck about the others!" he shouted, glaring at me. "I'll protect what's mine—" 

But I cut him off before he could finish because I couldn't hear it and keep my mind together, head twisting to the side in anguish. "How long before they stumble across the secret of the Chains? How much longer before there's an army of Elite Priestesses and the Program turns against them?" I glanced at him through the tears blurring my vision, seeing the truth of my words etched into the fine lines showing on his face. "It will never end. I... we can't abandon them, Asher." 

"You'd sacrifice—" he broke off, shaking his head, and couldn't speak any longer, staring at his clenched fists. 

"It's okay," I whispered, reaching for him, placing my hand over his, the only comfort I could offer. "There's time. I won't... start..." I gestured at my belly, choking on the words. "It will be a while yet before it's obvious." 

"Will it?" he replied, pinning me with dark eyes as he stood. Asher stepped toward me, using his full height to his advantage as he loomed over me. "It's been eleven days, Mila. Eleven fucking days. And they're already getting caught up in..." he blew out a noisy breath, and spread his fingers out across my lower belly, feeding the Watchers a careful tendril of his life force. They surged within me, reaching for the offering, drawing it in before becoming sluggish and drowsy once again. Point Asher. "This has never happened before. You have no idea how much time we have left before it all comes crumbling down around us," he said, using my earlier words. 

"Asher," I whispered, dropping my eyes to his belt. Torn. 

"What is it, Mila? Vengeance? Is that why you suddenly want to stay here? When yesterday all you could think about was your next escape attempt?" 

I shook my head, heart pounding. 

"Because if that's the case," he continued, ignoring my unspoken gesture, "take it out on me. For the rest of my life, if you have to." He stooped, kneeling before me and brushed his thumb along my lower lip. "This is war. You can't save everyone, Mila." 

"Stop it," I snarled, jerking my head away from his gentle, manipulative touch. 

He glared at me. "Fine. Be an irrational idiot. It's not like I need your permission anyway, Priestess," he snapped, whirling away from me. 

My jaw slackened. "That's just brilliant," I returned, surging to my feet and following him into the large closet. "If pretty words and gentle touches fail to get you what you want, don't forget you can just take it!" 

Asher scowled at me, clutching his jacket in a white knuckled grip. "Oh, come on, Mila. Gimme some fucking—" 

A surge of power lit up my senses and I staggered, clutching at nothing, trying to keep my feet under me as the world went white. Though the wave of sound that followed rattled the window panes, it was nothing compared to the searing agony igniting my wide open defenses. But there wasn't time to raise my flimsy shield before the white faded to black. 

*** 

Someone was shouting my name and shaking my shoulders, a frantic edge to the voice that made me struggle to open my eyes. I recognized the speaker and the familiar sensation of rough hands on my skin, but couldn't tear my mind away from the lure of such... power. 

"Mila!" Pain exploded across my left cheek, and I blinked, focusing on the handsome face hovering above me. 

"Did you... jus'slap me?" I slurred, head lolling in the cradle of strong arms. 

"Motherfucker—" he pushed a sweaty lock of hair off my forehead. "Open your eyes, Priestess," he barked, applying another, more gentle slap to the other cheek. "Hey! Right now. Open them. That's it, Mila, good girl." 

"'Mnot a dog," I replied, squinting to banish the second, see-through version of my bond-mate. 

He choked back a laugh, licking dry lips. "I can see that." 

"What happened," I asked as he pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, inhaling my breath. 

"Rebels," replied a terse voice from outside my line of sight. Marco. I twisted to see him. "Get her up, Asher," he continued, fastening the last few buttons of his shirt, sweat glistening on his forehead. "She can recover in the car. We're leaving in two." 

"Shield," Asher whispered against my ear, lips tickling the delicate skin. "Come on, I'll help you build it." 

Keeping me wrapped in his arms, Asher got to his feet, feeding me a slow trickle of power as I attempted to pull the tattered shards of my shield around me. "Should've listened to Sasha," I mumbled, scrubbing away the need to sleep with the back of my fist. 

Asher hooked his fingers around the edge of his jacket, and I took it from him, draping it across my belly. "Shoulda done a lot of things, I imagine," he agreed, hiking me higher in his arms with a little hop. He glanced around the closet, cursed, then turned to leave. 

When he reached for the door, my head dropped to the side, listless and uncoordinated. "Wait," I whispered, a burst of adrenaline giving me the strength I needed. 

Asher stumbled to a halt, heart thumping against my cheek, dark eyes peering into mine. 

"I need something," I continued when he remained silent. "A book." 

"For fucksakes, Mila," he snapped, wrenching the door open and continuing to the hall. "I'll buy you an entire library when this is over. About had a fucking heart attack," he muttered. "Needs a fucking book!" 

Trying my best to wriggle out of his grasp, I began to struggle, though my actions were far from the ferocity I'd intended. "Asher, please," I whispered, just before he got to the stairs. "It's important." 

"So is this," he returned, glaring down at me. "I'm needed at the front lines. And you're going to the bunker with the other Priestesses." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 24



My mouth dropped open in shock. "What? You can't be serious. I can't... I'll... I can't be trusted with them. Please stop," I begged, pressing against his chest with all my might. 

My efforts went unnoticed. "You'll be fine." He swallowed, arms tightening around me as he descended the stairs. 

Marco burst through the kitchen door, breathless, eyes flicking over me. "Ready?" 

Asher nodded. "Any word from the others?" 

"Viridian is just ahead of us. Saw him fifteen seconds ago, but haven't seen anyone else." 

"Good," Asher replied, ducking under Marco's arm as he held the door open. "I'll catch a ride with him on the way back. I want you to stay with her." 

"Sir," Marco replied, yanking the back passenger door open. 

"W-wait," I gasped as Asher settled me in the backseat, taking the extra time to buckle me in. "Asher, please, please listen to me." 

"There's no time," he said, face blank, warrior's mask firmly in place. 

"It will take five seconds," I snapped, unbuckling my belt. 

He pushed me back with a single large hand spread out across my chest, and sat beside me. "Put that back on." 

"No." 

"For the love of—"" 

"Before she died, Sasha gave me an ancient Priestess history book," I said, interrupting his expletive. "If the Rebels manage to get past you," I continued, ignoring Marco's derisive snort, "and they get their hands on that book... who knows what Priestess secrets are in there?" 

Silence dominated the small cabin for a long moment as Asher stared at me in open-mouthed shock, my confession breaking through his rigid mask. 

"I can get it," came a small female voice from the front seat. "Just tell me where it is. I know what it looks like." 

I jumped, having been so focused on the man invading my personal space, I hadn't noticed her there. "Alicia," I breathed, shifting closer to Asher, the memory of lips and desperate clenching muscles making my face heat in her presence. 

"Where is it?" Asher replied, his voice clipped and hard, drawing my attention back to him with his thumb on the edge of my jaw. 

"Your bookshelf. Top row. You can't miss it." 

Without a word he kicked the door open and sprinted back into the house, taking the stairs three at a time. And I was wrong—it took him fifteen seconds to get there and back, though he was carrying a leather jacket under one arm and the Priestess text under the other. 

"Thank you," I murmured, holding my hand out for it. 

But he handed me the jacket instead. "Drive," he said to Marco, who was already pulling away from the curb. 

To my surprise, it was the same leather jacket I'd modified for myself while on the run. I folded it into a neat square on my lap, and said, "Thank you." 

Asher nodded, shifting in his seat as he tapped his fingers on the cover of the ancient book. 

I eyed his profile, not liking the way his fingers curled around the book's spine. "Listen," I murmured, inching closer to him. "I know you're mad—" 

He snorted, shooting me an incredulous look. 

And I winced. "You have every right to be," I continued in the quietest voice I could muster, placing my hand on his thigh. "But that book has to go to the Priestesses, Asher." 

He turned to me, leaning in until his lips traced the shell of my ear. "Not fucking likely." 

Stifling the urge to slap him and take it, my hand drifted higher. "It's just a book, Asher," I whispered, expanding my shield to include him, to protect Marco and Alicia from what I was planning. "Why not let them have a piece of their culture?"  

With his nose pressed into my hair, he breathed me in, shifting to run his fingers along the base of my neck. "For the exact same reasons you outlined thirty seconds ago. It's information, Priestess, and information is power. But I'm rather enjoying your attempt to manipulate me," he continued, taking my wandering hand and guiding it to the bulge between his legs. "Go on. See if you can get what you want." 

"Asshole," I breathed, pulling away. "Passing that book to a worthy Priestess was Sasha's dying wish. Please?" 

He sat back in his seat, dark eyes glittering as he watched me. And then he sighed, blowing out a noisy breath, hiked his right pant leg up to the knee, and unstrapped the weapon I'd been clinging to at dinner. "I can't, Mila. You know I can't." Without waiting for me to respond, he pushed the hem of my dress indecently high, and strapped the holster to my thigh, just above the knee. "But it stays between us, for now, okay?" 

"A compromise," I breathed, tugging at my skirt. 

He nodded and for the last short minutes of the trip to the bunker, not a word was spoken. 

"It's a mistake to leave me alone with the others," I whispered when Marco pressed the red button for the brakes. "No one will be there to stop me if—" 

"You'll be fine," Asher stressed as Alicia and Marco exited the vehicle, tapping the weapon strapped to my thigh. "You're the last line of defense if they manage to get through us." 

"You don't think..." 

"Of course not," he replied, a devilish smirk outlining his lips. "Caledonian arrogance exists for a reason." 

I rolled my eyes, but when he gripped the back of my neck, steering me toward an unimpressive gray building, I didn't try to shake him off. 

And then I sensed them—Priestesses... dozens of them, all humming with a quiet, gentle power that made my mouth water and my heart sing with the need to be near them. But I pulled my shield around me, trying to imitate Asher's cool warrior's mask, refusing the temptation. 

Asher left me standing with Alicia by the door, leaning close to Marco's ear, his eyes flicking along the perimeter of the parking lot. In spite of being caught off guard by whatever the Rebels had done, I flung my senses out, scanning for anyone—or anything—that didn't belong. 

"Your hair looks nice like that," Alicia said, hands twisting as she watched me. 

I grunted, casting her a wary glance from the corner of my eye before turning my attention back to the hushed conversation between the men, trying to read their lips. 

"I don't know how you did it, Priestess," she continued, stepping into my line of sight. "My feet were nothing but blisters for days after we got back from... well... you know," she added in a whisper, leaning closer to me. "After your escape." 

My eyes flicked back to her face. "What do you want?" 

An alluring pink stained her cheeks. "N-nothing. It's just... if I hadn't been there to experience it myself, I wouldn't have believed a slave could do what you did. You're... you're kind of amazing, you know that?" 

I frowned at her, forgetting about the conversation I couldn't hear and instead, touched this pretty, blushing pleasure slave with my battered Empathy. What was the point of this, of flaunting intimate knowledge that could get Asher and me killed? As a fellow slave, surely she'd understand I didn't have access to anything worth the effort of extortion. So what was it then, something less substantial? Protection? Or—I glanced at Asher's profile—did she want Asher himself? 

"How did you do it?" 

"Do what?" I snapped, glaring now. 

She faltered. "S-survive like you did. With no help." 

I blinked. How could I possibly answer that? It had taken years of trial and error, and there had been many times that I almost didn't survive. "Fast learner." 

"Well," she replied, a tentative smile curving her sensuous cherry lips, "maybe you could teach me sometime? I wish I could do what you do," she continued, placing her hand on my forearm. "My father, bastard that he was, said a woman's place was the kitchen and wouldn't let me—" 

"Alicia," Marco said, gesturing for her. 

Asher laid his hand on my shoulder, turning me toward the shadows. "Listen, I don't have much time. If things go sour, Marco will come for you. He's got your jacket and the book, if I can't make it back. He's good at what he does, Mila. Trust him to get you out of the city, okay?" 

I nodded, still watching Alicia as Marco ran his fingers through her hair. 

"Hey," Asher said, snapping his fingers in front of my face. "Pay attention. This is important, Mila." 

"Yeah, yeah," I returned, narrowing my eyes at him. "Marco will bring me my shit if you die. Got it." 

He wrinkled his nose. "Charming." 

Brigadier General Viridian pulled up beside us in an old fashioned military truck, horrible fumes rising in a great black cloud around us. "Major Rawlings! Move your ass." 

"Sir," Asher replied, turning toward him. 

"Wait!" I said, raising my voice above the rumble of the engine, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. 

He stalled, glancing at me over his shoulder, raising a single dark brow in question. 

"Uh..." I said, heat rising in my cheeks. "Why doesn't she have to go to the bunker?" I asked, jerking my chin at Alicia, unable to meet his dark gaze. 

"Priestesses only," he replied, moving to face me, running a thumb over my lower lip. "Loyal or not, Alicia is Eloran. We're not taking any chances." 

"Okay," I replied, eyes flicking up to meet his inky Caledonian depths. 

And then, giving my fingers a subtle squeeze, he was gone, heading toward a confrontation with the Rebels in an antique monster of a truck. 

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I jumped, whirling to face my attacker with teeth bared. 

"Whoa, easy, Mila," Marco laughed, hands raised. "How are you going to handle our filthy orgy if you can't stand a little touching?" 

"F-filthy what?" I gasped, taking a step back, eyes wide. 

But he ignored me and lit a cigarette. "Yep. It's bound to happen. You know you can't resist this." 

"Can't..." 

"Don't worry," he continued, slinging his arm around my neck, "we can work the details out later. It's time to go." 

"I don't want to," I replied before I could stop myself, hating the heat staining my cheeks. 

"Don'worry, Lady Wildcat," he said, speaking around the burning cigarette pinched between his lips. "He'll be fine." 

"That's not—" 

He grinned. "You don't care, I know." 

I huffed, but didn't dignify that with a response as I spun toward the door, toward the hole in the ground filled with my people. 

*** 

After all the fuss, sitting in the bunker was... boring. And hot. With so many bodies tucked in a small space, the air was sticky with humidity. With my back pressed to the concrete wall, I kept my distance from the others, but they hardly seemed to notice for the nervous energy thumping through the room. It took everything I had to sit there, eyes closed, concentrating on the maintenance of my shield. 

To spare the others from the ravenous darkness. 

A sweet, girlish voice broke the silence. "Does anyone know how long it's been?" 

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. 

"Can't have been more than an hour," someone else replied in a whisper. Someone close. 

I sunk my nails into the meat of my palm. 

"Well I haven't heard any more explosions. That's got to be a positive sign, right?" asked Sweet, and I imagined her fidgeting with her hands. 

I pulled a slow breath in through my nose, trying to smooth the pinch between my brows. 

As before, Whisper answered her. "Do you think we'd even feel it if they were fighting? We've got to be fairly deep in the earth." 

The edge of my shield began to fray and the taste of power—I shivered, twisting my head away from them in a vain attempt to find sanctuary. 

"Are you okay?" Sweet asked, standing close enough for me to feel the heat of her skin. 

I jerked back, eyes snapping open in alarm. "Fine." 

"You don't look fine. Mila, right?" 

My chin dropped in a jerky nod, but I pressed my back against the wall. 

"I'm Carly. We met at Sasha's funeral." Her lips twitched in a sad little smile. "Why don't you come sit with us? The claustrophobia isn't so bad if you're with others." 

"No," I snapped. It came out harsher than I intended, but I couldn't spare the energy to be sorry for it. 

Her head tilted to the side, and in the semi-dark, her eyes glittered, reflecting the dim light. "You don't like being in crowds, do you?" When I didn't answer—couldn't—she nodded. "My cousin was the same way. Crowds made him sweat. He even passed out once at the Full Moon Festival, and my Uncle had to carry him to the back of the brew house. But when it was just us, people he was comfortable with—" she grinned and shrugged, sitting beside me with her back pressed to my wall, "he lit up the room."  

I opened my mouth to respond, to tell her to get the fuck away from me before I drained the life from her pretty, innocent body. 

But at that moment, three things happened all at once and I couldn't have stopped what came next if I'd had all the power in the universe. 

"We're finished up here," Asher whispered, his bodiless voice echoing through my head, and judging by the quiet gasps from the other Priestesses, I wasn't the only one who'd received a silent message. 

"Oh," she breathed, "Conrad says he'll be here in five minutes." And then, as if to steady herself, Carly placed her hand on my tense forearm. 

My shield, which had been fragile to begin with, crumbled at her contact. But before her energy could incite the ravenous Empathy monster lurking in the dark, the Watchers reached for her, curious, no doubt, about this new source of fire. Even as I scrambled away from her touch, they sipped at her essence, tasting what I'd been trying to protect them from, sating themselves on her life-force. 

She gasped, eyes widening in shocked disbelief, pretty, pale features blanched a sickly white. The other Priestesses began to stir, some getting to their feet, others moving to the single door to wait for their Elites, but for Carly and me, time had all but stopped. Her eyes hadn't left mine, though for several long seconds, her jaw worked as she tried to speak. 

Fists clenched, nails sunk into skin, I waited for her words to fall, unable to do anything to stop the inevitable. 

The door swung open, admitting the first of the Elites, and still Carly had done nothing but gape at me. It was on the tip of my tongue to beg her to say something, anything! But I couldn't. Some instinctual part of me knew I couldn't be the one to break this fragile silence. 

"Mila," Asher breathed, appearing at my side, running a hand down the length of my exposed back. 

Seconds later, Brigadier General Viridian slid up to Carly, taking his Priestess by the hand and leading her toward the door. But she twisted, keeping our line of sight unbroken as she walked away. 

"Ready?" Asher asked, fingers finding the hidden, illegal Chain hidden beneath the black silk on my bicep, a massive weapon I'd never seen slung over his shoulder. 

"S-she—" I sucked in a sharp breath, having not realized I'd been unable to breathe until she and Viridian were out of sight. 

"What's wrong?" he snapped, grip tightening on my skin, almost tight enough to bruise. 

"S-she... She..." I swallowed, glancing up at him, utterly without the words to continue. 

Asher cursed and pushed me toward the door, dark eyes flicking all around him, scanning for threats he couldn't see. "Mila. What happened? Talk to me, for the love of fuck," he hissed, lips pressed to my ear as he hustled me into the night. 

When Asher pushed me into the open, fresh air, I gasped. However, when I saw Carly, lips pressed to Viridian's ear, her cheeks now sporting a healthy pink glow, my blood stopped flowing. 

"She knows," I whispered, eyes locked on the pair standing across the parking lot. 

Viridian's head snapped back, peering into the earnest face of his Priestess. 

She nodded, then broke away from him, searching the crowd, eyes darting back and forth. 

I seized Asher's fingers in mine, flinging my senses out in search of Marco's familiar life-force. When I found him, I dragged my bond-mate toward the sleek black car, ignoring the way my heart shivered behind ribs. 

"Mila! What the fuck, slow down. Who knows what?" 

Without looking back, I wrenched the door open. "Viridian's Priestess. Carly. She knows." 

He shook his head, confusion crinkling his eyes. "She knows wha—" I passed my hand over my lower belly, concealed from more prying eyes by the open car door. "Gods, no," he breathed, all color draining from his tanned cheeks. 

And then, as one, we turned back, making instant, unmistakable eye contact with a slack-faced Viridian. 

"Marco, drive!" 

*** 

"Keep the car running," Asher snarled, dragging me behind him as he kicked his front door open, large gun bumping against his hip as he moved. 

"Asher, what's—" 

"We're leaving. I knew it. I fucking knew it. We can't stay here." 

"Slow down," I gasped, struggling to match his long legs as he raced up the stairs, three at a time. 

He wrenched the door open, not bothering to make eye contact as he headed toward his closet. "Just... stay there, for a minute," he murmured, shoving a hand through his thick dark hair, and then to himself, "it's... It's all falling apart. We have to get out of here." 

I swallowed, watching him thrust a handful of folded pants into a fabric duffel bag. "Asher..." 

"Don't. I don't want to hear it, Mila. It's not safe, and I won't listen to your sacrificial bullshit. I can't..." he broke off, dark gaze flicking toward the window, the whites of his eyes straining at the edges. 

"I'm—I'm sorry," I whispered, watching his jerky, agitated movements. "I didn't mean... it was just one touch, Asher. But they reached for her energy and there wasn't enough time..." 

"Stop it," he snapped, and started pacing the narrow strip of carpet in his closet. "Goddamnit! It's impossible. Fucking impossible. I can't protect you or them—arrgh!" he snarled, punching the wall as hard as he could, muscles bulging beneath his shirt, fist sinking through several layers of plaster. 

My jaw flexed when he withdrew his fist, blood mixing with white dust as it dripped to the floor, biting back the sarcastic comment because now was not the time to provoke him. Not when his cool warrior's mask was but a distant memory, and the next sentence from my lips would do nothing but make it worse. For in spite of Asher's blind panic, or maybe because of it, I hadn't faltered in my vigilance, had been using every spare ounce of power I had to track our most pressing threat. 

"Asher," I swallowed, taking a single, tiny step toward him. 

He didn't speak but whirled to face me, eyes wild, nostrils pinched and white. 

"It's too late," I whispered, hiking my skirt up for easy access to the weapon strapped to my thigh as the front door banged open, shaking the whole building. "He's here. Viridian's in the house. And he's got Marco and his Priestess in tow." 

Asher's features twisted with an emotion so intense, not even an Empath could make sense of it. "No..." he hissed as the red flush tinting his cheeks fled, leaving his tanned skin waxy. 

"Rawlings!" Viridian bellowed, thundering up the stairs. 

Asher lunged for me, thrusting me behind him as he reached for his weapon with his free hand. "Don't draw," he snarled over his shoulder, dark eyes fixed on the bedroom door. Waiting. 

"But—" 

A heavy weight slammed against the door, cracking the wooden frame with the force. 

"Not yet," Asher snapped, knuckles white, weapon lighting up the gloom with furious green flames. 

The door swung open, but the face that greeted us was not the one we'd expected to see. 

"Hey guys," Marco said, hands raised, a sheepish smile curving swollen, bloody lips. 

"Shut up!" Viridian shouted, pressing the muzzle of his weapon to the base of Marco's skull, his entire body hidden behind from sight. "Put your weapon down, Elite." 

"Go fuck yourself," Asher returned, taking a step back, toward me, blocking most of my view. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 24



I took the opportunity to reach for my weapon, preparing my shield for whatever might happen. 

"Come on, Major Rawlings," Marco whispered, eyes squeezed shut, "let's all just t-take a deep breath. No one needs to get their head melted today." 

Viridian twisted his weapon, cutting Marco off. "Is it true, Rawlings?" 

Asher reached for me with his free hand, keeping his dark eyes fixed on the threat before us. The instant our fingers touched he dropped his shield, giving me access to the wellspring of his energy. Sweeping me away. Not to be outdone, I pulled him in, gorging myself... unleashing the darkness. 

"Rawlings, no!" Viridian screamed, shoving Macro aside as he stumbled into the room, dropping his weapon and spreading his arms in submission. Exposing himself. 

Static danced between our joined fingers, and I stepped around my bond-mate, head tilted to the side. Viridian had made a grave mistake in coming here, in threatening what was mine... ours. And it would be his last. After all, it had been so long since I'd tasted powerful... Viridian had no idea what he'd just walked into. 

*** 

End Author's note. 

Okay, for those of you who are really observant, you may have noticed that Carly is now Viridian's Priestess. She was previously matched with an unnamed Elite, and Viridian was matched with an unnamed Priestess... but I hate doing things for no reason, so I mushed them all together. It's a really minor plot hole that I shall address upon the rewrite, but for now, I'm sorry for the inconsistency. =D 

Hook a gurl up with a comment so that I am motivated to write faster and get chapter 25 to you in the next two weeks. (The voices say it's good to have goals.) Love it, hate it, frustrated with it, let me know. I am usually pretty good at responding, though I'm much faster on facebook and twitter, I still love hearing from you. Hope everyone had a chocolatey Easter break! 

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 25



Okay guys! Been a really busy few weeks for me, so as always, sorry for the delay! And because it's been so long, the illustrious Baron VonKarmann suggested I do a quick recap at the beginning of this chapter. And because I know there is also going to be a little confusion over some of the Elites in this chapter, I'm also going to include a quick reference chart. A who's who of Elites, if you will. But first, I'd like to thank Baron VonKarmann, SF, unoriginalnames, and Princess Consuela Bananahammock. You guys and girls have been the beans. Thanks for everything. 

***** 

Last time, on Dragon Ball—ahem, The Last Tritan. Josh Trapper laid out a plea for peace, which the Curator laughed at before sending him on his unhappy way. Tyra threw a crazy fit and got herself incarcerated, while Carina was just kinda sad and drunkenly depressing. Then she tried to throw that P at Asher, hoping to seduce her pseudo-fiance, but he waited until she was in the bathroom and ran (while we cheered). Meanwhile, Marco distracted Mila from what may or may not have been a spat of jealousy, but we'll never know for sure, because she's oh-so-in-control of her emotions. But later Mila got in a good jab about Asher being pursued by the opposite sex, trapped into a life he didn't want. and enjoyed the moment of irony because she's not the bigger man, and doesn't care to be. Then they finally talked strategy, Asher tried to cock-block Marco, which didn't work and they got caught up in he and Alicia's sexual frenzy, only to be partially interrupted by the Watchers. Which of course, freaked big Daddy Asher out, who then proceeded to throw a tantrum, and started packing his shit to flee the Empire forever. And because Mila's M.O. is sticking to her plans, she refuses, knowing they can't leave the other Priestesses and Elites behind with the secret of the Chains a ticking time bomb. Then the Rebels make a move, and still raw from their almost-orgy (it counts, LadyMira) Mila can't process the overload of power and blacks out—to waken with frantic Asher and calm Marco packing them up to go to the Bunker with the other Priestesses. Mila drops the bomb about the Priestess History Book, she and Asher compromise, then he leaves her in the bunker where she tries super hard not to slaughter her people. Right when it's almost over, of course, Carly touches Mila, and the Watchers touch her back. She felt them, and is stunned, but tells her Elite, Brigadier General Viridian when she can muster the strength to speak. Then I left you hanging after Viridian kicked open Asher's bedroom door (complete with hostage Marco and Priestess in tow), and Mila unleashed the darkness... 

Characters you might get confused about... 

Brigadier General Conrad Viridian—paired with his Priestess, Carly, who is currently in mortal danger 

Lieutenant General Killion Hastings—who arrived long ago, after General Tilcot died to temporarily fill his place, but it's been a while, and his character isn't seen often enough to stick in your memory. He now resides in the Tilcot Manse, is on a first name basis with Tyra Tilcot, and is the Curator's whipping boy. 

The Curator—the Emperor's brother. Powerless. Stinks of evil and old man breath, but has unquestioned control over the Elites. 

okay! That's quite enough from me... and I think that's everything I wanted to say before this chapter began... so enjoy! 

*** 

Power. It sang through me, filling every cell, every fiber of my being with confidence, with the surety that nothing on the planet could stop me now. The man before me—the one who dared to threaten my family—ceased to be. He became nothing more than a pillar of light. A source of strength. 

An easy target. 

I took a step forward, watching as the figure raised its arms, listening as it asked, "Is it true?" for the second time. 

But the words were irrelevant. This man, this source had threatened what was mine. My bond-mate stepped forward, matching me in blind determination to protect—no matter the cost. Powerful source or no, he couldn't hope to match what we were together. 

I took another step, seeing nothing but the hypnotic glow of a brilliant life—a life connected to the heartbeat of the planet in a way few could comprehend. A life that was now mine. 

"Viridian! Get back!" 

A frown creased my brow and I turned toward the other source in the room, this one familiar, sprawled out on the floor. Male. One I'd had before. This one reeking of desperation and fear so intense I faltered, torn between power and the lure of bathing in the intensity of those emotions. 

My bond-mate beat me to it. He approached the downed, less powerful—but infinitely more palatable—source with unwaivering focus. 

"Asher, mate," the second source whispered, raising a single hand, palm out. "Take it easy. It's me. It's Marco." 

My bond-mate seized the outstretched limb, pupils dilated, eyes unfocused. A savage smile spread across my lips as my bond-mate prepared to gather this abundance of life. This would keep the Watchers satiated, this would— 

"Please," whispered a third source, this one female, a source so brilliant and pure the other two dimmed, tarnished. "Please tell me it's true, Mila. Please." 

"Carly, no!" the first shouted as she stepped around him, moving toward us with hands raised. 

My bond-mate stiffened, pausing with fingers still curled around the second's wrist, poised to strike, head turning toward the powerful female. 

"Mila," the she continued, stopping but a few feet away. 

I took another step. 

She extended her hand. Offering herself. 

Power surged through my blood, demanding more, insisting I harvest enough to share with my fledgling family. Mimicking my bond-mate's tactic, I took her hand, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips, ready... hungry for it. And then a wave of emotion struck me so hard I stumbled back, having never felt anything so... pure in all my life. 

Hope. The female was positively aglow with hope. 

I cried out, wrenching myself free of Asher's touch, summoning every spare ounce of power I possessed to rebuild my shield, to shake us free of the darkness. 

But Asher wasn't finished. Sending me a blank-eyed glare, he snarled and whirled back to face Viridian and his Priestess, dragging Marco with him as he spun. His weapon dropped from his fingers, clattering on the hardwood floor. Energy crackled in the air around him and for a moment I simply stared, awestruck. 

"Enough," I hissed, wrapping my hand around his wrist—the one not holding Marco's life in the balance. When he ignored me, taking another step toward cold-blooded murder, I thrust my poor excuse for a shield around him. Into his mind, giving him a brief second of clarity before he lost his head altogether. 

Asher choked on a sob, stumbling back from Marco, confusion bleeding through our bond, stronger than it had ever been. My heart beat a dozen times before he managed to shake the urge to drain the people before us, his friends, of every ounce of life they possessed. Before he sank to his knees, trembling with self-loathing, I pulled him to me, moving to block the others from witnessing his distress. 

"Mila?" Carly whispered, her voice cracking as my head snapped up, lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl. But she was nothing, if not resilient, and pressed on. "It's true, isn't it? You're pregnant." 

For a long, tense moment I didn't move. My left hand remained on Asher's shoulder as he sucked in great lungs full of air... knees bent... eyes focused on my pale, beautiful fellow Priestess... I weighed the few options I had. 

But the tears marking her lovely face forced my decision without my consent. "Yes," I replied at length, eyes flicking toward Asher's discarded weapon. 

"Oh!" she sobbed, rushing to throw her arms about my neck. "H-how? How is it p-possible?" 

Asher snatched my forearm, squeezing hard enough to hurt, though his head remained bowed. A warning. 

"I don't ..." I shook my head, planting a stiff pat on her back as emotions wracked her small frame. "I don't know." 

"A baby. I'm so jealous," she breathed stepping back, beaming at me through her tears. Without waiting for my response, Carly placed both hands on my lower abdomen and filled me with the familiar, soothing glow of a healer. A feeling I hadn't felt since Sasha. A rare talent even among Priestesses. 

"Twins," I whispered when they struggled to meet her, drowsy from dining on the raw, wild power that had been pounding through my veins and Asher's only minutes before. 

"Fuck me," Viridian whispered, sinking into the plush leather of Asher's office chair, dark, wary eyes never leaving my face. "And exactly what the fuck was that?" 

"If you don't want to find out," Asher hissed, struggling to stand before taking a single, menacing step toward his superior, "then I suggest you leave." 

Viridian watched as Asher fought to remain standing, unmoved by his threats, before he said, "This changes everything." 

"No," Asher snarled, pulling me away from Carly, "this changes nothing." 

"The others have to know, boy." 

"The others can suck my dick," Asher retorted, though he was trembling from head to toe. 

Marco stood, running his hand through his dark, sweaty hair. "Am I free to go, or were you lot still undecided about killing me?" 

"Ah," Viridian replied, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry about that, soldier. Truly sorry. I don't... I lost my head." 

Without thinking, I stepped toward the irate soldier. "Marco," I breathed, wishing he hadn't been dragged into this. Again. 

Not acknowledging me, but offering Viridian a stiff nod, Marco stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

"Asher, how—" 

"Get out," my Elite snapped, stalking toward him, fury billowing off his skin in black waves. 

"The others must—" 

"I said 'no', Conrad!" Asher shouted, slamming his fist against the desk. Carly squeaked, her slender hand coming to rest at the base of her throat. "If anyone finds out about this they'll be sent to the Inquisitor's Dark Room the instant they're born. In the name of testing their limits." 

Viridian's lips parted on a rebuttal... then closed. 

"It's true, and you know it." 

"Then we get her out of the city," Viridian returned, jerking his thumb in my direction. "We take her somewhere safe until they're born, and think of something to do in the meantime." 

Though my view of him was limited, I watched Asher's face blanch white. "What you're suggesting is high treason." 

Viridian snorted and waived him off, dark eyes glittering. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm the one suggesting it." 

I glanced at Asher from the corner of my eye, wishing I could see his face and know his thoughts. 

With a great sigh, Brigadier General Viridian sat behind Asher's desk, pulling the well-used decanter toward him. "There are places the Empire cannot see," he said at length, pouring out two glasses and offering one to my Elite. "Places she would be safe until... the birth." 

Asher shook his head, declining the offer. "Not without me, she wouldn't." 

Pursing his lips, Viridian sniffed the dark amber liquid, eyes darting to me for an instant before he offered Carly the second glass. "That could be arranged. But it won't be easy." 

"So what are you then, Conrad? A smuggler? Somehow that doesn't surprise me." 

Viridian laughed. "A smuggler? Lord no, son. But if sensitive information comes my way, I'm not above using it to my advantage." 

"Ah," Asher sighed, shoulders tight, "blackmail then. Fine. Go ahead. Get on with it. I'm getting good at being blackmailed. What do you want in exchange for silence?" 

Noting Carly's unshed tears, quivering lower lip, and clasped hands I realized then Asher was wrong. Viridian hadn't chased after us with no plan and his Priestess in tow for the chance to blackmail us. 

"What do I want?" Viridian drained his glass and poured another. "I want what you have, of course." At Asher's wordless snarl, he raised his hand. "What that girl carries in her belly changes everything. I intend to give that change a chance, if I can." 

"We can protect you," Carly whispered, taking a step forward. 

"You've let your Priestess addle your brains," Asher snapped, pacing at the end of the desk, fists clenched at his sides. 

"Ah, yes," he replied, eying me with a grin, "but can you blame me? My Carly makes it worthwhile." 

I stepped around Asher before he could respond. "There are things you don't know." 

"What the fuck?" Asher hissed, whirling to face me, fury etched in the dark scowl marring his brow. 

"We need allies," I returned, matching him. "You said it yourself, Asher, there's just too much happening." I took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the tight faces of our guests. "Viridian may completely fuck us over with this knowledge. Or," I stressed when Asher moved to interrupt me, "or we've just had our first bit of good luck since all this began." 

Viridian smirked. "Smart girl." 

"Shut it," I snapped, spinning to face him. "There are things you don't know—" Asher sucked in a breath and seized my bicep, strong fingers flexing around my skin, over the illegal gleam of gold. I placed my hand over his, but continued, "We cannot leave the city. Not yet." 

"Mila," Asher warned, grip tightening hard enough to leave marks. 

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'm unwilling to leave." 

"And I've already told you I don't need your fucking permission," Asher retorted. 

But Viridian ignored his outburst, and asked, "Why?" with eyes narrowed at me. 

"It is possible for you to have what we have," I hedged, hand drifting to my lower belly. "Possible for all of us. But it's only a matter of time before the Empire discovers it, before we're all a part of The Program, breeding the next generation whether we want to or not. I won't abandon my people to that fate. I can't." 

"How?" 

In response, I smiled. 

Viridian grinned. "Does it have something to do with your little display of power, hmm? Power no Priestess or Elite should have." 

"Come now, Brigadier General. You've already got us in a compromising position," I purred, a smile ticking at the corner of my lips. "But right now? Few things are more valuable than what we are." I tangled my fingers with Asher's. "I'm not stupid enough to compromise that." 

"Then what do you propose?" 

"A trade," I replied, glancing at Asher's stormy face. 

"Oh?" 

"When the time comes, you get us out of the city and set us up somewhere we can't be found." 

"And in return?" Viridian asked, sipping his whiskey, not quite hiding his smirk. 

"Information, of course." 

"You're a slave," he drawled, eyes twinkling, "what could you possibly know that would guarantee my loyalty?" 

"Conrad," Carly whined, large blue eyes glistening with tears. "Don't toy with them... please?" 

For a moment, irritation creased his face. But when he looked at her and saw the naked desperation twisting her pretty features, he deflated. "Not an ounce of business sense in your head is there, my dear?" 

She shook her head, a tiny, watery smile twitching her lips. 

He gazed at her for a long moment, face impassive, though I could feel his affection for her... his desire to make her happy—so I pressed on, trying to make it an undeniable urge. "What's your information about, Priestess?" he asked, eyes not leaving Carly's. 

Asher was roiling with poorly concealed fury, but he placed a hand on the back of my neck, giving me a gentle squeeze. 

"Aside from the obvious," I said, hand resting over the Watchers, "we know what powers the Rebel's weapon. And I'll tell you," I continued when Viridian's head snapped toward me, eyes wide, brows grazing his hairline, "when you can prove you're not full of shit, and that you can get us out when we're ready." 

"What makes you think I can't just... make you talk?" 

Without missing a beat, I flashed my toothiest grin. "You're welcome to try." 

"Your Priestess drives a hard bargain, Asher." 

"I suggest you get in touch with your people as soon as you can, Conrad," Asher replied, folding his arms over his broad chest. "Things are happening quickly. I'd hate for this information to expire when it could very well mean a promotion to Lieutenant General... or higher." 

Viridian shrugged. "I'll do that from here, boy. Where I can keep my eye on my valuables." 

"There's a guest room down the hall, if you must," Asher admitted, stalking toward the door. "But we're not a flight risk. As Mila said, we're not ready to leave just yet." 

"Oh, of course not. I'm sure there's no reason for paranoia." 

For the first time since meeting with the Brigadier General, Asher smiled, and said, "Tomorrow then. After the tactical meeting," leaving me to collapse on the bed, mercifully alone as he escorted our unexpected guests down the hall. 

*** 

"What are you doing?" 

"What's it look like?" I asked without opening my eyes. And then, because I felt bad for being snappy, I added, "I'm meditating." 

"I see..." he said in the sort of tone that said he actually didn't. 

I blew out an irritated breath and opened my eyes, squinting against the morning light until I found him sitting behind his desk. "Sasha taught me how to do this in one of our brief sessions," I explained, shaking my head when he offered me a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk. "She wanted me to build a wall to keep everyone out of my head, but I was too stubborn to listen... probably already addicted to the power, if I'm honest. So I built a shield instead." 

"That's what you're doing? Building a wall?" 

I laughed. "It's not for me." When his brow wrinkled in confusion, I continued, "I'm building it for the Watchers. I can't leave the city before I've done what I can to help the others, but... I owe the Watchers much more than that, right? There has to be a way to protect all three... Priestesses, Elites, and the Watchers. This is my compromise. I'll build a wall around the Watchers to protect them from... us, and—" I said with a cough, my cheeks heating as Asher grinned, "—to prevent another incident like the one with Carly last night." 

"I see..." he said again, dark eyes flicking over my body. "So... how's it going?" 

I narrowed my eyes as he stood, long legs carrying him closer with graceful strides. "It's coming," I hedged, uncrossing my legs and wishing I hadn't chosen the bed for this exercise. But Viridian had woken us by pounding on our bedroom door, shouting, "We'll meet after the tactical meeting this afternoon," through the solid oak. Time was running out, and I had to put what little we had left to the best possible use. 

"It's a good idea," Asher said, voice husky and low. "Need help?" 

"I don't see how—" my eyes widened. What if he could help me with this? After all the Watchers were as much him as they were me. "Actually... that's a good idea." 

"Naturally. I came up with it," he purred, kneeling on the bed before me. 

"Sit right there and copy me," I returned, rolling my eyes. 

"How do we do this?" 

"I'm not sure, really..." I replied, brow furrowed. "I don't even have a wall for myself." 

"Right. Trial and error, then." 

Crossing my legs, I placed my wrists on my knees, palms up, and closed my eyes. 

"You're joking, right? I can't sit like that. Men don't bend that way." 

"You said you wanted to help." 

A devious smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "And I will." 

When he stood, maneuvering around me on the unstable mattress, I tensed. "What are you doing?" 

"Helping," he murmured, settling at my back and stretching his long legs out on either side of me. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 25



"A-Asher," I whined when he gripped my hips, pulling me back against his chest, nestling the curve of my ass against the heat of his groin. 

"Trust me," he whispered against my ear, then laid his hands on my flat lower belly, arms tightening around me. 

And then, just when I was sure he could feel my heart beating inside his chest, he began to pour his strength into me, lending me the power I needed to build for the Watchers. I gasped, cheeks heating with the rush of energy, head dropping back against his shoulder, neck arched. 

"Stop," I hissed, fighting the ever present temptation... the urge to give in to the darkness, to sate my wicked desires just once more... 

"Concentrate, Mila," he whispered, thumbs stroking light circles on my belly, separated by nothing but a thin layer of clothing. "Fight it." 

Shuddering, I latched on to his superior shield, hiding behind it as I wielded the surplus energy. "You're not making it easy." 

He chuckled against my ear, sending a wave of gooseflesh over my skin. "We're not good at easy, are we?" 

"I don't think either of us knows what easy is," I breathed as he stiffened against my backside, the hard bulge making me clench in unconscious need. 

"Mmm..." he hummed, burying his nose in my hair and taking a deep breath, thighs tightening around me. "About that wall..." 

My eyes fluttered closed. "Right. I'll make a... cocoon of light—" 

"An impenetrable cocoon." 

My chin dipped. "Impenetrable... protecting them from every outside influence they don't know to stay away from." 

"One even we would have to work to get through." 

Understanding flowing between us, we lapsed into silence, working together, minds twisting, lines blurring until I was limp in his arms, caught in a heavy trance. Neither of us moved, but inside there was a flurry of activity around the Watchers. At first, it seemed they were determined to ruin our attempts—they surged to life every time we began to build, gobbling up the surplus energy with a shocking appetite. But they couldn't keep that up for any length of time, not at this stage, so we waited, offering them a steady supply until they were content, tiny consciousnesses floating between Somewhere and Nowhere. 

"It's working," he murmured, giving more of himself, helping guide my actions as I added the final layer. 

"I think... I think that's it," I replied, shifting with a groan for the first time since we'd begun. My back ached. "How long did that take?" I asked, twisting to look out the window. 

"Holy shit. It's past noon." 

"No wonder I'm hurting. We haven't moved in hours." 

"Mmm," he hummed and squeezed the tight muscles at the back of my neck. 

"Wait!" I cried, scrambling out of bed. "Let's test it." I dashed to his desk, snatching the sleek small handgun I'd come to think of as mine, and tossed it at him. "Pour everything you've got into it, and if they react we'll know we've got more work to do." 

Blowing out a gust of air, Asher stood, stretched his long frame, and cracked his neck before retrieving the handgun. "Ready?" 

I nodded, completely abandoning my shield. 

"I'll start slow." And he did, lighting up the weapon with a tiny trickle of power, muzzle pointed at the floor. 

"Nothing," I said, hands pressed to my belly, hovering over the tight bundle of power and life. 

Asher nodded, giving it a little more juice, dark eyes never leaving my face. 

"Nothing," I said again, whispering now, a slow, easy smile spreading over my face. "More." 

The small weapon quivered in his hand, spitting impotent green fire at the wooden floorboards. Asher stepped back, pointing it skyward and gave it everything he had. 

I dropped to my knees with a strangled cry, blinded by his light, both inside and out, but did not raise my defenses. It was the most effective test of the wall I could think of, aside from being a part of an actual life and death battle, and I needed to know. We needed to know. 

"Anything?" he asked, voice tight with the effort of controlling such raw power. 

My attention turned inward, assessing the Watchers nestled in their protective cocoon. 

"Mila?" he pressed, sweat gathering on creased brow. "Are they... do you feel anything?" 

"No," I whispered, smile returning to my lips though I knew I hadn't spoken loud enough to be heard. 

"Mila?" He powered down, closing the distance between us and sank to the floor, placing both hands on my face. "Did it work?" 

"Yes." I grinned, repeating, "We did it," over and over until he kissed me, inhaling my breath. 

"Thank fuck," he returned, lips moving against mine, hands shaking against my cheeks. 

"One problem solved," I replied, not pulling back, enjoying the heat and scent of him this close, "fifteen more to go." Acting on an impulse I didn't completely understand, I placed my hands on his chest, finding the tight pebbled nipples beneath his shirt. 

"You're sure?" he whispered, capturing my hands against him. "They're protected?" 

"Here." I broke away, guiding his touch to my lower belly. "Look for yourself." 

When his search came up empty, as I knew it would, he buried a fist in my hair, tilting my head back to expose the vulnerable column of my throat. Lips tracing my pulse, teeth suggesting the possibility of violence, I gasped, clenching the soft fabric covering his chest. 

Shifting off his knees, Asher dumped me backward, following me down and jerking my thighs apart in a single, confident movement. My head bumped the foot of his desk, sending a dull thunk echoing throughout the room. "M'sorry," he rasped, tugging me away from danger with his grip on the backs of my knees. Spreading me. Hand going to the back of my head, fingers rubbing gentle circles. 

"S'fine," I replied and reached for him, arching my back when he pressed his thick bulge against my center, legs draped to either side of his hips. But when he pushed the hemline of my dress back, exposing me, I pulled away. "Bed," I rasped, heat flushing my cheeks. 

His large body tightened and with a harsh exhale, he thrust his right arm under my lower back, leveraging himself into a crouch. "Hold on." 

Squashing the urge to walk on my own, I did as he asked, looping my arms around his neck as he stood. When his hands dropped to my upper thighs he stumbled toward the bed, using the momentum of each step to grind against me. 

"Asher," I moaned, scoring the edge of his jaw with my teeth, then yelped when he dropped me on my feet with little warning. 

"Turn around," he snarled, yanking his shirt over his head. 

"Wh-what?" I gasped, blinking up at him, confused by the sudden change in his demeanor. 

But his movements were jerky, his restraint nearing its limit and he didn't bother repeating himself. Instead, he placed his hands on my hips and spun me around, tipping me forward with a hand between my shoulder blades. 

I squealed, trying to right myself. 

Before I could, Asher covered my back with his larger frame, burying his face in my hair. "I need you," he whispered, bracing his weight on either side of me. 

The admission caught my voice in my throat, and I shivered beneath him. 

Brushing the heavy fall of my hair to one side, Asher pressed his lips to the back of my neck, releasing the knot in my dress as he did so. Exposed to the late afternoon chill, my nipples hardened, pebbling to aching points. Running his hands down my spine, he groaned, stripping away the remainder of my clothing, leaving me dressed in nothing but gooseflesh and gold. 

Twisting to watch him over my shoulder, I resisted the urge to hide from his hungry gaze. After all, it was his breath that hitched at the sight of me, his hands tracing unknowable patterns on my skin, and he who'd broken first, to admit he needed this. Needed me. I watched as he flicked the latch on his belt, freeing his swollen cock, dark eyes glittering back at me. There was a certain undeniable power in this truth, in accepting it. And power was something I was becoming comfortable wielding. 

My tongue darted out to wet dry lips, causing his nostrils to flare white. And then, unable to wait a moment longer, he reached for me, running the thick head of his cock through the slick heat gathered between my legs. "Fucking hell, Mila," he rasped, poised between my lips, muscles tense and trembling. "Tell me you want this." 

A wicked smile flicked over my face, hidden from view as I turned away. Another slip... another crack in his armor—and this one easy to exploit. This one filling me with confidence. 

I rocked back, taking the first inch before he gripped my hips with bruising force. 

"I don't think so, Priestess," he hissed, taking shallow thrusts at my threshold, "I want to hear you say it." 

"You overestimate yourself," I purred, saying something altogether different with the movement of my body, enjoying this ever-present struggle between us. 

He slapped my ass, shifting so he could fuck the space between my legs, brushing against my clit with every stroke. 

A strangled gasp burst from my lips, the indifferent facade cracking. "Th-that feels..." 

"Mmm," he agreed, reaching forward to palm to my breasts, pinching swollen nipples. "But it could be so much better..." 

"For you, maybe," I allowed, closing my eyes. And then, face splitting in a savage smile, I began to count his movements, anticipating the perfect moment to strike. It came on a back stroke, when he leaned back to resume his grip on my hips, abandoning my poor sensitive nipples. 

I lunged forward, scrambling out of his grip and whirling to face him, feet tucked beneath me. Ready. 

To his credit, Asher flashed an answering grin. "This how it's going to be?" he asked, stroking his glistening cock and kicking his pants away. 

Following the movement of his hand, I licked my lips—and waited for the heat to sparkle in his eyes. 

He knelt on the bed, naked and glorious, soft, illegal gold gleaming in the afternoon light. "I think the chase gets you hotter than it gets me." 

"Such arrogance," I purred, crouching, ready to make a break for it. "And all unfounded—" 

He dove for me, moving faster than I thought possible. "But it's not just the chase, is it, Mila?" he whispered against my ear, forcing me back as he followed me down, spreading my thighs with his knee. "It's getting caught, isn't it? That's the best part." 

I bared my teeth, struggling beneath him—but he was heavy and my actions were halfhearted at best. 

"Look at that," he groaned, swiping two fingers down the length of my pussy and holding them up to the light. "Soaked. Always soaking wet for me." When I didn't answer—focusing on the effort to draw breath—Asher touched my bottom lip, leaving behind a trace of the wetness that had him thrusting against me. "Taste yourself," he whispered, focused on my lips. 

Fuck it. My tongue darted out, and I sucked my lower lip between my teeth, doing as he asked. 

His head jerked back, dark eyes widening a fraction before his lips crashed against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth. Tasting me. 

My nails scored his back as I writhed beneath him, senses overloaded with all things Asher. And I kissed him back, drowning in his flavor, catching his lip with the sharp edge of my canines and drawing a tortured groan from the bottom of his belly. 

Trembling above me, he broke off, aligning himself between my legs. "Say it." 

I flashed him my teeth, sweeping both hands up my torso and cupping my breasts, rolling the nipples and arching my back. 

In return, he pumped his cock over my clit, stimulating the tight bundle of nerves at just the right angle to make my eyes rolls back. 

But I was far from ready to surrender and not above playing dirty. I dropped my shield and wrapped my calves around his hips, using the extra skin to skin contact to strengthen our bond. And then, heat building low, I pushed at his shield, feeding him the urgency I was feeling, forcing him to feel what he was doing to me. Trying to break his infuriating calm. 

Asher's chin dipped and he shuddered, still thrusting against my pussy without taking it further. When he lifted his head, however, the victorious grin melted from my face as I realized my mistake. I may not have said it aloud... but done far worse. I'd given him direct access to the truth of my inner feelings. 

"Fuck yes," he breathed, aiming low, pushing through any token resistance I might have offered. Stretching me. 

Shields discarded, the connection between us unbreakable, he didn't wait for me to adjust, but began to move, angling his hips to strike the exact spot needed to make me cling to him. Heart fluttering, my hands drifted lower, landing on the firm globes of his ass, urging him to move. 

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, accentuating his words by withdrawing. 

"I thought you weren't playing anymore?" I returned, digging my nails into his taut skin. 

He gasped, grinding his hips against my pelvis, and then, with a wicked tilt to his lips, Asher picked up a torturous rhythm, thrusting as slow as he could. 

I whined, trying to match him, to tempt the animal I knew he could be to join us in bed. Because fuck it—I needed him to lose control, to, as Carina had said, help me forget the night and all our other problems. He was right, I did need him—I needed him to be right here, in the moment with me. 

"Please," I whispered, kissing the side of his neck and pushing my pelvis to meet his. 

"Hmm?" 

"Don't," I hissed, unable to make eye contact. "I won't beg you for it." 

He chuckled, but didn't change his pace. 

"Fine," I snarled, dipping a hand between us. 

But he seized my wrist and found the other, pinning both my hands above my head. "I think I'm enjoying this side of you, Mila. Needy... desperate for my cock." 

"Doesn't have to be yours," I retorted, arching my back, writhing beneath him, begging with my body. 

"So you keep saying. You got someone else in mind?" 

I smiled. "Well..." 

He sucked my lower lip between his teeth, nipping the delicate skin until I moaned, trying to break his hold on my wrists. "Careful, Priestess... I'm not above fits of jealous rage." 

"You gonna punish me?" I asked, eyes drifting closed, lips parting on a breath. 

With a hiss, he plunged into my depths, trembling with the effort to hold back. "That what you want? 'Cause I could make it happen..." 

I laughed, wrapping my legs around his narrow hips, struggling for the necessary leverage. "No, Asher. I want you to fuck me." 

His head dipped, lips catching my nipple. "Mmm, impatient now, too. Sexy." 

An animistic snarl burst from my lips and I turned every spare ounce of my attention toward him. Fuck his control, and his walls! 

"Shit, Mila," Asher breathed, hips jerking between my thighs when I latched on to the lust burning within him, trying to force it to boil over. "Cheater." 

"Fuck you." 

He laughed, fisting the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head back and sucking at the side of my neck. "I'm not complaining. Push back." 

"Hmm?" I moaned, copying him, twisting my fingers in his hair. 

"Fuck me, Mila. Use your hips." 

Not bothering—or unable—to respond, I did my best to meet his thrusts, inching closer and closer to the finish line. 

He released my hands, bracing himself on his right arm as he gripped my hip with the other, guiding my jerky movements. "Like this," he whispered, tilting my hips forward and back, creating a sensual figure eight that matched his rhythm. 

"Oh, God..." I groaned, the walls of my pussy clenching against him... so close... 

"Tell me if..." he shuddered. "If I'm... I don't want to hurt you... them..." He squeezed his eyes shut, throbbing inside me, unmoving. 

My heart fluttered and I kissed the side of his neck, shivering as his taste lingered on my lips. "You won't. We made sure of it, remember?" 

And then, eyes still shut tight, he began to move in earnest, muscles flexing and bunching between my legs, breaths coming in warm, short gasps. I dug my heels into his firm ass cheeks, teetering on the edge of release, trying to keep the brutal pace he'd set. But it wasn't enough. Asher was trembling now, cheeks flushed, lips white with the effort to hold back, afraid, I had to assume, of hurting me—us. 

I arched beneath him, trying to take control, to be the one on top, but he bared his teeth and seized my wrists. Again. 

"Asher," I whined, holding on to my dignity with my fingertips. I really was going to beg, beg him to do this right, to fuck me like the animal I knew he could be. 

But he pressed his lips to mine, returning the desperation flooding my heart with his own unique flavor. When he backed off, a sob escaped me, breaking free under the pressure, and I threaded my fingers through his thick, dark hair. Pulling him into me... returning the kiss and accepting this gentle, unexpected side of him. 

"Please," I whispered against his lips, though it wasn't necessary. "Please." 

Voice cracking, Asher cried out, urging me to straighten my right leg while slipping his hand beneath the other, hoisting it higher on his hip. Going deeper. "So... fucking... perfect..." he rasped, forehead dipping forward, a heavy fall of hair obscuring his eyes from view. 

I nodded, though he didn't notice. He was right. This felt so... fucking... good. So right... 

Reaching above me with his left hand, forearm brushing my cheek, Asher gripped the headboard and flexed, more confident now... going as deep as he could. The headboard collided with the wall every time he thrust, one arm looped under my thigh, every inch of me covered by his large, muscular frame. 

My breath hitched as he kissed me, tracing my lips with his tongue, breathing desperation into my lungs... I arched, racing toward the fastest climax I'd ever experienced. 

"That's it, baby," he rasped, burying his nose in my hair. "I can feel how close you are... and it's... you're... I'm gonna c-come." 

His words sent a naughty, electric thrill through my blood, and I shuddered, coming harder than I ever had, a strangled, nearly inaudible squeak bursting from my lips. 

"Ugh... fuck, Mila. Fuuck," he growled, words almost incoherent. And then, to my complete and utter shock, he pulled out, pumping his thick cock hard and fast, splashing his seed across my hip and thigh. 

I blinked, the tingle of our combined orgasms racing over my skin, still clenching between my thighs as I tried to comprehend the cooling liquid dripping from the tip of his swollen cock to my thigh. 

And then I began to laugh. 

Asher's head snapped up, dark eyes wide and glassy, cheeks pink and getting redder. But I couldn't help it—he just looked so... bloody... cute, so confused, and it made me laugh all the harder. 

Pulling away from me, Asher sat on his haunches, watching me from behind his guarded warrior's mask. 

"Don-don't you think it's a little late for that?" I gasped, clutching at ribs that were threatening splinter apart in the face of my mirth. "I'm already preg—oh God, it hurts!" I scrubbed at the tears gathering behind my eyes, rubbing at aching ribs. 

"Shut up," he replied, blushing, closing me out of his shield. "I... shut up." 

Still laughing, I pressed my knees together and planted a foot on his chest, spreading my toes. "Don't be like that," I gasped, fighting for breath. "You have to admit it's funny." 

Sweat cooling on flushed skin, Asher merely continued to stare at me, eyes wide, lips parted, but expression otherwise unreadable. 

"What?" I asked, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, trying to pull my foot back—but he caught it. 

He shook his head and, moving slow, brought my ankle to his lips, planting a delicate kiss to the inside. "I've just... you've never..." he shook his head again, lips twitching in a slow smile. "What if I wanted to see you marked with my come?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 25



"Whatever for?" I asked, reaching to touch the slippery mess in question, unable to contain my curiosity. "The Chains and the Watchers aren't enough for you?" 

A tight jaw and whitened nostrils were my only response. 

But I didn't have a chance to press him for more. "Something's happening," I whispered, head twisting toward the window, toward the front lines and the Rebels. 

Not waiting to confirm what my senses were telling him, Asher hauled me out of bed, planted me on my feet, and seized my hand. "Hurry." 

"I thought the Rebels had been dealt with?" I asked, following him to the bathroom, my shield ready in case something should happen to overload my senses, as it had the day before. 

He cast narrowed eyes over his shoulder. "No," he replied, lips terse. 

"Then what happened?" I pressed, watching as he turned the shower on and tested the water. 

"You were right." 

"About what?" 

With a nod, Asher took me by the shoulders, guiding me under the warm spray. 

"Asher," I spluttered, crossing arms over my chest, though my defiance probably lost some of its merit with my hair plastered to the sides of my face. 

He turned, closing the door behind him as he joined me in the small space. "Hurry." 

But I resisted, glaring at him. 

"They've got new guns, Mila. Guns with shields." 

My eyes widened. "That's... ingenious." 

"A fucking nightmare," he said at the same time. 

Neither of us moved for a moment, but he was the first to break the tension with a humorless smirk. "Gonna have to pick a side eventually, Mila." 

Instead of answering, I took the bar of soap from his strong fingers and ran it over my skin, a deep frown creasing my brow. 

*** 

A cold winter wind ruffled my damp hair, chilling the pendant poised between my breasts and sending a shiver cascading down my back. "I want to see them," I whispered, trailing behind my bond-mate, senses on high alert for anyone with malicious intent... and with a legion of Rebels camped just outside the city limits, pretty much everyone in occupied Elora fit the bill. My temples throbbed. 

"Absolutely not." 

"Don't be an asshole," I returned under my breath, keeping my eyes downcast lest our semi-public argument should draw attention. 

He seized my bicep. "You'd have to be on the front lines to get a good look at their weapons, Mila, and there isn't an excuse on the planet good enough to explain putting you in such danger." 

"What if—" 

"I said 'no' earlier, but maybe that wasn't clear enough." He glanced around the street, dark eyes landing on the increased number of soldiers and Elites hurrying back and forth, and then said, "how about, 'fuck no,'" in clear, clipped syllables.  

I summoned the fiercest glare I could before dropping my eyes back to the pavement. 

Asher blew out a breath, curled his long fingers around the back of my neck, and steered me forward. "As far as I could tell, it's a modified Elite weapon they've retrofitted with one of their stupid little shields." 

"So it works, then?" I asked, accepting his peace offering without a second thought. 

"Depends on your definition of success, I suppose." 

"What does—" 

"Stalemate," he snapped, eyes fixed on the sprawling Tilcot manse looming at the end of the street. 

I couldn't help the smile that formed on my lips. "Brilliant," I whispered, again finding cause to praise the Rebels ingenuity. 

His fingers tightened on the back of my neck. "Will you knock it off with that shit, please?" 

"I can't just flip a switch and be on your side, Master," I snapped, trying to shrug him off and failing. "If I didn't care about my people, I wouldn't be forced into helping yours. And you can get as pissy as you want," I continued, watching a passing Elite from the corner of my eye, "but you can't control my thoughts." 

"Hmm," he hummed, a sly little smirk creasing his full lower lip. "Challenge accepted." 

"Oh, for fuck—" I stiffened, losing my train of thought. "The Lieutenant General's close." 

Asher nodded, and my gaze returned to my feet. 

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant General," Asher said, saluting. 

But the Lieutenant General continued walking, deep lines etched into his handsome face. 

Mirroring his superior, Asher frowned and tried again. "Headed back to the Tilcot Manse for the tactical meeting, sir?" 

"To the—" his head snapped up, dark eyes flicking over Asher's face, narrowed in concentration. "Ah, Major Rawlings. Can it still be called the Tilcot Manse if the Master of the house is dead and the Mistress a prisoner being questioned for treason?" 

"Probably not," Asher allowed, throat bobbing on a hard swallow. 

The Lieutenant General shook his head. "I—my apologies, son. It's been—that was rude of me. Traitor or not, she's your family." 

"No harm done," Asher replied, waving his hand, and then, after a brief hesitation, added, "I hope you don't mind my asking, sir, but... has something happened? You seem—" 

"Nothing an early retirement won't fix," the Lieutenant General replied, a strained smile flickering across his face. 

"Anything I can help with?" Asher asked, and I had to stifle the urge to giggle. Suck up. 

"Get out there and kill a few Rebels?" the Lieutenant General said, laughing now, and continued before Asher could respond, "that's about the only thing that will pacify the Emperor at this point. He's not pleased with the reports from this sector," he finished with a scowl, suggesting 'pleased' was a mild way to put it. 

"Surely the Curator will speak of the Rebel's technological advancements here?" 

The Lieutenant General snorted, but said no more for we had arrived at the Tilcot—or rather—the Hastings Manse, as it should now be called. Waiting in the gorgeous front hall was none other than the Curator himself, surrounded by the four soldiers of his Elite guard. 

"What's taken you so long to get here?" he snapped, dark, watery eyes narrowed at the Lieutenant General. 

"My apologies, sir. It took longer than I expected to gather the—" 

"Bah, fuck your excuses," the Curator continued, tucking a thick sweater tighter around his shoulders. "I'm here to see the Tilcot woman. Take me to her immediately." 

"But, sir," the Lieutenant General replied, unable to hide his surprise at the harsh demand, "the tactical meeting starts in a few minutes, and the Inquisitor hasn't arrived from the Capital yet. Won't be here for days—" 

"Who do you think wrote that protocol, you disrespectful fool?" 

It was, simply put, not a question, so the Lieutenant General held his tongue, a deep shade of pink staining his high cheek bones. 

The Curator nodded. "Take me to the woman, then wait in your office." 

"Of course, sir." And then, licking his lips, the Lieutenant General continued, "And what of the meeting?" 

The Curator cast a careless glance at Asher. "What's your rank, boy?" 

"Major," Asher replied, not reacting to the Curator's vile personality—but I ground my teeth, nails sinking into the tender meat of my palm. 

"Good. I'm sure a Major in the Caledonian army is capable of conducting a meeting that consists of, 'point, shoot, kill Rebels?' Hmm?" he sneered, lips pulling back to reveal aged, yellow teeth. "Think you can handle that?" 

"Of course, sir," Asher replied, features betraying nothing, not a flicker of the indignant fury I'd be feeling if the Curator were speaking that way to me. 

Still glaring, the Curator's chin jerked, saggy jowls wobbling with the movement. "Good enough. Lieutenant General." He shuffled toward one of his Elite guards—a man with a horrific, red scar marring the entire right side of his neck and lower jaw. In times of war, a scar such as that one wasn't out of place... but seeing it on an Elite was—what could have done such damage that a talented Priestess couldn't undo? 

"Sir?" Scar asked in a gruff rasp of a voice, hinting that his vocal chords may also have suffered permanent trauma. He lifted a thick, black case rimmed in Caledonian gold, holding it out for his superior, eyebrow raised in question. "Where shall I put this?" 

The Curator glanced at the case, then shook his head. "Follow me," he ordered with a snap, gesturing at the Lieutenant General to lead the way. 

I smirked—it was probably too heavy for the frail old man. He probably needed Elite strength to carry it. 

The instant the Curator's party was out of sight, Asher cursed. 

"What?" I asked, glancing at him from the corner of my eye, though we were quite alone. 

"Something's not right." 

"I was gonna say something," I breathed, still tracking the Curator by the powerful men he surrounded himself with. "Why do you Elites take orders from such a pathetic—" 

"Mila," Asher hissed, hand clamping over my lips. "Have you forgotten where we are? Don't be stupid." 

I hesitated long enough to double check that we were indeed alone, then nodded. He wasn't wrong—this, of all places, was an absurd place to discuss such a prominent member of the Caledonian ruling class. "You're right. That was stupid." 

"Don't forget you're a broken slave, Mila," he whispered, then removed his hand from my lips, eyes lingering on his pendant marking my collarbones. 

But I heard the unspoken part of his warning, and smiled. 

*** 

It hurt to admit the Curator, in all his grouchy, evil ways, could be right about anything, but the tactical meeting Asher led was little more than the Elites acknowledging the Rebels were a problem they didn't know how to solve. A stalemate, in the truest sense of the word. The Elites had dispersed no further ahead than when they'd started their meeting. 

And though I hadn't been invited to stay, I'd heard every single word—Asher kept his fingers on the buttons of his control cuff, allowing me to listen in on their tactical meeting. 

Smothering a huge, jaw-stretching yawn, I scrubbed my eyes with the palm of my hand, fighting to stay awake as I waited to be collected from the neighboring room. 

"Tired?" 

I nodded, glancing at Asher as he filled the doorway. "I feel like I could sleep for days." 

Pushing off the door frame, he stalked toward me, lips pursed. But there was nothing to be done about the bone-deep weariness dragging me down, so he said nothing, watching me with his inky Caledonian eyes. 

"Ready?" Brigadier General Viridian asked, standing in the hall. 

Asher nodded, motioning at me with a bent forefinger. 

"Yes, Master. Coming, Master," I hissed under my breath, stumbling to my feet, eyes gritty. 

A smirk touched Asher's lips. "I rather like the sound of that." 

I rolled my eyes, suffering his hand on my lower back, but said no more, trying to conserve my energy to scan for potential threats. 

"Such attitude," he whispered, stooping to brush my ear with his lips. 

"I bet you know all sorts of ways to correct unwanted behavior, don't you?" I snapped before he could say more. 

"Care to find out?" 

I lifted one shoulder and yawned again, stumbling along beside him. 

He chuckled, nodding when Viridian held the front door for us, motioning to yet another sleek black magnetic car. "After you." 

But I froze in the doorway, senses overwhelmed with a force of Elites approaching from behind. Asher's brows drew together in question, and in response, I whispered, "Curator and his men. Thirty seconds." 

"Get in the car." 

Not needing to be told twice, as I had exceeded my limit in dealing with temperamental old men, I turned and fled. 

"Mila!" Carly squealed, seizing my hand before I'd taken a seat, pulling me closer to her side. 

Asher closed the door behind me with a snap, leaving me alone with Carly as he went to meet the Curator. 

"How are you feeling?" Carly asked, sending a loaded glance toward my belly. 

Heat stained my cheeks, and I said, "Fine," without returning her smile. Instead, I turned my focus on the powerful men approaching Asher and Viridian. 

From the corner of my eye, I noticed her flinch, delicate, pale features twisted in disappointment. 

"Uh, thanks for asking," I added, glancing at her for a moment before returning my attention back to the Curator and his men. Now wearing a full-length black coat, the Curator cut an imposing figure illuminated against the inner glow of the Hastings Manse. Scar, towering over his master, matched the other three Elite guards flanking the Curator, each with an unslung weapon on his hip. But their weapons were not engaged, leaving their hands free until the rotten old man needed something heavy carried. 

"I... uh... I know it's inappropriate, but..." she continued in a shaking voice, shooting me a fleeting cringe of a smile as Asher and Viridian shook hands with each Elite guard, then turned back to the car. "I'm just so excited! For you... and for what it means for the rest of us." 

I glanced at her hands, reaching toward my lower belly, lip curling against my will. 

"Besides," she continued, pink tongue darting out to wet dry lips as our Elites took their seats in the front, "I'm likely the only one left who can monitor the progress as they grow." 

"Come again?" I spluttered, focusing on Carly with renewed interest, Elite power-plays forgotten. 

"Sasha's dead," she whispered, chin dipping, eyes and hands dropping to her lap. "I'm the only healer left on the Northern Front." 

And not a particularly talented one, if she couldn't sense she was sitting in a vehicle with not one, but two others burdened with the same talent. I nodded and said, "Healers are rare?" 

"Exceedingly." 

I swallowed, hoping she wouldn't be able to sense anything about the Watchers after what Asher and I had done to protect them. "Go ahead then," I allowed, catching Asher's eye in the rear-view mirror. 

Happy grin curling her lips, Carly placed both hands on my stomach, fingers splayed to cover as much ground as possible. Pure, white light surged into me and my nostrils flared with the effort to contain myself... to let her energy flow through me without stopping to sip at the stream of power. 

"I don't..." she frowned, redoubling her efforts. "Mila, I can't... what is this? There's just—" she scrunched her cute, pointed nose, "—white noise where they should be." 

"Good," I replied with a toothy grin, and Asher turned in his seat to reflect the sentiment. 

"I don't understand," she whined, beautiful pale features blanching further. "Oh Goddess, no! What did you do?" 

"They're are fine," I said, rolling my eyes as I placed a hand on her forearm, trying to infuse her with the elation of success coursing through my veins. "We just took... precautions." 

"But... how? What did you do?" 

"Yes, Asher. I'd rather like to know that myself. Seeing as yesterday my girl here assured me she could sense two children worth the risk we're about to take, and now she doesn't seem so sure." 

"You really think I'd endanger the one thing that makes me invaluable? The children are fine, Conrad, I assure you." 

"Yes, well, I'll need something a little more concrete than your word. The risk—" 

"The risk is not yours alone," Asher snapped, glaring at his superior. "Need I remind you what will happen if another Priestess should stumble upon our little secret? And maybe the next time, her Elite doesn't see the potential you've seen and decides we'd be more valuable on the Inquisitor's table?" 

"They're safe," I repeated, tired of the testosterone swirling around the interior of the car. "More now than they were yesterday." 

"Mila, please," Carly whispered, beautiful blue eyes luminous with the reflection of unshed tears, "How?" 

I hesitated, meeting Asher's hard, dark eyes in the rear-view mirror. "We built them a wall." 

"Motherfucker," Asher snarled, the clenching of his fist an audible action. 

But Carly nodded, releasing a shaky breath, the glow of her smile easing the tension in those of us with Elite power. 

"Satisfied?" Asher asked, voice clipped, fist clenched. 

Viridian sighed, and said, "For now," after getting Carly's nod of approval. He then engaged the magnetic engine, pushed the throttle forward, and pulled away from the curb. 

The rest of the trip was silent, and—with Asher refusing to meet my eye and ignoring my every attempt to reach out to him—uncomfortable. But with every passing second the power-haze of a dozen Elites began to fade from my mind, and I relaxed, sinking into the plush leather seats, eyes drifting closed. 

"We're here," Viridian said, jerking me out of a light doze. 

"It's been a long few days, hasn't it?" Carly asked, placing her hand on my shoulder. 

I nodded, scrubbing at my eyes with the heel of my palm. 

"This shouldn't take long," she soothed as Viridian opened the car door for her. "You'll be able to rest soon enough." 

I shook her off. "I'm fine," I replied, shoving my door open with more force than necessary. Aside from a lingering urge to close my eyes and inexplicable irritation with the beautiful Priestess, I was fine—the Watchers were well hidden within their cocoon, and we were moments away from making real forward progress. There was little else I could even think to ask for. 

But when Carly and Viridian disappeared into a dingy, grey building, the former trailing an appropriate five steps behind her master, I realized I should have asked for the strength to deal with my Elite. 

Asher slammed his door, stepped beside me, and wrapped his strong fingers around the back of my neck. 

"Exactly how mad are you right now?" I asked, moving when he guided me toward the battered single story building with no windows. 

Eyes fixed on the pocked door before us, Asher's response was little more than the flexing of his jaw. 

"Right," I muttered, shaking my head, "you can be as mad as you want. I'll work on the plan while you sulk." 

He laughed then, fingers tightening on the back of my neck as he forced me to stop, pressing me into the door. "You've done nothing but make this fucking nightmare harder, Mila." 

"Really?" I returned, glaring at up at his stupid, handsome face. "And how was measuring the size of your cock helpful to the cause?" 

He lunged forward, seizing a fistful of my hair. "Do us both a favor," he snarled, pressing his lips to my ear, "and shut your fucking mouth." 

Placing both hands on his chest, I tried to shove him back, though I knew it was nothing more than a token effort. "Get your hands—" 

His rough palm settled over the lower portion of my face, stopping my protests dead. "I don't care how good you think you are at reading people," he rasped, pressing the length of my body to his, filling my entire field of vision, "you don't know if we can trust them." 

I bared my teeth beneath his palm, unable to speak but trying to murder him with the force of my fury alone. 

"No," he snarled, tightening his fist and pulling my head back to expose my throat. "You don't know, Mila. You don't." 

I raised my left brow, stopped struggling, and waited for him to let me speak. For a few seconds, I thought he wouldn't do it, thought we'd slid back down the slope and landed in the murky water between Master and Slave. But then he grimaced and dropped his hand, letting it catch at the edge of my hip, pressing his forehead to mine. 

My throat constricted on a hard swallow. "I don't trust anyone." 

"I—" he sucked in a sharp breath, "—good. That's good." His lips brushed mine, dry and warm in the cool afternoon breeze. "I'm going to get us out of this. You understand that?" 

I understood what he wasn't saying, of course. But I'd never accept it. "I won't take a passive role in my own fucking life, Asher." 

"Then for fucksakes, take a smart one," he snapped. "Work with me, Mila. It's hard enough without worrying about what you're going to do or say next." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 25



For a moment, I glared up at him, bristling at his harsh judgment. And then... I relented. "Fine." 

He blinked, head jerking back, eyes wide. "You... what?... Right, then, good. Good." 

"What's your plan for this meeting?" I asked, an inexplicable blush heating my cheeks, finding sudden interest in the hangnail on my thumb. 

He cleared his throat. "We need to see if Viridian can deliver what he's promised. And if he can't..." He took my hand, directing my touch to the weapon secured against his lower back. 

Nodding, I tilted my head toward the door, senses probing for signs of betrayal. "I sense four bodies in there. One Elite, one Priestess, and two others without power. It doesn't feel like a trap to me." 

"Me either," he said with a shrug. "But I've got Marco and Gabe waiting out of sight for my signal, just in case. Let me do the talking." 

"But the Elite boy—" 

"If Viridian can prove himself, I'll tell him. Not before." 

"You weren't there. It doesn't make sense for you to tell the story." 

Asher closed his eyes, drawing a long, steady breath. "Does it make sense to tell him you were there, Mila? To admit you escaped, found the Rebels, and have power no Priestess has any business having access too?" 

"So you do the talking," I allowed, offering him a shy grin. 

"You're an idiot," he whispered as his head dipped, lips seeking mine. "Be vigilant." 

But he'd been right when he'd said neither of us knew how to do easy, so I caught his lip with my teeth and pinched just hard enough to remind him I'd never be pliant. 

*** 

Viridian had taken us to a bar. At one point in time, it may have been a classy establishment. It might have been a good place to socialize or conduct a business meeting—until, of course, someone had made the executive decision to brick over the windows, decorate the ornate bar with a sledge hammer, and perfume the air with a lovely mix of mold and stale piss. 

"Fucking hell, Conrad. It smells like a dead body in here." 

"Yes, well... the former owner was determined to keep this fine establishment out of the Empire's grasp," Viridian said with a shrug, reaching behind the bar for a dusty bottle of amber liquid. 

"Da' was a good man," said one of the two powerless humans I'd sensed, emerging from the shadows. I squinted, but couldn't decide if the square jaw was indicative of a male or if the smooth, pale skin might suggest a female. 

"Not the sharpest butter knife in the spoon drawer, but a good man all the same," the second added, not bothering to stand, keeping equally androgynous features half obscured in the shadows. 

"Starved to death, he did. Had the largest arsenal of non-Elite firepower one could gather, but did the math wrong. Ran out of food before the fightin' even got close." 

"Stapled a note to his hand for us, though. Wanted his ghost t'remain here, to watch over what he'd died to protect. Tha's 'im there, behind the counter. Stinkin' up the place. Though I wouldna' look if you're at all squeamish." 

"Ma could'a used the help with the wee ones, mind you," One continued, as if standing near the long decayed corpse of their father wasn't a passing concern. "Was a selfish bastard, yeh see. But we made do, o'course. Always do. Probably best he wasn't around to muck everything up with the drink." 

"In thanks, we like to honor his memory by conducting our business here, on the spot where he died. With you people, no less." 

"Speaking of, sounds like you've been a naughty little Caledonian, eh boy? In need of transportin' services, an' all." 

I blinked, eyes darting back and forth between the Androgynous Twins, trying to keep the speakers straight in my head. 

"Ah, but this one ain't Caledonian, now is she?" said One, stepping forward, a hungry gleam in its eyes. 

"Sure isn't," Two agreed, tenting long, slender fingers and leaning forward. "Tritans aren't easy stock to transport. Them bein' as rare as they are. Coveted for their blood and their loins. And I'm bettin' this one here's more'n simple breeding fodder." 

I bared my teeth, but Asher placed his hand on my shoulder. "What she is or isn't has nothing to do with the services you provide. She's not the important one, if you catch my meaning." 

"I don't," Two replied, accepting the filthy glass Viridian offered, and, without looking, took a long swig. 

"Why, Kestrel," Viridian interjected, tilting his head in Asher's direction, "this here is Major Asher Rawlings. Scourge of the West, and blood relative to the late General Tilcot of the Caledonian Empire. His is a rare line of Elites. A line where blood means more than it does in the rest of us." 

"'Right. He's a valuable man with deep pockets," Two replied, lips curled in a sneer. "All we needed to know." 

"Oh?" Asher drawled, seating himself across from Two and leaving me to stand at his side. "You're not the slightest bit curious why a man of my stature might want to leave his station and take up with the likes of you?" 

One stepped closer to me, trailing those long fingers along the edge of my bare collar bone. 

I shuddered, doing my best to show no other reaction. 

Asher snapped his fingers. "Mila," he said in a lazy voice, pointing at the floor beside his feet. "Kneel." 

I blinked at him, shock making my reaction time slow. 

Viridian sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "New slaves. Such a fucking chore. Do as your master says, girl!" he shouted, slamming a fist down on the worn table before him. 

Grinding my teeth, I lowered my eyes, sinking to my knees with as much dignity as I could muster. Carly, who I hadn't noticed until I was eye level with her, offered me a fleeting smile, something wicked flickering behind her sparkling blue eyes. Something devious, something I hoped wasn't directed at me or Asher—in spite of his most recent boorish behavior. 

"As I was saying," Asher continued, tangling his fingers in my hair and tracing my cheekbone, "I find it uniquely disturbing to do business with someone who doesn't care enough to know their facts." 

"Yer Caledonian, son," One replied, taking a seat next to its sibling. "It'd be foolish to believe you've got anything but a long list of murderin' and pillagin' staining yer black soul." 

"But if yeh been turning that murderin' and pillagin' back on yer illustrious masters, we be of the same mind," Two continued, offering a gritty, brown smile—and for one solid second, I decided Two at least, was a man. And then it giggled with more femininity than I could ever hope to muster, and I wasn't so sure. "And if we're of the same mind, we hardly need to know whatcha been doin', cause we'd already know it, wouldn't we?" 

"Sound logic," Asher replied without a trace of a smile—but Viridian grimaced, concealing it by taking a generous swig from his glass. "You'll forgive me for asking, Kestrel," Asher continued, speaking to the being formerly known as Two, "but I'll need some assurances you and your... sibling can do what you say." 

"We ain't coppin' to any crimes, Elite," One spat, rising to a half stand, angry tension pulsing about the room. 

"Easy, Bee," Kestrel soothed, placing a hand on Bee's wrist. "He don' mean anything by it, yeah? Jus' doin' a bit of due diligence like we did." 

"Yeah," Bee agreed, nodding, soft skin glistening in the half light. "We saw yer men outside, by the by. Yeh can tell 'em t'come in. No sense makin' 'em stand outside waitin'. We're all the same mind here." 

Asher laughed, by all accounts sounding easy and content. "Go on then, Mila. Open the door. Marco will know what it means." 

Frowning, eyes lowered, I rose and did as he bade, flinging the door open to allow the afternoon sunlight to chase away a shadow or two. I cast my senses as far as they could go, tasting the wind for any trace of Marco or other hidden observers of this meeting, and found them hunkered down in the neighboring building. And sure enough, Marco and Gabe emerged a few seconds later, both carrying unslung weapons, shooting cautious eyes over everything in sight. 

"Mila," Marco murmured, brushing past me without his trademark roguish smile. 

When Gabe offered a polite but distant nod, I touched Marco's wrist intending to get a sense of his chilly mood. 

"Don't," Marco snapped, shaking me off with a fierce glare, "unless you've changed your mind about draining me dry, Priestess. No?" he asked, when my mouth dropped open, but no words came out. "Good. Then keep your hands and your fucking Priestess 'gifts' to yourself." 

My head jerked back, eyes wide as I watched him pass. 

"It's okay, Priestess," Gabe said, lifting his hand to my shoulder—then seemed to think better of it before he made contact, and withdrew. "Marco can't maintain a bad mood for long." 

But I shrugged, averting my eyes and returning to a kneel at Asher's side, trying to push Marco's sour mood from my mind and focus on more important things. 

"Getting outta th'city's the easy part," Kestrel said, pressing long, slender fingers to thin lips. "Elites been long blinded by their own power. Probably won't bother checking the barrels." 

"The what, sorry?" Asher asked, frowning. 

"Yeh'll be hidin' in amongst the whiskey barrels once we get'cha on the ship," Bee answered, a lock of soft brown hair falling across large brown eyes. 

"You're joking," Asher asked with a bark of laughter, turning to pin Viridian with a fierce glare. 

"Heh, little Elite doesn't like small, dark spaces?" Kestrel taunted, grinning. 

"It's got nothing at all to do with claustrophobia, you fucking halfwit," Asher snarled, impassive warrior's mask crumbling to dust. "The only port large enough to deal in the whiskey trade is in the capital proper." 

Bee shrugged, head tilting, an unhinged smile spreading across that fleshy, unreadable face. 

"You're insane." 

"They've been doing it since before the fall of Tritan, boy," Viridian interjected, dark eyes glittering in the dusky light. 

"I don't give a—" 

"You remember the rash of missing slaves last year?" And when Asher showed no sign that he might answer, Viridian continued, taking his subordinate's silence as an acknowledgment. "Kestrel and Bee, son. They can do this. Trust me." 

"No." 

"What if I could offer undeniable evidence that I have nothing but your best interest at heart?" 

"You can offer whatever you want, I'm still not—" 

"I'm sending Carly with you." 

Asher's jaw had the impeccable good grace to slacken as his eyes bulged—even Carly, so calm and pure, looked to her master with wide blue eyes, lips parted on a silent gasp. 

"You'll need her assistance in the coming days," Viridian continued, his voice soft, eyes never leaving Asher's. "Besides that, I intend to join you, when I can manage it." 

"Why?" Asher asked, speaking the question burning in my brain. 

But Viridian just smiled, tangling his fingers in Carly's silky, pale hair. 

"We've a deal, then?" Kestrel asked, raising a single elegant eyebrow in question. 

"We do." 

"Good, good. Jus' a matter of payment, and timing, of course." 

"I'll let you know when we're ready to leave," Asher said at last, turning back to Kestrel. 

"Nope. Not th'way it works, Elite." 

But when Asher opened his mouth to argue, Bee cut him off. "We run the capital first week of every month. No exceptions." 

"A week will have to be enough time, then," Viridian murmured, standing with hand outstretched. "Contact me through the usual channel when you're ready. We'll have our affairs in order." 

Beside me, Asher clenched his teeth, but said no more as Kestrel and Bee stood, claimed the bottle of liquor, and turned as one toward the opposite wall. "Pleasure doin' business with you, as always. Da'," Kestrel said, nodding at the decaying body behind the bar, while Bee splashed a portion of whiskey in 'Da's' general direction. 

"Fucking hell," Asher whispered, running his hands through his hair when they were gone. 

"They're an interesting couple, I'll admit. But now it's time to uphold your end of the bargain," Viridian said, draining his glass as Carly got to her feet, stretching out her knees with a pop! 

For a moment, Asher didn't reply, extending his hand in my direction and hauling me off the floor. "What does it matter what powers the Rebels if you're planning to desert anyway, Conrad?" 

"Stalling?" 

Asher sighed, glancing at Marco for the first time since he'd arrived. "Just curious." 

"They're still my people. You think it'll be easy to just walk away?" 

As if he didn't realize he was doing it, Asher pulled me closer to his side, urging me to sit next to him as he shook his head. 

I glanced at him, finding his fingers beneath the table—no, it wouldn't be easy. 

"They're using power cells," Asher said, sidestepping the touchy topic. 

"Not possible," Viridian said immediately, shaking his head. "Even if they had the cells, they'd never be able to keep them charged. Not unless..." 

"They've got an Elite, Conrad. A boy." 

"Impossible," he said again, whispering now, face paling. 

"They keep him in a cage and use him to recharge their batteries." 

Viridian swallowed, inspecting his now empty glass with nostrils flaring white. "You're sure?" But to this, Asher said nothing, and Viridian continued with a nod, "He'll have to be rescued then." 

"And how do you expect to do that, when we can't get past their shields?" 

"We aren't a part of it anymore, Asher," Viridian returned, glaring. "You two are out of here as soon as possible. And until then, you're on lockdown." 

"That right?" Asher asked, smirking at the older man, fingers squeezing mine beneath the table. "And how do you think you'll find him, even if you manage to get behind enemy lines?" 

"We'll manage, I'm sure. Why are you so desperate to save the boy all of a sudden? You've gotten too close to this, Asher. To her," he said, jerking his chin at me. "The boy is no longer your concern. Not with your Priestess carrying your children." 

"Fuck me," Gabe breathed, eyes going wide as he looked at me with a new light. 

"That sentence doesn't leave this room, Gabe," Asher snarled, reaching for his weapon. 

But Gabe raised his hands, palms facing us, and said, "Of course not, sir. Just wasn't expecting that. Congratulations, by the way." 

"And you," Asher continued, whirling back to Viridian, "The fuck is wrong with you? So much for privileged information." 

"I'm—" 

"And the boy is my concern," Asher continued, standing and planting both hands on the table as he leaned closer to his superior, "because I'm the only one who can find him." 

"That so?" Viridian asked, not appearing moved by Asher's show of dominance. "And how exactly can you do that, hmm?" 

"I can sense him." 

"You can what—like a Priestess?" Viridian asked, failing to hide his surprise. 

"It's not important how I do it, only that I can. I'm the only reliable way to get to the boy without risking more Elite lives." 

"If you actually think I'd send you to retrieve him, Asher, I think it's time to have you sent in for psych eval." 

"Don't be an idiot, Conrad," Asher sneered, and I squeezed his thigh, trying to get him to calm down. He was supposed to be the rational one! 

Viridian lurched to his feet, face flushed red. "I don't give a shit if you can suddenly walk through walls! If you're the only one who can breed with Priestesses, I'm not willing to risk you." 

"Excuse me?" I trembled beside my Elite, turning my full attention on Viridian, feeling the darkness rise within. 

"Enough," Marco said, lighting a cigarette and speaking for the first time since he'd snubbed me. 

"Shut your mouth, soldier," Viridian snapped, still staring Asher down, breathing hard. 

"With all due respect, sir," Marco continued, inhaling a deep lungful of sweet smoke, "you're a fool to keep pushing them." 

"He's not wrong, Conrad," Asher drawled, gathering himself to strike, pulling me with him. 

"Asher, mate, I can't tell if you're drunk on pussy, power, or both, but you need to sit the fuck down and listen." 

My chin dipped, and I pressed my lips together, trying to hide a smile, tugging Asher's hand so he'd sit beside me. 

"The Brigadier General is right. Sending you to get the boy is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you suggest. Especially now," he added, sending me a loaded glance. 

"And what's the alternative?" Asher asked through tight lips. "Risk losing one or more of the others to the Rebels? What do you think will happen if they've got more than one Elite, hmm? I, at least, can sense them coming. I'm the only option." 

"And if they get you?" Marco asked, muscles bunching with fury. "What do you think they'd be able to do with what may be the most powerful Elite in the Caldeonian army?" 

"They won't get me." 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think will happen to her?" Marco pressed, ignoring Asher's stubborn denial, pointing at me. "To your children?" 

Asher clenched his fists, but said nothing. 

"That's what I thought." 

"So we're back to square one," Asher retorted, cracking his neck. "A fucking stalemate with an Elite trapped and tortured behind enemy lines, and no way to get him out." 

"I'll go," Marco said, flicking his cigarette butt at the dead body behind the bar. 

"You'll... what?" Asher asked, stiffening beside me, lips parting. 

"You've made it clear that I'm expendable. So I'll go. Because if it's all the same to you, sir," Marco continued, a sardonic smile hanging off his lips, "if I have to die, I'd like die fighting for my country, not at the hands of my best friend and the Lady Wildcat." 

"What the fuck, Marco?" Asher said, face twisted with emotion. 

"He won't be alone," Gabe piped in, moving to stand beside Marco. 

Marco shrugged. "Just point us in the right direction, and we'll get your boy out. No Elites risked, nothing lost if we fail." 

"A perfectly logical solution," Viridian said, clapping his hands together. "We'll get a team put together right away. I'll even let your hand pick them, soldier. But you're sure about this?" 

"No, he's not—" 

"Looking forward to it, sir," Marco replied, ignoring Asher's protest. But the way his fingers tightened around mine, by the fine tremor running through my Elite, I knew something beyond worth would be lost if Marco failed. 

Viridian nodded, and extended his hand. "Your country thanks you for your unflinching bravery." 

Marco grinned, shook his hand, then turned to leave—but stopped, and said, "Oh, and Brigadier General, sir?" over his shoulder. 

"Yes, son?" 

"There is one thing I want, should I return victorious." 

"Hmm?" 

"Transfer me back to the capital. Non-negotiable." 

"Easy enough, soldier," Viridian replied, glancing at my bond-mate. 

But Marco left without turning back and didn't see the anguish ripple across Asher's face. 

*** 

Author's end note. 

Whelp. Another chapter, another cliff hanger. =D This might just be the worst one yet, yes? But you know what to do now! I give you my brain ramblings as I wrestle with the voices, then you tell me what you thought about the whole crazy mess. It's synergy, my lovelies. And science. 

I answer emails, facebook messages, and tweets like... super fast n'shit. 

Hail, Min-Jor the Great White Land Slug. 

Love, Myra Danvers and all her voices



The Last Tritan Ch. 26



Welcome back!! I hope everyone is enjoying the summer as much as I am! But let's get to the reading of this chapter as fast as possible, shall we? Thank you to my amazing group of beta readers/ editors who fix my terrible grammar and often prevent me from tossing my computer in the ocean and never looking back. ;) Baron VonKarmann, SF, unoriginalnames, and Princess Consuela Bananahammock are the very reason I can present the quality you see before you. Thank you! 

What you missed last time... 

Mila and Asher team up to destroy Viridian and Carly for threatening their tiny family, but Carly is a passive badass, and doesn't run screaming from Mila as most of us would. She reaches out to her, filled with hope, which totally derails Predator Mila from her seek and destroy mission. Asher gets a taste of the darkness, and Mila (for a change) pulls him out of it before he kills his besty—but it's a close thing, and Marco's pretty butt hurt about it. And you can't really blame the guy, right? Because Asher and Mila aren't making a good case for friends of the year. Then Mila admits that she is indeed preggo, knowing that they need allies. Carly and Viridian offer protection, Asher's a scant millimeter from losing his shit all over the place, and Mila—acting the growed up—accepts. When they've had a minute to calm down, Asher and Mila build a cocoon for the Watchers so they don't risk another Carly/Viridian blunder with another bound pair, (and also so they can have mummy/ daddy time without it being weird). Then they bang, and it's glorious. heh. And Asher thinks of protection MUCH too late, and it was funny. heh. Spooge. Then they meet the Lieutenant General who is distracted and angsty, because the Curator is a turd and is stressing him out in a big way. The Curator wants a creepy private meeting with Tyra, which he gets, because apparently he's the big bean on campus. The Elites have a meeting, I made a plot hole only one person noticed (thank god it was tiny and irrelevant. I was tired), we find out Carly is also a healer (though not a particularly powerful one), and Carly gets all handsy on Mila's belly. Then we meet Kestrel and Bee, who plan to smuggle Asher and Mila out of the city in whiskey barrels before taking them overseas. There's a few holes in this plan, but it's the best they've got at this point, and reluctantly agree. Then Marco comes in with a plan to save the day, the Elite boy, and destroy the Rebels. At the risk to his own life, and with the condition that should he return alive, he gets a transfer back to the capital—away from Asher and Mila. 

And on! 

"I'll go." 

Marco's words pinged around the inside of my skull, echoing loud enough to make my heart swell with pain and my hands itch to do something about it. To stop it. Or maybe they were Asher's desires bleeding through my mind. I couldn't keep the two separate anymore. Not that it mattered much at the moment. 

"Conrad, for fucksakes, listen to me," Asher pleaded, trying to keep up with the pace Viridian had set on his way back to the Hastings Manse. 

"If I knew it would keep you and the girl out of trouble until Kestrel and Bee are ready to smuggle you out," he said, "I'd send a thousand of your best friends to their deaths and feel no remorse." 

"You motherfucker," Asher snarled, planting a hand on Viridian's shoulder, "listen to me!" 

"I have listened, boy," Viridian returned, not backing down in the face of Asher's dark, venomous cloud of fury. "You've done nothing but spew the same idiocy for the past fifteen minutes. I'm not sending an Elite when an infantryman could be just as effective. It's the cruel truth of our world, son. He's expendable. You two are not. End of story." 

Asher flung wild, desperate eyes in my direction and I pressed my lips together to ward off the onslaught of emotions battering my shield. Turning my focus on the blunt older man, I did the only thing I could... and filled him with every ounce of self-doubt I could muster, trying to give Asher's argument a chance. To protect Marco, even if he didn't want it. 

For a moment, I had the perverse pleasure of watching Viridian's pupils dilate, watched a thin sheen of sweat gather on his brow as I pushed. I attacked the foundation of his confidence—railed against it with all my might, and had the immense satisfaction of feeling a man of such stature begin to crumble beneath my will. I stepped forward, moving away from Asher's touch as I approached my thrall, maintaining eye contact as I drew on every moment of self-doubt I'd ever experienced as a young woman alone, trying to survive a war. 

Viridian faltered, dark brown irises almost entirely consumed by black—and then, coming from deep within the seat of my power, a wave of exhaustion bubbled over me, sapping whatever reserves I'd been relying on. I hadn't the strength to stand on boneless legs, let alone manipulate a powerful, bonded Elite. 

With an anti-climactic 'oh,' I released him, mind teetering on the edge of blackness. 

"Mila!" Asher rasped, catching me before I hit the ground, pushing sweat-soaked hair off my face. Limp in his arms, my bond-mate fed me a slow trickle of his own sweet Elite energy, supplying the strength I couldn't seem to gather for myself as he cradled me against his chest. 

"Case in point," Viridian snapped, looming over us, recovering himself without the weight of my influence. "Keep her on a fucking leash, Asher. She tries that shit again, if either of you endangers the children once more, I'll drag you both out of here myself. And fuck your secrecy or the consequences." 

Asher could only nod, clinging to my limp form. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered when Viridian turned away, tears threatening to spill. "I don't know what happened... I almost had him, and then..." I shivered, exhaling a deep breath in an effort to ease the knot of tension in my chest. 

"Shh," he soothed, pressing his forehead against mine. "Take what you need from me. Is it... is it the Watchers? Are they..." 

I turned my attention in, but found the Watchers were safe and quiet in their cocoon. "They're fine. But Marco—" 

"Is a grown-ass man. He'll be okay." 

I nodded and shut him out—whether it was to protect him from the doubt clouding my mind, or to protect myself from his lies, I couldn't say. But I knew this was a mission Marco couldn't prepare for, a mission Marco wouldn't be 'just as effective' doing, in spite of what Viridian might think. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of a way we could take his place—at least not one that made the kind of logical sense it was going to take to sway a man like Viridian. Because going in his stead wasn't logical, and the admission left a foul taste rotting on my tongue. 

Grinding my teeth, I allowed Asher to help me stand. 

"She stays in the car with Carly," Viridian barked, pointing at the sleek black vehicle and a white-faced Carly standing beside it. 

Asher and I turned as one as I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm, and said, "No," together. 

Viridian watched us from beneath dark lashes for a few seconds, but before the older man could attempt to deny us, Asher continued. "She stays with me. I will not be separated from her." He placed his large, warm hand over my belly, over the Watchers and their impenetrable cocoon. "Don't make me choose, Conrad." 

The hard edge of Viridian's jaw softened, and then, after an age, he nodded. "Don't try me, boy. You may have strength I don't understand, but I'm still your superior." 

"Yes, sir," Asher murmured, fingers tight around the illegal gold hidden beneath the cloth on my bicep. 

In spite of the lingering, nauseating weakness lurking within, I evaluated Viridian's chances of surviving should Asher and I decide we were... tired of taking orders. 

"Be safe," Carly called, lips pressed together, watching her master from beneath lowered lashes. 

I shook it off, this murderous impulse, wrenching my attention away from her sweet, hopeful face. With a fainting spell only moments behind me, I turned my face to the wind, searching for what might lie ahead, learning caution the only way I knew how—the hard way. The Curator's Elite guards were becoming familiar to me, and as all six bonded Elites lit up my senses, I turned toward them. Toward the Hastings manse, and the slimy old man they were surely guarding. 

The time to argue—the chance to plead for Marco's safety—had run out. But then... I should have seen it coming, really, what with the Curator lurking around the city, making the soldiers jumpy and the Elites anxious. He, of anyone I'd ever met, was the very definition of a toxic, cancerous life-form, taking liberties where none were offered... enjoying the inexplicable power he wielded over the Elites who were, down to the man, unwilling to cross him. Carina and Tyra combined could try for a thousand years and never outdo him. 

It wouldn't take much more than a gentle push to convince his tired mortal shell to retire... Why no one had actually done it was the puzzling part. 

Madness. Absolute madness. 

Viridian opened the front door of the Hastings manse without stopping to knock, pressing into the depths of the building with a confidence that said he'd done the same thing many times before. 

"What's the plan?" Asher asked, falling in step beside his superior. 

"You'll stand there and look like pretty, Elite artwork, Major Rawlings. I'll deal with the Curator." 

"How'd you know he's here?" Asher hedged, and I knew then he'd been tracking the vile beast, as I had. 

"The Curator's been harassing the Lieutenant General for the entirety of his stay," Viridian snapped, pushing open another door, taking us ever closer to the man himself. "A fact you'd already know if you'd been paying attention," he added over his shoulder. 

Asher did not reply, but sucked in a great, cleansing breath and continued to follow his superior. 

Where that man got his super-human endurance, I couldn't know. Maybe, like so much else between us, I'd adapt that part of him too. 

After a time, we stopped at a thick, oaken door—but this one with its ornate carvings and gilt, decorative hinges demanded to be knocked upon. 

"Enter," came a dry wheeze from within, but as expected, the voice did not belong to the new lord of the house. The Curator was seated behind the great, claw-footed desk, gnarled fingers tented before pressed lips. "What's the meaning of this?" he rasped, narrowing yellowed eyes at us. 

"Apologies for interrupting," Viridian said, saluting, "but I've got a theory I feel needs immediate attention." 

"Eh. This fool," he wheezed, flicking his wrist at the Lieutenant General, "hasn't said anything useful in days. Dazzle me, Brigadier General." 

The briefest flicker of disgust flickered over Viridian's face, and if I hadn't been in tune with his emotions due to my earlier failure to manipulate him, I would have missed it. But he pressed on with that trademark Elite mask, and said, "Attacking the Rebels head on isn't getting us anywhere, sir." The Curator snorted, spraying spittle and snot on the documents before him, but Viridian pressed on as if it hadn't happened. "I propose a recon mission, sir. Behind enemy lines. See if we can't figure out what powers their shields." 

"I see," the Curator replied, an evil glint sparkling in the depths of his murky, black eyes. "And whom do you propose I send on this little mission of yours, Brigadier General? You? One of the other useless Elites in this sector, perhaps?" he eyed the Lieutenant General with ill-concealed hostility, making the older man shift, a light pink staining his high cheekbones. "Or have you got someone special in mind?" 

Viridian scoffed at the idea. "Why waste precious Elite blood on something such as this, when we could throw infantry at it?" 

The Curator sighed, dismissing the Lieutenant General with a flick of his gnarled, yellow claws. "Oh, I suppose." 

"In fact," Viridian continued, his eyes following the Lieutenant General as he retreated behind the desk, stark relief splayed across his features, "one of the infantrymen just volunteered to go. Eager to secure this sector in the name of the Empire." 

"Did he, now?" 

"Talented young man, to be sure, but nothing special in the way of breeding." 

"Hoping to make a name for himself, no doubt," the Curator groused, tugging his shawl closer to thin shoulders. "Hoping I'll recommend him for the Medal of Valor when all he's done is slink about in the dark like a rat, collecting information." Pale lips curled around that last word in disgust, but he continued before anyone could respond, "What's his name then, this brave coward who wants to die for his country?" 

"Marco, sir." 

"Fine, fine," the Curator replied, with a disinterested wave of his hand. "I'll send him, Brigadier General. Prepare him with the necessary tools should he be caught. I won't have any soldier of mine dispensing privileged information under torture." 

"Poison, sir?" 

"What else could I possibly be talking about? Is there a single man among you lot with brains between his ears?" 

"Apologies, sir," Viridian replied with a nod, and I sunk my nails into Asher's wrist to stop myself from reacting. "Permission to gather a small team to assist?" 

"Fine. Get on with it and leave me in peace." 

"Yes, of course, sir—" 

"Have a slave girl sent in before you go." 

"Yes, sir," Viridian replied, though his hands clenched behind his back. 

"I'll have a Tritan, of course. None of these filthy Elorans will do, you hear me? They stir up my gout." 

"Uh, apologies, sir," Viridian stammered, for the first time looking as if he was treading dangerous ground. "The North has no Tritans." 

"Don't they?" he leered, watery eyes gliding to me. "Then what do you call that lovely creature standing in the shadows?" 

"S-she's a bound Priestess," Viridian replied, incredulous, taking a half step in front of me. 

The Curator's grin only spread. "Yes, good. It's always the forbidden fruit that tastes the sweetest, isn't it?" 

Asher's fingers on my bicep had tightened past the point of pain, leaving the fingers of my right hand numb. Chest-seizing horror leaked through our bond—but I could feel what the Curator couldn't see through Asher's stoic mask. Blind, murderous rage. The desire to protect what was his, no matter the consequences. The desire to destroy this man for daring to set eyes on what did not belong to him. 

Finally. 

I cast a grin at my bond-mate. 

Then, without flinching, met the detestable beast of a man's eyes, bathing in Asher's potent cocktail of Elite emotions. 

"I rather enjoy breaking the fight out of them," the Curator continued, though at the sight of my lips spreading in my most savage, twisted smiles, his sallow cheeks paled further still. 

"Whatever his lordship desires," I purred, gathering the darkness around me, letting it heat my blood and cool my ire as I toyed with the temptation to simply unleash it. His death could solve half of our problems in one swift blow. This was our answer. His death could save Marco from a fate otherwise out of my control. But... it didn't have to be swift... 

"You're an eager one, aren't you, little slut?" the Curator asked, slimy pink tongue darting out to wet thin lips. 

"Oh, yes," I breathed, imagining him laid out on black silk sheets, a look of abject horror staining his sagging features—but I would not drain him. No. No part of this filth would infect me or the Watchers. Instead, I would fill him with the fear and horror of a thousand slaves, pushing until his mind melted and there was nothing left but an empty sack of meat and bones. 

Asher was frozen at my side, neither breathing nor able to unclench his fingers. And although he had yet to relinquish his 'obedient Elite' mask, sweat trickled down the side of his neck as he labored to rebuild his shield. Cutting me off. 

No matter. He's already given me all the permission I needed, and I took a half step toward the Curator, burning with the desire to breathe life into my vision. 

"Bah, take her away," the Curator snapped, watery, yellow eyes narrowed at me. "The eager ones give me heartburn. Greedy slut." 

"Yes, sir," Viridian replied, wrapping his long fingers on the back of my free arm and steering me toward the door before the Curator could change his mind. 

I struggled, head twisting to keep the Curator in my sights—but Asher filled my vision, face tight, lips white. 

"Move your ass," Viridian hissed, planting a hand between my shoulder blades, driving me toward the front door. He didn't stop until he'd propelled me from the manse entirely, a silent Asher close on our heels. 

Fresh air filled my lungs, clearing away a smidgen of the blood-lust tinting the edge of my vision. 

"Are you mad?" Viridian snarled, invading my personal space, our noses almost touching. 

"Oh, come on, Conrad," I pouted, turning my head in the direction of the Curator and his men, letting power dance over my skin. "You're no fun at all..." A grin spread across my lips, unrepentant. 

Viridian's fingers dug into the meat of my shoulder, hard enough to bruise. "This isn't meant to be fun, you idiotic little girl. You have no idea what that man is capable of, what he could do to—" 

"No," I snarled, glaring up at him, teeth bared, "he doesn't know what I'm capable of. Why you allow that disgusting, rotten piece of filth to control you is completely—" 

"Mila," Asher said, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck. "Control yourself." 

For a moment, I stared at my bond-mate, struck dumb by the notion that he would prevent me from taking vengeance on the Curator—when he'd wanted the same thing not five minutes prior. 

My lips parted on a fierce rebuttal, but he ran his thumb beneath my eye—from cheek to ear—cupped the back of my neck, and whispered, "Fight it." 

I trembled from head to toe, struggling to hear Asher over the insidious murmurings of the darkness, over the urge to set it free... to taste the unlimited power pumping through my blood... to bathe in the knowledge that no one alive could hope to enforce their petty consequences. I wrenched away from my bond-mate, turning back toward the manse. 

"A slave after all," Asher mused, shrugging as I whirled on him. "How... disappointing." 

"I'm a slave to no one," I hissed, whirling back to him. 

"Then prove me wrong." 

Lips curled back, fists clenched, I snarled at Asher, trying to collar a ferocious beast who did not want a collar. I seized his wrist in an effort to get through his shield, to bury my mind in the luxury of his infuriating calm. Wishing I had access to the Watchers and their blissful ignorance, void of the fire pumping through my veins. But he was right, damn the man. There was but one person who could free me from this... addiction. 

Asher touched my chin with his thumb, guiding my eyes to his, eyebrow raised. 

After a moment, my head jerked in what I hoped would pass for a nod. The darkness was back in its cage, however flimsy the bars. 

Asher opened the car door, jaw tight, his shield an impenetrable wall between us. "Get in." 

"Are you serious?" Viridian gasped, getting in Asher's face as I rushed to obey, sitting beside Carly in an effort to put distance and obstacles between me and my intended prey. "You're the reason she's so out of control. You allow it!" 

"Can we do this elsewhere, Conrad?" Asher replied, still calm, casting a meaningful glance toward the Hastings manse. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 26



"Can we—" Viridian's tanned cheeks flushed red, and he spun on his heel, stomping to the other side of the vehicle, muttering under his breath with every step. 

I closed my eyes, bracing for his furious rant, for public punishment or humiliation—but Asher simply closed my door, sat in the passenger seat, and buckled his seatbelt as Viridian turned on him. 

"Give me one reason not to message Kestrel and Bee right now, Asher. Because I'm this fucking close—" 

"She was going to kill him, Conrad." 

"She... she what?" Viridian gasped, brows flying to meet his hairline. "But she's a Priestess..." he spluttered. "How could you possibly know that—" he laughed, "—and if you did know it, how could you possibly allow your Priestess, your pregnant Priestess no less, to place herself in such danger? You're a bigger fool than I thought. I've had enough. If I have to lock you two in separate cells until Kestrel and Bee get here, that's what I'll do. In fact..." he mused, slamming the throttle forward, making Carly yelp beside me, "I'm having second thoughts about allowing you to go with her. As if I'd allow you to accompany my Priestess." 

I snorted—he was welcome to try separating us. 

"Are you finished?" Asher asked, shooting me a glare in the rear-view before he drew his weapon, inspecting the line of sight, aiming at something through the windshield. 

Viridian's eyes went wide at the casual, dazzling display of power lighting up the inside of his luxurious car. 

"Good," Asher continued, placing his weapon on the dash—not quite out of reach. "Now tell me, Conrad. Can you remember the last time I disciplined Carly?" 

The Brigadier General didn't respond past a curled lip, maneuvering his car through the narrow side streets. 

"No, neither can I," Asher replied, "and I'll thank you to keep your fucking hands off my Priestess—" 

"You're not going to discipline her? Asher," Viridian all but shouted, turning his head to stare at my bond-mate with eyebrows raised, "do you understand what she is? What you both represent to the rest of us?" 

"I do." 

"Then where's your head, boy? I can't risk either of you. If the others knew, they'd—" 

"The others can't know. Not yet. And you know it," he added when Viridian moved to interrupt him. "Stop making threats we both know you can't follow through on. As for Mila," Asher drawled, a cruel smirk spreading across his lips, "I'll deal with her later. Trust me on that." 

I swallowed, hard, meeting his obsidian gaze in the rear-view mirror. 

"But if you don't mind, I'd like to focus on one thing at a time. Something like, I dunno... you sending my best friend behind enemy lines, without backup." 

"He'll have backup," Viridian grumbled, making a right hand turn. 

"You know what I mean, Conrad. He needs Elite back up." 

"You're not giving the infantry enough credit. Marco's been through just as much, if not more, than you, son." 

"But I was there every god damned time," Asher snapped, glaring out the window. 

"And that's the hardest part, isn't it?" Viridian asked, guiding the vehicle to a stop outside the battlefront headquarters. For a moment, neither man spoke, both stewing in their own thoughts. "You can't take this from him, much as you want to."  

"Fuck off." 

"You wronged him," Viridian continued, ignoring Asher's retort. "This is the only way he knows to work off the hurt." 

Asher snatched his weapon off the dash, flung open his door, and said, "Mila, come," without acknowledging the Brigadier General any further. 

Before I could scramble after him, Carly's cool fingers circled my wrist, giving me a gentle squeeze. "You look tired," she whispered, sparkling blue eyes unflinching on my face. "Please remember to eat something." 

After a brief pause, I nodded, even though 'tired' couldn't begin to describe my current state and a meal wasn't the simple cure Carly thought it was. But there wasn't time to tell her any of it, not while Asher paced beside the car and Marco packed for a mission from which he might not return. 

I pulled away from her touch and opened the door, thoughts turning back to the most pressing disaster. 

The moment I was out of the vehicle, Asher's warm palm landed on the back of my neck. 

"Asher I—" 

"Don't." 

I glared at him, trying to wriggle free of his grasp. "I'm trying to apologize, you fucking brute," I snapped when he wouldn't let me go. "I—I'm not a soldier. I've never had to follow before. So I'm sorry for... you know... for—" he smirked, thumb gliding across the back of my neck as we walked. My brows softened, but what I was about to say died on my lips, and instead I said, "For... trying to kill the Curator." 

"Are you sorry?" he asked, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. When I didn't respond, he elaborated. "Are you sorry for trying to kill him, or sorry that I promised to punish you for it?" 

My nostrils flared as I stepped around a mud puddle, watching the ripples of my passing skate across the surface. "I'm sorry I didn't get to do it." 

"Well that's not much of an apology." 

I huffed. "I can't apologize for something if I don't regret it." 

"Then why are you apologizing?" 

"Because you're mad at me." 

"And why would you think that?" 

"Don't patronize me," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "Not only did I draw attention to myself by speaking to the Curator, but I was going to take him up on his disgusting offer. And you're furious." 

"First," he replied, stopping me just before the stairs leading to HQ, "the Curator wasn't offering, Mila. If he'd decided he wanted you, he would have demanded I give you to him." I scoffed, but Asher continued before I could voice my denial. "Second, I'm not mad at you." 

"What?" I asked as he turned away. "Then why—" 

"I goaded you," he replied without turning, right hand on the railing. "I couldn't help myself. Thinking of the Curator's hands on you..." he shuddered. "I've never been more a traitor to my country than I was in that moment. And I let you feel it," he murmured, "knowing you'd react as I wished I could. I goaded you," he said again, glancing at me over his shoulder. 

Frustrated, I licked my lips. "Then why allow him to live? To control us? He's nothing, Asher," I whispered, going to him, placing my hand on his lower back. "He's nothing." When he turned to face me, perched on the step above, I spoke to his navel with all the sincerity I could muster. "If you're not mad... why are you keeping me out?" 

Strong fingers encircled my wrist, covering the glittering gold. "At first, it was an effort to rein you in... to stop you from starting a civil war and doing something you'd regret later on." 

"And then?" I breathed, repressing a shiver when he tangled his fingers in my hair, tilting my head back. 

"And then... it was all I could do not to bend you over the Curator's desk and fuck you until you screamed yourself hoarse for me." 

My breath caught, heat pooling between my legs even without access to what lay behind Asher's shield. "W-what? Why?" 

"Passion and fury, Mila." He smirked. "You fight when you shouldn't. You're confident when you have no right to be. And half the time you don't give a fuck about the consequences to yourself if it means you can make a difference for your cause—hopeless or not. You may not be a soldier, but you're a truer warrior than some of the men I serve with." He traced the pendant set against my collar bones. "My little Elite." 

Before I could respond, Gabe hip checked the headquarters' door, arms full of extra batteries for the soldier's weapons. It was not Gabe, however, who made Asher's spine stiffen. 

"Did you grab the—" Marco stopped, eyes darting first to Asher, then me, narrowing as they flicked back to his former best friend. 

I pushed off my Elite's chest, putting as much distance between us as possible. How could I have allowed myself to become distracted? To forget, even for a moment, the horror lurking on the horizon? 

A humorless snort of laughter burst from Marco's lips, and he brushed past us without a word. 

When I moved to follow him, to explain why I'd been caught snuggling at a time such as this, Asher stopped me with a hand on my shoulder and a subtle shake of his head. 

"But—" 

"Trust me. Now isn't the time." 

"What if this is the only time we have left?" I whispered, watching Marco round a corner and disappear from sight. 

"Come on," Asher murmured, guiding me past Gabe, who held the door for us. "There are things we can do to make ourselves useful." 

Yes, but would it be enough? 

*** 

The corner of my left thumb was raw and bloody, chewed and picked until the skin was swollen, ragged, and painful. My eyes darted left—again—watching through the glass as Marco laughed at Gabe's attempt to reload his weapon with one hand, as Reese had done moments before. 

Perhaps I should have been overjoyed to see the return of Marco's boyish grin. Or maybe knowing Gabe, Reese, and Aiden had all volunteered to accompany him through the darkness should have lightened my heart. 

It didn't. 

Marco hadn't so much as glanced in our direction since we'd bumped into him on the stairs. Not once. 

I chewed at my right thumb, picking at the untouched skin surrounding the nail. 

"Stop it," Asher snapped, slapping a hand over mine. "You're driving me nuts, Mila. Relax." 

I glanced at my bond-mate, considering lowering my shield for a moment, considered sharing some of the burden crushing my ribs and smothering my lungs. But the tight skin around Asher's eyes, and the thin, white line of his lips prompted me to suffer in silence. Alone. Instead, I clenched my fists and chewed the inside of my lips where he couldn't see. 

"He's going to be fine," Asher murmured, pressing lips to my ear, breath heavy with the scent of coffee. "Viridian was right. He's been through tougher missions than this." 

I nodded, nipping the edge of my lip, drawing blood, and took Asher's hand in mine. 

He twined our fingers, offering a single, solid squeeze before Viridian emerged from the storage closet with an aide in tow. 

"Fuck me, this coffee is dreadful," Viridian hissed, passing a large black mug to his aide, who promptly deposited it on the edge of the table for someone else to deal with. "Can anyone even remember the last time a fresh pot was brewed?" 

"I take it it's been some time since you were last at HQ?" Asher asked, sipping his own mug. "Coffee here is thicker than molten steel, and about twice as toxic. But the boys in here run off this shit, and they're more likely to defect from the Empire than change the recipe." 

"Yes, well," Viridian allowed, spitting discreetly in a black handkerchief. "Marco's team will be departing in fifteen minutes," he continued, changing the subject and signing the clipboard in the aide's hands before turning back to Asher. "You ready to create a distraction?" 

Asher grinned, the gleam of strong, white teeth lending a familiar savage cast to his handsome face. "Always." 

Viridian nodded, dark eyes reflecting the excitement. "I'll meet you outside." 

Waiting until his superior had left the building, until we were alone in a room filled with non-Elites busy at their respective stations, Asher brushed the hair back from my face. "The others are already in the bunker below us." 

"They'll be safe there," I replied, watching the controlled chaos swirl around us. 

"I—" 

I waved him off before he could begin to argue, looking to the fortifications made to HQ itself for reassurance—to the hastily erected fortifications meant to hold off an Elite attack. "Don't tell me you nearly came to blows with Viridian over sending me to this new bunker, only to change your mind at the last moment?" 

A deep sigh gusted across my cheeks, and I leaned into his warmth, unable to do much of anything else. Content with his answer. 

"What does Viridian mean by, 'distraction?'" I asked, gaze drifting back to the soldiers preparing for war. 

As was his habit, Asher didn't respond, but moved to the center of the room, to the case containing the massive Elite weapon he'd fired that first night he'd bound me to him. He flicked the latch, hefting the wicked-looking thing free of its cage with one hand on the cross bar behind the muzzle, palming the butt with the other—careful to keep his finger clear of the trigger. 

And though he held the bulk of his considerable power in check, more than one of the technicians cried out as the walls danced with vivid, green flames. 

"Shields up, Priestess," he said, balancing the heavy weapon on his hip, lips twitching with the makings of a shit-eating grin that may have been more at home on Marco than Asher. 

For a second, I considered asking him not to engage the Rebels. It was not, however, my arrogant, powerful Elite I thought of, but Josh Trapper and all the others who'd been presented with the choice between slavery or death, and had chosen instead to fight. As I had. Condoning this strike against the Rebel forces, taking away the boy whose Elite power fueled this stalemate, was akin to condemning them all to death. Or worse. 

But neither could I walk away from the boy, having had a glimpse of his daily torment. And Marco... 

I swallowed, fortifying my shield as Asher's eyes traveled over my frame. And then, when his gaze returned to mine, I nodded once, slow and sure. 

A tiny smile touched the corner of his lips. "I won't be long. Don't go anywhere, and keep your shields up until I return. And if you... feel the urge," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder, "count to ten, then call me before you kill anyone." He tapped the illegal chain beneath the fabric on my bicep. 

"Yes sir," I demurred, bowing my head—only to watch him from beneath lowered lashes. "Anything you wish, Master mine." 

The smile slipped off his lips, ruined by breath sucked between clenched teeth. "You do know how to drive a man to distraction, Lady Wildcat." 

I flashed him a tiny, painful smile, and said, "Let's bring him back," in a breathy whisper. 

The heat faded from Asher's dark eyes, leaving an icy chill in its wake. "As my Lady commands." 

I didn't watch him leave, but turned my attention back to the men packing for a mission that may well claim their lives. A mission they had been deemed 'expendable' enough to risk, as if their lives were somehow less valuable than that of mine or Asher's simply because they were born human, and we Elite. 

"Aww look, Aiden," Reese drawled in his deep, rough voice. "Little Marco's all grown up. Got a big mission to lead and everything. I'm so proud I could weep." 

"Ha ha," Marco sneered, clasping Reese's forearm in spite of the other man's taunting. "You're just pissy because you don't want to admit how much you like the idea of being my bitch for a few hours." 

"Yes," Aiden said, hoisting a pack over his shoulder, "that's the only reason we volunteered for this mission. We're at your disposal, oh great and powerful Marco. Lead us to glory." 

"Yeah..." Gabe added, cinching a drawstring on his pack, "you three enjoy your little love-fest. Just make sure to send your share of the women my way when we get back." 

Marco laughed. "I'm still waiting for these two to back out and leave us hanging," he replied, gesturing at Reese and Aiden. 

"Nah," Reese said, inspecting the muzzle of his weapon, "we've been on light duty since Tilcot bit it. It will be good to get out and stretch our legs." 

"I can imagine," Marco said, glancing at me over his shoulder. "Grab your rucks and get to the truck. I'll be over in a minute. The Priestess and I need to have words." 

Heat flushed my cheeks and I took a deep breath, bracing for a confrontation—but I deserved whatever Marco had to say. 

"Charge this?" he asked, holding the power cell for his weapon. 

My eyes darted to the men hovering over their work stations, making sure they were busy with whatever job they'd been assigned at headquarters before I accepted the cell. Breathing through parted lips, I filled it with as much Elite energy as it could take, trying not to think about the lives it might end. 

"Marco," I began, passing the power cell back. 

"Don't," he said, clipping the cell in place and avoiding my eyes. "Where's the boy?" 

"What?" 

"The boy, Mila. The one I'm going to rescue? I need to know where to start looking." 

"Right," I replied, a frown wrinkling my brow before I turned sightless eyes toward the Rebel camp, dropping my shield and flinging my senses as far as I could. The Elites were everywhere; and beneath HQ, in a secure bunker identical to the one we'd been in outside the city, the Priestesses. But these were not the powerful men and women I needed, and I wrenched my mind away from the temptation, extending my senses toward the Rebel camp. 

The boy should be the only powerful—"Oh," I gasped, fatigue crashing over me, staggering me with enough force to make me stumble forward, fledgling connection with the boy broken. 

"Wha—" Marco gasped, catching me before I hit the floor. "Here, sit. Are you alright?" 

Concern flooded my mind, Asher's unspoken question ringing in my ears. 

"Fine," I replied, waving him off, and sending Asher a wave of reassurance. "It's stress. I'm fine. Totally fine." 

"Er, listen. Don't worry about finding the boy. Their camp isn't that big. We'll—" 

"No! I can do this. I can," I pressed, when Marco scowled. When he made no further protest, I brushed against Asher's mind, beseeching him for access to his Elite strength. Without hesitating, he cracked open his defenses, flooding me with power.  

I took the surplus he offered, then began anew, sifting through countless powerful minds, searching for one among many. Connecting to each one, then breaking the link and moving on, again and again, until my forehead was damp with sweat and Asher's concern made it hard to concentrate. 

"There," I whispered, locking on to the boy's weakened, distant spirit, tying him to me. 

"I'm gonna need you to be a little more specific," Marco drawled, the ghost of a smile flickering over his face. 

"And how shall I do that?" I asked, voice devoid of inflection as I struggled on hold the boy from this distance. 

He pulled out a map, smoothing out the wrinkles with the back of his hand. "Think you can translate what you're feeling into something us small folk can understand?" 

For a moment, I didn't answer, focused on reinforcing my connection with the boy. When I could 'look' away without losing him, I turned to Marco, blinking until his face came into focus. "I don't know where to start." 

"This is where we are now," he said, pointing to a building marked 'HQ.' "And this," he continued, blunt finger tracing a path to an area marked off in red, "is the rebel camp. Same direction you were just looking." 

"Okay," I said, tracing the area in red with my own finger. "Where's Asher right now?" 

Marco craned his neck, trying to see his commanding officer from where we stood inside the building. "He's right about here," he said at length, touching a spot close to a solid red line. "Right in front of enemy lines. Behind the battle shields." 

"Okay, gimme a sec," I said, closing my eyes. Trying to measure the space between Asher and myself, I marked off the space on the map, raising my free hand to point at the Elite boy in the distance. "What direction is this?" I asked without opening my eyes. 

"Northeast. This direction on the map," he said, adjusting my fingers accordingly. 

"Ahh," I whined, brow crinkling in frustration. "This is hard. I can feel everything about him right now... but... I can't... I think he's right here..." I murmured, twisting my fingers in an awkward 'walk' across the map. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 26



"Why there?" Marco asked, head tilted to the side, eyes fixed to the place I'd marked. 

"He's being held something like three and a half times the distance that's between Asher and me at the moment," I replied, glaring at the map. "Does it make sense that he's being held there?" 

"It's the best estimate I'll get, considering we're basing this entire mission on your word." He produced a slender box from his jacket pocket, opened it, and withdrew a pair of sharp, needle-like metal sticks, bound together by a joint and pin. "Three and a half times the distance between you and Asher, you said?" 

I nodded, watching him pull the needles apart, then rotate it from point to point across the map in a Northeasterly direction. 

"You were close," he said, circling a space behind the rebel camp with a red pen. 

"It's a start, anyway," I agreed, twisting my fingers. "What if they move him while you're out?" 

"Major Rawlings will radio me. But unless someone's tattled on us," he continued, folding the map and tucking it inside his breast pocket with the rest of his navigation supplies, "they shouldn't see us coming. Especially with the Elites making a stink on the front lines." 

"You don't have to do this," I whispered, trying to hold back a flood of tears, praying to whomever might be listening that I hadn't just sent Marco to his death. "You're not expendable. No one is." 

"Goddess save me," Marco breathed, fanning himself with a limp wrist. "Is the Lady Wildcat worried about poor old Marco?" 

Before I could answer, an obnoxious, high-pitched shrill echoed around the small room. "Get your hands off me, you low-bred animals!" 

I cringed, lips curling in a silent snarl. Carina. 

Marco snorted, spun on his heel, and said, "Have fun with that, Lady Wildcat. I'm off to be heroic and daring." 

"Wait," I gasped, stumbling after him. I seized his wrist, and, still connected to my Elite, I flooded Marco with as much energy as I could spare. 

He growled at me, pupils dilating as he wrenched his hand free of mine. But before he could say a word, Carina pushed her way through two young guards standing by the door, and elbowed Marco out of her way. 

"If he insists his silly little chit of a Priestess gets to stay here, it's only right his intended wife be at his side. Now move." 

Marco held my gaze for a long moment then sneered at Carina's back, plucked a cigarette from behind his ear and hunched over his cupped hands as a cloud of smoke billowed over his head. And then he was gone. 

"Be safe," I whispered, doing my best to harden my heart. 

"Where is my husband, Priestess?" Carina barked, standing directly before me, blocking whatever lingering view I might have had of Marco's back. 

Teeth clenched, I lowered my eyes. "Battlefront, Mistress," I demurred, counting the glittering white stones encrusting her shoes. 

"Of course he is," she snapped, settling in a chair with a grand flourish. "It's only right my husband be at the center of this. Now fetch me a drink, girl. I'm parched." 

A slow, sweet smile spread across my lips. "Yes, Mistress," I purred, moving without error toward the steaming pot of thick, black coffee and a pair of technicians gathered beside it. 

"Yeah, and I heard that's not the worst of it," said the portly balding man, leaning against the door frame. "My cousin, Cal—you know the one? One of the Curator's Elites with a horrible scar on the side of his neck?" 

"Hasn't been a day in three years you haven't mentioned him," quipped the tall man, heavy about the middle. 

"Right, anyway," the bald one continued, a blush staining his cheek, "Cal couldn't say much, of course, bound by his duty to the Curator and all, but he did say the old man has taken an... interest in her. And you know what that means, don't you?" 

"That poor woman," the other man concurred, shuddering. "I guess her break with reality is a blessing, after all. Not that I condone plotting an attack against the Empire, you see," he added in an undertone. "It's just that... well... no one deserves that sort of treatment. And especially not the widow of our late, great General Tilcot. It's a tragedy, if you ask me." 

"Agreed." They clinked their mugs, and after a brief pause, in which they both sipped at the steaming, thick coffee in their mugs, Baldy continued. "Cal said the Curator had him deliver a briefcase to the interrogating room, and wouldn't let him stay. But you didn't hear that from me." 

"Good lord. I can only imagine what a man like the Curator would keep in a secret case." 

I pulled out a fresh mug, causing the slender man to jump, sloshing coffee over the back of his hand. He cleared his throat when I moved to take the pot, and raised a single brow at me. "You sure, little girl? It would be a shame to see a pretty thing like you sprout hair on your chest," he said, eying my modest cleavage. 

"Oh, not for me," I replied, tossing my head at Carina, who was in the process of demanding a slender man with thick rimmed glasses update her on those "filthy fucking Rebels, and what he intended to do about them." 

He followed my gaze, grinned, then reached for the old pot beside the sink and filled my mug with the gritty dregs sticking to the bottom. 

*** 

"Twenty seconds, Mila," Asher whispered, using the Chains to transcend minor obstacles such as walls and distance. 

Head lowered, I peered out the window from beneath my lashes, catching Asher's eye, leery of drawing Carina's attention. 

Fingers wrapped around the control cuff on his bicep, he balanced the heavy weapon on his hip, and spoke again, "Get ready... Shields up in ten... nine... eight..." 

He released the control, seized the cross bar of his weapon, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. To the Rebels. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the shield between us, pouring every spare ounce of energy I had into maintaining it. The very last thing we needed was another fight with the darkness. If Asher lost it now, being so close to temptation, I was the only thing that stood a chance of bringing him back. 

"Oh," Carina gasped as vibrant, green light seeped through my eyelids, testing my limits. "He's... magnificent." 

I shivered, nails sinking into the meat of my palm, whispering, "Don't look, don't look, don't look," under my breath. 

"Good girl," Carina purred, running her fingers through my tangled hair. "A good slave keeps her eyes on the ground, unless otherwise commanded. Besides," she continued, breath warming my ear as she leaned closer, "he's not yours, is he? You've no business watching him." 

"Yes, Mistress," I ground out, trembling with the effort to maintain my shield as Asher poured himself into his weapon, desperate to ignore Carina's taunts... to keep the door closed on the darkness though it would be so fucking easy to let it out and show this vile bitch exactly who he belonged to—my lips curled back, eyes still squeezed shut as I took a deep breath. "One." 

"One what?" 

The green glow faded with the end of Asher's attack, followed by the echo of distant shouting, and other, less-impressive Elites making their contribution to Marco's distraction. 

I exhaled. "Two." 

"Are you soft in the head, girl? What are you counting?" 

The air whistled through my nose as I sucked in another breath. "Three." 

"S-stop that, you silly bitch," Carina stammered, sharp nails digging into the back of my neck. 

"F-four." 

"Would you like me to gag you?" she snarled, giving me a little shake. 

"Fi-five," I grit out, teeth clenched so hard, I could hear them groaning in my gums. 

"Miss Carina," one of the techs gasped, his chair squealing on the floor as he stood, "you can't touch her. The Major isn't going to like you harassing his—" 

She made a sound at the back of her throat. "What's his is mine, boy," she snapped, grip tightening. "Now sit there, keep your mouth shut, and behave, Priestess, or I'll have my husband gag you with the Chains." 

"Six," I breathed, focusing on the little points of pain dotting my neck, rather than the all-consuming urge to pull the life-force from Carina's body, to gorge myself on her hateful emotions before I dragged her soul from her body— "Seven," I whispered, voice gone thready and weak. 

"Ah, Carina," Asher purred, entering the building with a gust of fresh air. "How nice of you to stop by, my dear." 

"Hmm," she hummed, releasing me and—presumably—moving to greet him at the door. "I couldn't help myself, what with everything happening with—" she dropped her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, "—Tyra and the Rebels. I just couldn't stay away." The wet smack! of lips to skin filled my ears. "And after you ran out on me last night, I... I missed you." 

Asher cleared his throat. "The life of a soldier, unfortunately. I was called away on urgent business, you understand." 

"Oh, of course!" she squealed, and I added another number to the count as sweat trickled down the length of my spine. "You were incredible out there, Asher. My god... So much raw power... You must be the most powerful Elite in the entire Empire. I've never seen anything like it." 

My bond-mate chuckled and took the seat Carina had abandoned, placing a large calloused hand on my shoulder, sharing his shield at last. "Only the best for you, of course." 

She tittered. "You're terrible!" 

"Excuse me, sir," said the same portly, balding man who'd given me a ration of coffee sludge. "We've just received the first transmission from the away team. They're behind enemy lines." 

Asher's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Good. Carina, my dear?" he asked, taking her hand and pressing his lips to the back of her wrist. "Your visit has been a rare pleasure, but things are about to get chaotic around here." 

"Oh yes, of course. I can't have you focused on me, even though..." she stooped, revealing the deep crevasse between her generous breasts, "I'm sure I could keep you thoroughly entertained..." 

He stood when an aide appeared before him leaning forward to murmur something in his ear, nodded, then tossed, "You are temptation itself," over his shoulder as he scrawled his name on the page. "Please escort my intended back to the safety of the Hastings Manse," he continued, gesturing to the two young soldiers stationed at the door. 

"So considerate," she purred, letting her hand trail down the length of his chest. "Come along, Priestess. This is no place for you." 

I flinched, staring up at her with wide eyes, but otherwise did not move. 

Asher laughed, planting a hand on Carina's lower back, guiding her toward the door. "This is the only place for her. What else is a Priestess good for?" 

"Oh, too true," Carina sighed, allowing herself to be led away. "I just don't like the way she looks at you. It's unseemly." 

"Ignore the girl, Carina. You're to be my wife. Not her." 

She kissed him then, tracing his lower lip with her tongue and pressing both hands to his chest. "Come to me after you're finished here. I'll be waiting." 

I turned away, stalking toward the fresher of the two pots of coffee, trying to ignore Asher's murmured reply and Carina's happy simper of, "tonight." 

"Here," said my coffee buddy, handing me a steaming mug. 

I accepted with a soft, "Thank you," and clinked my mug to his when he extended it. 

"Hey," Asher said, sidling up to me, scrubbing at his lips with the back of his hand as the technician dipped his chin at my bond-mate and returned to his station. 

Sipping the steaming, potent brew, I nodded, avoiding his eye. 

"You okay?" he asked, claiming the mug from my hands and taking a long sip. 

I glared at him, trying to pry my mug from his strong fingers. "I'm fine." 

Placing the mug on the cabinet above my head, he said, "You shouldn't be drinking this shit, Mila," and sent a pointed glance toward my belly. And when I opened my mouth to return an irritated snarl, he said, "But in the spirit of fairness, I won't drink it either." 

To this I huffed, but allowed him to guide me to a chair at the back of the room. 

"If all goes as planned," he said, brushing the hair back from my face, "Marco's team should be sending the signal within the hour. Two at the most. And after that—" 

"You'll visit your sweet lady wife and celebrate a victory for the Empire." 

"Not if she implicates herself with a certain madwoman being held in the basement of the Hastings Manse, I won't," he replied, a smirk curving his full lips. "Besides, even if she stays out of the Curator's way, it's pretty likely I'll get called away on 'official business' before I get the chance to see her... we are at war, after all." 

I returned his grin, eyes flicking toward the technicians before I said, "It seems I've underestimated you, oh great and powerful Master. Not just a pretty face." 

"Though I'm that too," he quipped, bumping his hip against the adjacent wall, towering over me. 

"So what now?" I asked, rolling my eyes. 

"We'll keep striking at the Rebels until we hear from Marco, one way or the other. Keep the pressure on them. Hope they don't get wise." 

"So..." I drawled, eyebrows raised. "Why are you in here, talking to me? Shouldn't you be out there, creating this distraction?" 

"I'm pretending to be winded," he replied, stretching his arms above his head. "Can't draw too much attention to myself. I'll go back out in a bit," he added, glancing toward the door when several of the other Elites started shouting. The Rebels had weathered the first assault and were now returning fire, much to the surprise of the Northern front's Elites. 

"So it had nothing to do with my narrowly avoided impulse to slaughter your sweet lady wife?" I asked, trying to ignore the dull thump of each successive blast striking the ground on either side of the confrontation. 

"Now why would I stand in the way of that?" he asked, flashing me a glimpse of strong, white teeth. 

"Why indeed?" 

He chuckled, then, stalking toward me, dark fire burning behind obsidian eyes. "Can you sense him?" 

I swallowed as he claimed the seat next to me. "I... I'm afraid to lower my shield with so many Elites using their power. And," I hedged, clenching my fists, "I think there's something wrong with me. I keep... fumbling every time I try to do something." 

He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin, glancing at my belly. "I have a theory about that..." he whispered. "But this isn't the place to discuss it. Let's just say I don't think you should use your power without having me to back you up. At least not for... oh, I dunno, nine months or so." 

I pressed a hand to my belly, over the Watchers in their impenetrable cocoon, eyes widening in understanding. 

"Here," he said, taking my hand, "take what you need from me. I won't let anything happen to you." 

Sucking in a deep breath, I did as he asked, dropping my defenses just enough to let him in, to soak up the icy calm of his shield. And then, ever so slowly, I turned my attention toward the Elite boy, following the string I'd left when I'd located him for Marco. It was much easier the second time, even through the cluster of blindingly powerful Elites gathered a few dozen feet away. 

"The boy is in the same place," I said at length, voice monotone and flat, eyes wide and glassy. 

"I—I know," Asher gasped, shield wavering. "I'm with you. I can feel him too. Where's Marco?" 

"He's too far away, and his life force isn't powerful enough. I... I can't find him." 

"You don't think—" 

"I'll keep looking," I replied, cutting him off. "I've spent enough time with Marco that I should... I should be able to find him." 

Asher squeezed my fingers, opening the gates between us a little further. "It's... incredible," he breathed, head turning toward the Elite boy. "So much power between us..." 

"Focus," I snapped, tossing my inferior shield at him. "One of us has to be in control of their shit," I continued in a softer voice, sifting through Rebel after Rebel in my search for Marco's familiar pattern. 

Sweat glossed Asher's forehead, but he nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. 

"There," I breathed, touching Marco's spirit with mine. "He's fine. Creeping toward the boy." 

"Is there anything you can do from here?" Asher asked, eyes fixed on the people milling about the room. 

I shook my head. 

"Then I guess we wait." 

*** 

Asher left me sitting at the back of the room, apart from everyone else, but close enough to see and hear everything of importance happening at HQ. I was his eyes and ears while he and the other Elites were outside, hammering away at an unbreakable barrier, trying not to get shot themselves in the meantime. Before he left, he'd made me promise to notify him the instant Marco's team made contact. 

Every few minutes, another Elite would stumble into the building, grey-faced and sweaty, trembling from the energy he'd spent to distract the Rebels. The men would rest, eat, drink, then head back into the field with Viridian barking orders that they refrain from pushing themselves so hard. And still, with the northern front's entire population of Elites working together, they made no headway against the Rebel shields. 

A true stalemate, for though the Rebels were indeed returning fire, they were conservative with their shots. After all, a single Elite boy could only do so much to keep their weapons and shields charged, even if they'd been stockpiling power cells for years. The Rebels did, however, managed to destroy several of the outbuildings in their quest to hit the Caledonians where it would hurt most—headquarters itself. But the fortifications had held. So far. 

Asher came in for 'breaks' twice more before Marco's team made contact, the quiet blip-blip-blip of the radio the signal we'd been waiting for. They'd taken the boy. They were on their way back. 

"Asher," I whispered, hiding in the tiny bathroom stall, fingers pressed to the buttons on my illegal control cuff. "Marco just made contact. They have the boy." 

Dropping his shield in answer to my silent words, elation rushed through me as my Elite acknowledged the good news. I washed my hands, glared at the grimy mirror in the bathroom, then returned to the main room. When the door banged open, I turned, expecting to see Asher's handsome face lit up with happiness because Marco was almost through the worst of it, almost close enough for us to protect him. 

"Where's the Brigadier General?" Lieutenant General Hastings shouted, supporting a sweaty, blood-streaked young man at the door. 

"Front lines, sir," my coffee buddy replied, rushing toward his wounded comrade. "The fuck happened to you?" 

"Viridian. Now," the bloodied Lieutenant General snarled, gesturing at the medic hovering behind him as he stumbled into the room, dropping his charge into the closest chair with a deep groan. 

"She's escaped," whispered the injured man, clutching at the blood seeping through his shirt, voice hoarse, eyes drifting closed. 

"W-what? Who's escaped? Weren't you and Patcher escorting the Lady Carina to the Hastings Manse?" Coffee Buddy asked, making space for the medic. "Do what you can to stop the bleeding," he ordered in an undertone, lips pressed in a thin, grave line. 

"What's going on?" Viridian barked, large frame blocking most of the light from the open door. 

The wounded man cracked an eye. "S-she's escaped." 

"Who, son?" 

"The Tilcot woman. She—" he gasped as the medic peeled the young man's shirt away, exposing a deep gash to the left of his belly button. "She had a knife. Don't know how the fuck she could have gotten it, unless it was given to her. Patcher's dead—oh, god. He's fuckin' dead, sir. She was waiting in the shadows, free as a bird. C-cut his throat. Stabbed me a few times before she struck Lady Carina with the butt of the knife. Took my weapons. Left me there to die. Am I going to d-die?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 26



"There's more than one wound?" the medic interrupted, capable hands searching the battered body for further injuries. 

"O-other side," the young man replied, teeth bared, "Kidney." 

Asher pushed past Viridian, face drawn tight with a fierce glower. "How'd she get loose?" he snapped, stalking toward me. 

"I dunno," the soldier slurred, face grey beneath the streaks of blood. 

"How long has she been gone?" 

"I—I dunno..." 

"Get me Jackson," Viridian ordered Coffee Buddy, voice low before he turned back to the injured soldier. "You did well, son. You did well." 

I shot Asher a look, eyebrows raised. 

He glanced at the young man, bleeding to death before us. And shook his head. 

"He doesn't have to die," I whispered when he seized my elbow and returned me to the back corner. 

"He won't." 

"You can't possibly—" 

"He won't, Mila," Asher hissed, putting his back to the rest of the room. "I've seen much worse on the field. He's not losing that much blood and Carly will be here in two minutes. He'll make it." 

"You do remember what happened the last time I was close to a person who died, don't you?" I hissed, crossing my arms. "If you won't let me fix him, take me out of here before I tear this place apart." 

"What are you talking about? The riot after Sasha's death? That wasn't your fault," he snapped, glancing over his shoulder at the Lieutenant General and Viridian. 

"Of course it was. I completely lost my shit because she died in my arms—" 

"Jackson!" Viridian shouted from the doorway, hollering at a man out of sight. 

"Sir?" 

"Take no fewer than five Elites to collect my Priestess. Tyra Tilcot got loose, and if she gets within a thousand feet of my girl, I'll have the kitchen use your testicles as the special ingredient for tomorrow's supper. Now move!" Viridian shouted, face flushed. 

"How's he doing?" Asher asked, pulling me along behind him, but blocking me from sight. 

"Unconscious," the medic replied, tearing the top off a package of gauze with his teeth. "Losing blood, but I don't think she managed to hit anything important. He's a lucky sonofabitch, is what he is. Hand me that cloth." 

"Good." Viridian wrung a compress of excess water and handed it to the medic. "Do what you can for him. My girl will be here before long." 

And then, as if there wasn't enough going on, the radio crackled with an incoming transmission."Greetings Motherland!" Marco's deep voice crackled through the speakers. "We're on friendly soil, and you'll never guess what we found locked away in a cage at the back of their camp. Only had to kill a few of the Rebel bastards to break him free, too. I imagine that's thanks to the northern front's Elite population raining hellfire on their little shields. But something tells me they won't be able to keep their shields up for much longer..." 

I frowned, trying to keep up as Coffee Buddy scrambled for the radio, then remembered no one but Asher, Viridian, Marco, his crew, and I knew what powered the Rebel shields. 

"Good news, soldier," Coffee Buddy said, pressing a large green button on the side of the radio. "Welcome home. Where can we collect you? Over." 

"Negative. We're at the infirmary." 

Asher's nostrils flared. 

"Are there injuries to report, soldier? Over," Coffee Buddy asked, taking a seat. 

"Negative," he said again, and Asher closed his eyes. "We rescued a hostage. Rebel weren't very accommodating, I'm afraid. Boy's in rough shape. But my handsome mug is fine as ever, if you were wondering." 

Tyra's victim coughed with an agonized groan. Coffee Buddy glanced at him, and said, "Copy that. We'll send a unit to you. Over and out." 

Asher trembled beside me, but a savage grin split his face. "They did it," he whispered, lips moving against my ear. 

Lieutenant General Hastings assumed command of HQ, barking orders and sending the technicians into a flurry of activity. 

"Meeting room, now," Viridian hissed, seizing Asher's elbow and shoving him toward a small room reeking of stale cigarettes. "You too, Priestess." 

"Sir?" Asher asked, when Viridian pressed the door shut behind him, careful not to make a sound. 

"Give me something I can use." 

"Pardon?" 

"Don't fuck with me, boy. I know there's something different about you two—besides that," he said, jerking his chin at my belly. "I watched you on the field today. You're holding back. And I want you to give me something I can use. Right fucking now." 

Stony silence was our response. 

"Fucking hell, Asher," Viridian snapped, running a hand over his haggard face. "We're on the same side here. That woman is the cause of all of this," he continued, gesturing wildly at the remaining Elites outside, still taking potshots at the Rebel shields. "The Lieutenant General is fucking desperate to find your bitch cousin, Asher. I've never seen him like this. And you know what I think? I think this has been the plan all along. What if the Rebels wanted her to get caught so she could attack us from behind? Give me something, damn you!" 

Spittle struck Asher's high cheekbone, but he didn't flinch. Just watched Viridian for the count of ten, then turned to me. "Find her." 

"It won't be easy," I replied, glancing at Viridian. "I don't know her well enough." 

"What do you need?" Viridian asked, addressing me. 

I hesitated, eyes flicking back to my Elite for an instant before I said, "Give me your hand." 

*** 

My head lolled back on my shoulders as power sang through my blood. 

Asher. Viridian. And through him... Carly. They were all with me, the pulsing core of each fluttering in my mind, pushing away the lingering threat of weakness trying to pull me into a dark and senseless sleep. 

I shivered, gooseflesh rippling over me... and watched as it spread to the others, prickling first Asher's, then Viridian's skin. 

"Incredible..." Viridian breathed, completely open to me. 

It was too much. "A-Asher," I stammered, eyes glossy, unfocused on my surroundings, mind flooded with alien emotions. 

"I've got you," he replied, pulling Viridian's inexperienced energy behind his shield, throttling the volume of power I had access to. "Find her, Mila. Find Tyra." 

Chin dipping, I cast my net, catching as many as I could. For the most part, the Elites were gathered along the front lines, expending savage, rhythmic bursts of pure energy at the Rebel shields. Every Priestess except Carly was located in the bunker beneath headquarters, huddled together and pulsing with mouth-watering holy light. 

Snarling, I wrenched away from the temptation, resisting the urge to link us all, to bind us as an unstoppable, all-powerful unit. 

"Tyra..." I cooed, calling to her spirit, singing to distract myself from the promise of true power that lay within my grasp. "Where arrree youu?" 

One after the other, I flung the powerless citizens aside, dipping my mind into the very core of their emotional being before casting them off, working out the Hastings Manse. Moving in a sphere around the building, missing no one, I worked as fast as I could, not stopping even when I brushed against Carina—bruised, bloodied, unconscious, but still breathing. 

No, I was looking for a singular brand of lunacy, for someone who—"There," I hissed, discarding all but her. "I have her." 

"You sure?" Asher asked, voice hushed. When I nodded, he pried Viridian's fingers from mine, releasing him and breaking our connection, for I no longer needed the surplus strength hold but one powerless, insane mortal. 

I nodded, sightless eyes following her faltering progress to the northwest. "I think... I think she's going to the Rebels," I added, frowning, trying to interpret the jumbled bag of emotions. 

"I guess that's the best we could hope for," Viridian said, his voice thready and weak. 

The door banged open, making Asher curse, Viridian jump, and causing me to lose Tyra's thread, cursing under my breath. 

"What are you doing in here?" the Lieutenant General snarled, sweat running freely down his handsome, flushed face. 

Viridian swallowed, glancing at me for an instant before he said, "Trying to find the Tilcot woman, sir." 

"May I ask how you intend to do that from in here? Without any instruments to aid in the task?" 

Viridian cleared his throat, sending Asher a wide-eyed glance. 

Hastings followed his gaze. "Well? Which one of you has an answer for me?" 

"I do," I replied, stepping forward. "My... My Elite is special. He can sense the Tilcot woman, sir." 

In the silence that followed my statement, three things happened all at once. Asher's face drained of all color, leaving his skin sallow and damp. Viridian cursed and landed heavily in the seat next to Coffee Buddy. And Lieutenant General Hastings' eyebrows met his hairline as he said, "Show me," in a clipped voice. 

"Take what you need from me, Master," I breathed, seizing Asher's wrist, and drawing on his strength. But this time, cornered by the Lieutenant General and my hasty lie, he had no choice but to lower his shield and come along for the ride. 

I dragged him down the fragile thread I'd created between Tyra and me, gasping when we collided with the twisted lunacy in her mind. 

"What... what is this?" I heard the Lieutenant General whisper before Viridian hushed him. 

"We've got her," Asher said, voice free of inflection, his eyes wide and glassy. "She's... She's below the Elite boy. Below Marco and his away team. As if she's underground..." 

"The infirmary," Viridian breathed. 

The color drained from the Lieutenant General's face, and he whispered, "Oh god, no!" under his breath, before he spun, bolting out the door before anyone had the presence of mind to ask him what had happened. And neither did he stop to explain himself to any of the technicians in HQ, but continued in a dead sprint until he'd left the building entirely, making a mad dash for one of the idling vehicles stationed outside. 

We breathed a collective sigh of relief at his hasty exit, thankful Lieutenant General Hastings was too occupied by the potential threat Tyra Tilcot presented to question just how we'd managed to pinpoint her. 

I dragged my attention back to Tyra's erratic behavior as Asher wedged his shield between us, freeing himself. "What's beneath the infirmary?" he asked. "What reason would she have to be there?" 

"Nothing comes to mind," Viridian said, opening the door and snapping his fingers until Coffee Buddy stumbled in, radio clutched in his hands. "Radio Marco's team, tell them Tyra's on the loose and—" 

"Wait," I said, frowning, head tilted in confusion. "She's leaving them now. I... I think she's coming back. Yes. She's definitely headed this way. And I think... I think she's running." 

"Thank fuck," Asher hissed, scrubbing at his face with his free hand. 

"Priestess," Viridian said, frowning. "Follow the Lieutenant General. Where's he going with such haste?" 

I nodded, glassy eyed, but it was nothing to follow the blazing trail the Lieutenant General left in his wake. "He's... almost at the infirmary himself. Passed Tyra a few seconds ago, though I can't tell if he saw her." 

"Radio Marco's crew," Asher snapped, turning on Coffee Buddy. 

"Marco, come in Marco," Coffee Buddy said, finger pressing the big red button on his radio. 

"Gabe here. Marco's outside having a smoke. How can I help? Over." 

"Tyra Tilcot is at large, and the Lieutenant General is on route to you." From the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me, then Viridian, before saying, "We have reason to believe the Tilcot woman has—" 

"Give it," Asher barked, snatching the radio from Coffee Buddy's fingers. "Gabe. It's Asher. From what we can tell, Tyra's just left the infirmary. She's completely lost it. We don't know how she broke out, but she's already killed at least one man and injured a few others. I want you to take her down." 

"Copy." Gabe hesitated, then said, "Lethal force, sir?" 

Viridian nodded, jaw clenched. 

"Affirmative." 

"Any idea where she is now, sir?" 

"Heading toward HQ." 

"On foot?" 

I nodded, comparing the speed at which both Tyra and the Lieutenant General were moving. 

"Affirmative." 

"We'll do what we can—ah, the Lieutenant General just pulled into the parking lot. He must have driven right past her," Gabe mused, voice crackling over the distance. "I'll ask if he saw her." 

"Keep me informed—" 

A wave of pressure rattled the windowpanes, my sinuses, eyes, and chest before the resounding BOOM! of an explosion reached us at HQ. And then, with a savage, wrenching twist, my connection with Lieutenant General Hastings snapped, leaving me reeling with the loss. 

Terrible, throat searing screams tore loose from my mouth, echoing off the walls of my skull until I gasped for breath, trembling from head to toe, covered in frigid sweat. 

"Mila!" Asher roared, wrapping me in a cloak of safety, smothering me behind his shield. "Mila! Fucking hell, Mila!" 

"He's dead," I croaked, staring up at the ceiling from the floor, dazed... splintered. "The Lieutenant General is dead." 

"God, no," Asher whispered, tearing his gaze away from mine. "Marco." 

And then the whole world went black. 

*** 

Author's end note: Okay. Breathe. One in, one out. In through your nose, out through your mouth. And again. Twice more now... thaaat's good. 

Right, feeling a little less like killing me in my sleep? No? Damn it. But it can't be helped, I'm afraid. There's big things happening in these next few chapters, and not all of them are pretty. But I promise all of them are exciting and will give you a serious case of the feels... 

Commence flood of prayers for Marco's life... 

You might not love me anymore, but I still love you. 

Danvers—out.



The Last Tritan Ch. 27



Boom! I'm fresh off a nap, and ready to sink mah teeths into chapter 28. I'm so excited. But first, let me take a selfie. Also, may I please thank Baron VonKarmann, SF, unoriginalnames, and Princess Consuela Bananahammock for going through this chapter for me? Mmk, thanks guys!! And I know there's the thing I did... but thanks for loving me anyway. ;) 

Ah, where were we? Right. Marco on the cusp of death, but before that... Asher realizes the Watchers are taking up more of Mila's energy than they thought, and she shouldn't be doing any black magic without him. The Curator tried to Mushroom slap first Viridian, and then Mila—who was eager for some alone time with the crusty old goat for other, possibly homicidal reasons. But killing the Curator isn't exactly low key, even though it might solve a few of their problems so they hightail it back to HQ, where Asher pulls out his big gun. In tandem with Marco's crew, the Elites start firing at the Rebels in an effort to distract them. It works, (even though there's some drama with Asher's lovely lady wife where Mila practices deep breathing and therapeutic counting to avoid murder) and the Rebels are distracted enough for Marco's crew to slip behind enemy lines. But then Tyra escaped, kills a guard, knocks Carina unconscious (sob), and is free to wander at her leisure—which is surely bad news for everyone else. At that moment, Marco radios in with good news, leaving the gang free to sort of the messypoo Tyra's about to cause. Viridian demands Asher and Mila give him something he can use, so they join hands and Mila finally gets to snack on Elite energy. But she finds Tyra, so really... it's not that bad to indulge if it's for good, right? The Lieutenant General walks in on their little circle of love, finds out that Tyra is lurking around the infirmary, and pins off into the sunset without speaking another word. As the rest of them scramble, Tyra begins to make her way in the direction of HQ, while Mila remains linked with the Lieutenant General, trying to figure out what's got his beans in a knot—when things go BOOM. The connection with the Lieutenant General snaps, and Mila passes out. Le fin. 

*** 

Blackness. 

I was... lost in it. Buoyed by a dingy, grey life raft adrift without a tether. 

There was nothing to fear here, though that in itself should have been an alarming notion. But it wasn't—for that was the very point of this place. Eternal absence of... everything. Nothing could exist here. 

Not fear. 

Not hunger. 

Not Pride, joy, anger, hatred, or love. 

It was the absence of all things, but one. 

Peace. True, everlasting peace. 

A grand equalizer. Freedom from the torment of living... from the never-ending emotional assault bombarding my poorly shielded senses. 

And yet, contrary to what this glorious dark represented, I was not alone. A second being drifted in my periphery, seated upon a raft that was both independent from mine and linked with a thousand tiny, unbreakable golden threads. 

The second took notice as I inspected it, drifting closer, reaching through our bond. The connection, once vibrant and alive with unfathomable power, had withered here in the dark, now nothing more than a great, dry river bed, tying us together forever. 

In spite of this place, however, such a bond was capable of containing greatness again, if given the chance... 

The darkness beckoned... so sweet... so seductive... I reached through the bond, eager to share this place with the other. To greet it with a united front... to be one, until the end. 

Light exploded behind me, and I turned as my bond-mate recoiled from the light, shocked. Two others shared my raft, their spirits so brilliant in this pure dark that I could not look directly at them for the pain of it. 

Pain which had no business here. 

I glanced at my raft—an insubstantial, unformed thing—and understood that I... we had yet to be accepted by this Eternal Absence. After all, thoughts, simple though mine might be, weren't welcome here either. 

Neither were the rafts. 

Neither were they. 

My second attempt to look was more successful, though my eyes watered with the effort. 

Tiny. 

Huddled together at the opposite end of the raft, they shivered and danced with a light all their own. All sharp lines and smooth edges—though it was impossible to see any true form through the glare. They were almost indistinguishable from one another, but for the slight variation in color from right to left. One just slightly... darker. 

Both impossibly beautiful. 

I tore my eyes away, desperate for the seductive temptation of the welcoming dark. But two tiny pricks of light had been burned into my central vision. 

Night blind. 

Lip curled, I turned back to them, a furious snarl primed and ready. 

The one on the right pulsed, brighter than a moment before, sharper. 

Not to be outdone, the one on the left flickered twice, searing my retinas with the vibrant shock of life in this place of peace. 

The right answered, undulating with a beauty matched only by the savage intensity of the act. 

The left didn't hesitate, hammering out a heavy rhythm, both uplifting and tragic. 

I blinked, trying to see something—anything—past the dazzling light show... watching as the fluttering lights became more aggressive, more insistent. Watching as they finally began to fade... weakened by this place. Tempted by the dark. 

I reached for them then, to turn them back, to give them whatever remained of my own light so theirs would never fade. To touch them just once before I left... 

Just one touch... 

*** 

I woke with a gasp, foreign hands all over my skin, distorted shouting echoing in my ears. 

"Major Rawlings, sir, please. Be still!" 

"Asher!" another snapped, harsh voice grating against my ears. "She's awake, son. She's still with us. Relax for fucksakes. Relax." 

Blinking away the fuzzy vision clouding the faces above me, I squinted at the second speaker, at Viridian's ashen face. Damp with sweat. 

"Oh, Goddess be merciful," whispered yet another, filling me with a familiar soothing, healing power. 

Carly. Out of the Priestess bunker. Tear-streaked. New lines forming around her eyes. Warm palm pressed over my heart. 

"Just breathe for me, Priestess," she whispered, offering a watery smile. 

"Where..." I swallowed past a mouthful of cotton and tried again. "Asher?" 

Someone squeezed the fingers of my right hand. I turned letting my head drop to the right, bringing Asher's profile into view. 

Laid out on his back, as I was, but pinned to the floor by the bulk of Coffee Buddy's weight on his shoulders. A drop of blood splattered on Asher's cheek, dripping from a wound above Coffee Buddy's left eyebrow. 

"The Lieutenant General is dead," I croaked, gazing into Asher's dark eyes, seeking the peace I'd left behind. 

"Shh, honey," Carly whispered, lifting my head and placing a folded towel beneath it. "I'm sure the Lieutenant General is fine." 

"No," Asher replied, not breaking eye contact with me. "He's dead. We almost went with him." 

Carly gasped, her hands instantly drifting south, to hover over my belly button. "The children..." 

Coffee Buddy sucked in a breath, but said nothing on the matter, looking pointedly away. 

"Fine," I whispered, checking for myself in spite of my confident tone. But I was right, they were safe nestled inside their cocoon, one just... slightly darker than the other. But no less powerful in spirit. So real. Alive. 

The twins. My... children. 

"How can I help?" Viridian asked, touching my chin, drawing my eyes to his. 

I sucked in a sharp gasp, mind flooded with the vibrant power of a bonded Elite. 

Weak. I was too weak to resist the seductive lure of his life-force. "Get away from me," I hissed, fists clenched, back arching off the floor, all but crushing Asher's fingers within my grasp. "Just... give me a moment," I continued, feeling Carly and Viridian recoil from the venom in my voice. "I don't... want to hurt you." 

They backed off, hands raised, and I rolled to face my bond-mate, the faint tremor rippling through me disguised by his tight grip about my waist. 

Lips pressed to my forehead, he held me, ignoring the dull roar in the background and the chaos swirling ever closer. "See to your duties, Conrad," Asher murmured, twisting his fingers in my hair. "We need a moment." 

Coffee Buddy stepped back, wordlessly following Viridian and Carly into the madness, leaving us to the relative silence of the conference room, his handheld radio forgotten on the floor next to us. 

Oh, Goddess... Marco... he couldn't be... 

"Can you..." Asher swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can you feel him?" 

Marshalling the scraps of my endurance, I turned my head toward the Rebel camp—and couldn't feel a damned thing past the collection of Elites gathered in the next room. And then, blinding, white-hot pain lanced through my mind, stealing my voice and breath with sheer force. When I could, I cried out, writhing on the floor in Asher's arms, fists clenched in my hair, palms pressed to my temples. Exhausted... the darkness was utterly spent, starving for just a little boost... 

"Radio," I rasped, pressing my forehead to his chest, employing every trick I'd learned to suppress the darkness. "Hail him on the radio." 

Extending his arm with a groan, Asher reached for the handheld device, trembling with the effort. "Marco," he whispered, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Come in, Marco." 

Static hissed at us. 

"Gabe," Asher pressed, cheeks pale beneath his tan. "Aiden... Reese... come in. Over." 

The snarl of white noise was our only answer. 

"Fuck," Asher whispered, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Fuck." 

"That doesn't mean anything," I whispered, pressing my nose into his shirt. "It doesn't." I sucked in a shaky breath, gathered my feet beneath me, and struggled to stand. "Tyra's still out there," I continued, blinking away the dizziness. With one hand, I reached for Asher, drawing my unbreakable Elite off the floor, leaning on him as he struggled to stand, trembling from head to toe. 

"Fucking bitch," Asher snarled, teeth bared. "I'm going to take her apart piece by piece. There won't be enough left for the Inquisitor when I'm finished." He took a faltering half-step toward the door, sucking a painful breath through his teeth—then glanced out the window. 

Smoke. Thick, black clouds of smoke, billowing off a partially-collapsed building just visible from the south-facing window. Bricks and wooden beams littered the sidewalk where part of the roof had collapsed, burying several of the vehicles closest to the wreckage in dust and debris. 

"Is that—" I choked on the words. Of course it was. The infirmary would have to be central to both HQ and the city proper to be most effective. 

"Come on," Asher ordered, wrapping his fingers around my bicep. 

But I dug my heels in, eyes fixed on the smoking ruin, on the distraught figures rushing toward it, their faces stricken and twisted. 

Marco... 

I pulled what little strength I could muster to the forefront, mixing it with the anguish I felt radiating off my bond-mate and the power of the Earth itself beneath my feet, trying to find Marco through the only person both strong and close enough to matter—the Elite Boy. 

The twins, however, made it clear this was a losing battle. The very moment I extended myself, they stirred. A slight, almost imperceptible movement, to be sure... but a shifting nonetheless. A waking, of sorts, for they moved as one, touching the wall Asher and I had built around them... taking tiny sips of power. Seeing the world through what I felt and experienced. 

I swayed, torn between the gargantuan effort to find the Elite boy and protecting the twins. 

"Stop. Mila, stop! You're going to kill yourself trying—" 

"I can't!" I sobbed, shivering as Asher pulled me into his arms, breaking the tenuous connection. "I can't find him—I can't feel anything!" 

"Shh," he whispered, pressing his cheek to mine. "I know, baby. I know. He's—" Asher choked, squeezing me tight, making my ribs groan under the strain. "I think he's gone." 

"No!" I wailed, pummeling his chest with fists too weak to matter. 

Asher cursed, folding me into his chest for a quick squeeze before dragging me toward the door, toward the chaotic hive buzzing with furious Caledonian energy. "Come," he said, voice pitched low, eyes wild. "We're getting the fuck out of here." Plunging straight into the fray, he kept me tight to his hip, shoving his comrades out of his way, my face pressed to his ribs to hide the tears. 

"I'm going to kill her for this," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to ignore the pulse of life around me. 

Asher heard me over the frantic roar of his countrymen. "Oh, no, Priestess. That pleasure is all mine." 

I stifled my tears, letting cold, black fury take their place. Tyra would pay for the lives she'd taken. Oh, yes. If she was smart, she'd be long gone by now... for the instant the darkness within me had recovered from the shock of Lieutenant General Hastings' death, I would rain hellfire and vengeance upon her head. 

"Rawlings!" Viridian shouted over the din, snapping his fingers and beckoning him over. 

"Nope," Asher hissed, dragging me toward the door, shoving a hapless aide out of the way. 

"Major Rawlings! Get your ass over here!" he bellowed, taking one massive step toward us. 

A faceless technician bumped into me, breaking Asher's hold on my arm. The only reason he walked away unscathed and unaware was the bone-deep weariness trapping the darkness within. As it was, I was without the strength to react when Asher whirled, pupils dilated, nostrils flared, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, my name on his lips. In fact, I could hardly hear him over the techs and Elites shouting at each other. 

And then, of course, it got worse. 

"Lieutenant General Hastings!" a wispy voice shouted, silencing the roar in a matter of moments. 

"He's—" Viridian cleared his throat. "The Lieutenant General is unaccounted for, sir." 

"I beg your pardon?" the Curator asked, standing between his six burly Elites, Scar on his immediate right. "Is he not the man in control of this sorry branch of the Caledonian army?" 

"Yes, sir, he is," Viridian agreed, pressing an already damp handkerchief to his forehead. "But he's unaccounted for, sir. We haven't been able to hail him since the explosion." 

"Then what the fuck are you doing here, Brigadier General? Go out and find him," the Curator wheezed, thin grey lips pulled back in a sneer. 

"With all due respect, sir," Viridian hedged, squaring his shoulders. "That's not how chain of command works. Until Lieutenant General Hastings has been accounted for, I'm the head of the Northern Front. And I'm currently in the process of organizing a search and rescue—" 

"Now that I am here," the Curator interrupted, waving the Brigadier General away, "your services are no longer necessary." 

Viridian spluttered, and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir, but I think you'll forgive me if I disagree. I am more than qualified to run this army. I trained under the Lieutenant General himself, once upon a time." 

"Is that so?" the Curator sneered, taking a single menacing step toward Viridian. "Is this the same Lieutenant General Hastings who allowed Eloran rebel scum to crawl up his ass and fill the infirmary with bombs? An infirmary!" 

The color drained from Viridian's cheeks, but I beat him to it. "You filthy fucking liar," I snarled, stumbling forward on boneless legs, reaching for the dark, gluttonous power lurking in my heart—and coming up empty. "It wasn't the Rebels—" 

Asher lunged forward, wrapping me in a rib-constricting bear hug. "Please excuse my Priestess, my lord," Asher demurred, clapping a hand over my mouth. "I'm afraid the blast left her brains a little scrambled." 

"And what, pray tell, is your little slut doing out of the bunker in the first place, hm?" he asked, turning dewy yellow eyes upon my Elite for a moment before he continued to tear Viridian down. "If this is the kind of operation you've been running here, Brigadier General, I think the men will welcome a change of leadership." 

"Well aren't I lucky that you're not authorized to make that decision, powerful sibling notwithstanding," Viridian returned, cheeks flushing red before he added a lame, "sir," and ground his teeth. 

"You're refusing to step aside, soldier?" the Curator asked, voice deadly calm. 

"You've no cause to ask me to, my lord. Until such a time as the Lieutenant General's body has been returned, and we can present the Emperor—" he stressed, standing toe-to-toe with the Curator now, "—with undeniable evidence of who was responsible for such a heinous attack, this army, these men," he said, gesturing at the dozen or so slack faces watching the exchange, "are under my command." 

"My, my," the Curator drawled in his high wheeze, folding his hands with a dry chuckle. "Have your balls finally dropped, Brigadier General? I suppose a little late is better than never, though it's too bad it wasn't in time to stop these filthy cave-dwellers from planting bombs beneath our sick and wounded." 

An uncomfortable ripple traveled though the men—Elite and soldier alike casting shifty-eyed glances at each other in the silence that followed the Curator's claim. 

"One bomb," Viridian corrected, chest puffed out, eyebrows drawn tight in a fierce scowl. "There was one explosion, Master Curator, which you would have known, if you'd been here as we were—" he continued, flinging his hands wide to encompass the soldiers surrounding him, "—not in the safety of the manse, surrounded by your guards." 

The Curator's cheeks, which had been flushed a light pink as Viridian's rant bordered on flat-out disrespect, paled. When Viridian stepped forward, the Curator cleared his throat. "Just one bomb, you say?" But Viridian merely pinned him with a steely glare, and the frail old man continued. "Feel free to split hairs, Brigadier General, while the Eloran scum slaughter the sick and injured." 

I tuned them out, the press of bodies making me both nauseous, and... hungry. Power depleted, the hurt of loss ate at me, righteous fury a writhing black mass in the pit of my stomach. Whispers of unlimited power, waiting just out of reach urged me to bury the pain, begging me to take just one little... taste... 

"Get me the fuck out of here," I said, "or I'm going to kill them all." 

"Come," Asher whispered against my ear, tugging my hand as he backed toward the door. "Let these fools have their pissing match." 

But the Brigadier General wasn't having it. "Major Rawlings," he snapped, holding up one hand before the Curator's stupefied face, the universal signal for silence. "Where do you think you're going, solider?" 

Asher didn't miss a beat. "Gathering the men for the rescue mission, as you ordered, sir." 

Raw fury swept over Viridian's face, but we'd drawn the Curator's attention. "Good," the old man drawled, rising to his fullest height. "Take a handful of your useless Elites with you, and kindly return your addled little slut to her cage. The Emperor won't be pleased if you damage his property." 

"Take Jackson and his men," Viridian added, pushing the words through clenched teeth. "And take no unnecessary risks, you understand me, boy? And before you do anything, take her to the safety of the bunker. A war zone is no place for a woman," he added, eyes flicking to my belly for an instant before returning to Asher's face. 

"And you—" the Curator snapped, jerking his head at Scar. "You go with them." 

"But, sir—" Scar stammered, stepping back from his master. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 27



Rather than answer his subordinate, the Curator pinned Scar with a steely glare, spittle glistening on his lower lip. 

"Sir," Scar continued, saluting and turning to follow Asher from the building. 

"To the bunker, Major Rawlings," Viridian said, scowling. 

Asher tossed a cocky, "yes, sir," and salute at his superior before he kicked the door open, all but carrying me from the building. "Better?" he asked when air laced with smoke, burnt concrete, and ozone brushed my hair away from my face. 

But it was air free of dark temptation, and I nodded, squeezed my eyes closed, and pulled in a deep breath. "Fuck that nasty, old—" 

Asher slapped his hand over my mouth—again—eyes narrowed at Scar, hovering over his shoulder. "I know, Mila. But so help me, I will fucking gag you if you speak of it again," he snapped, pulling me a safe distance away from the Curator's man. 

"I'm not going to the bunker," I hissed, prying his fingers off my lips, tossing a furious glare at our shadow. 

"Of course you aren't," he agreed. "Come on. Let's collect Jackson and his men." 

"We don't need this Jackson fool," I sneered, eying the destruction littering the landscape between the front lines and the edge of the Eloran forest. 

Asher ignored me. "And don't speak around him," he said, jerking his chin at Scar. "You may as well say it directly to the Curator." 

"Way I see it," I purred, attention returning to Scar with renewed interest, "the Curator just gave us exactly what we need..." I took a step toward Scar, grinning when the darkness stirred ever so slightly... interested in such a powerful offering. 

"Get your head on straight," Asher hissed, wrapping his forearm around my throat and pulling my back to his front. "You're not draining an Elite, my little lunatic. Save it for my bitch cousin." 

"Fine," I snarled, though I was without the strength to wriggle free of his bear hug. "But she suffers you hear me? For Marc—" I choked on a sob, unable to say his name for the anguish it stirred in my heart. 

"For Marco," Asher agreed, his touch gentling, fingers stroking before he took my hand and pulled me toward the front lines, Scar trailing along behind us. 

*** 

For a Caledonian Elite, Jackson was a compact little man; all wiry muscles on a slender frame. He still towered over me, of course, but when Asher approached, Jackson stood well back, the distance allowing him to make eye contact without having to tilt his head back. A trick I was well acquainted with. 

Jackson's eyes flicked toward me for an instant, then shifted to Scar, and back to Asher without so much as a hint of emotion crossing his features. 

"I need your team," Asher said without preamble. 

Jackson nodded. "We're ready. What's the mission?" 

"Search and rescue," Asher replied, jerking his chin toward the smoking wreckage of the infirmary. 

"And why is the Curator's pretty boy hanging off your coat?" 

"Go fuck yourself, Jackson," Scar replied without heat, not bothering to look at the shorter man. 

I gasped, ripped away from the testosterone laced conversation as pure, unadulterated hatred skittered across my senses. But before I could focus on it, before I could find the thread that would lead me back to the source, I faltered, unable to process such toxicity in my depleted state. 

Asher's dark eyes met mine, his brow raised in question, knuckles white on his weapon. 

I nodded once, glancing in the approximate direction in which I'd last sensed her. Lurking in the shadows. A savage grin lit my face—the stupid woman was still here. Just waiting to be found. But this was one game of hide and seek she'd never win. Not against us. 

"I need the whole story," Jackson growled, face set in a deep scowl, eyes flicking between us. 

"The Brigadier General ordered a search and rescue—" 

"Don't fuck with me Rawlings," Jackson hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need facts, or my team doesn't put boots on the ground. What is she doing out of the bunker?" 

Asher shifted, glancing at Scar looming dark and silent over his shoulder. He said nothing. What could he say? 

Eyes narrowed, Jackson glared at me, searching my face for several long seconds. When he spoke, his voice was softer, the hint of a smile curving his full lower lip. "I see," he drawled, and after another moment of silent contemplation, shrugged. "Suit yourself. What does it matter to me if you get your Priestess killed?" He turned then, freeing his weapon from its holster in one practiced motion. "But I'm telling you right now, Rawlings, me and mine come first. She puts herself in danger, acts stupid, I'm not stopping her. Same goes for you, pretty boy." 

"Shut up and get the others, you disrespectful little shit," Scar replied, adjusting the lapels of his coat before heading toward a bench to wait. 

Jackson's cheek twitched. "Who are we searching for?" he asked, clicking his fingers at two burly Elites standing guard behind a barricade boarding the ruined strip of no-man's land. 

"Lieutenant General Hastings, and..." Asher cleared his throat. 

"Marco's crew?" Jackson asked, nodding and plucking a bottle of water off a table as he passed. The two Elites he'd summoned—his crew—fell into step, dark eyes glittering with interest. "I guess it's a good thing you're bringing your little healer then." 

A wave of cold nausea spilled down my back. "Heal—she's not—" Asher stopped walking, gripping the back of my neck, glancing back at Scar, who was thankfully out of earshot. 

"Relax, Rawlings," Jackson purred, tossing a wicked grin over his shoulder. "If my Priestess was a healer, I'd keep it a secret too." 

"Just get the fucking truck," Asher barked, lips drawn back in a snarl, sweat beading his forehead. 

Jackson smirked, gesturing at his men before slipping around a corner. 

"I like him," I said, rubbing at my temples, trying to dispel the headache building there. "Besides," I continued when Asher tsked, "it's not like we'll be here long enough for him to use that against us." 

He brushed his thumb along the corner of my jaw. "The fewer people who know, the better, Priestess." 

"One thing at a time," I returned, flashing him a glimpse of my modified canines. "Let's go hunting." 

"With pleasure, my Lady," he replied, taking my hand as Jackson and his crew pulled up in a great stinking beast. 

*** 

The trip to the infirmary took less than two minutes, and when I asked why we hadn't walked—nose wrinkled against the horrible diesel fumes filling the flat of the truck—Jackson said he wasn't being paid enough to carry bodies, and closed his eyes. After that, I spent what little time I had staring out the window, waiting for my senses to recover. 

No man's land—the strip of barren field between the Rebel camp and Caledonian-occupied soil—was a pocked mess. Scars from Elite weapons being fired, from both sides, littered the landscape. Blackened holes big enough to swallow the entire truck were smoking, filling the air with the stench of ozone. And in the distance, the electric blue of Rebel shields glimmered, unbroken and standing strong after such an active morning. But not for long, not without the Elite boy to charge their battery cells. Did they know yet? Had they noticed the lynch-pin to their success was no longer in their possession? 

"Ah, shit," Scar murmured as the infirmary came into full view. 

"What's wrong, pretty boy?" Jackson drawled, smirking from his shadowed corner. "Been awhile since you've seen combat?" 

Scar sneered, but didn't have time to respond before the truck came to a grinding halt. 

I lurched to my feet, ready to vault for the door, eager to find Tyra and pick her apart, piece by—Asher caught me by the back of the arm, stopping me dead. 

"We do this right," Asher whispered, running his hand over the pendant sitting high on my collar bones. 

"Right," Jackson barked, forcing me to sit, then strapping spare medical supplies to the belt hanging from his hip. "There's been an explosion of malicious intent at an infirmary. Normally that means there're secondary devices rigged to blow when the first responders arrive on scene. In this case," he continued, picking up a strange box with an antenna, "that's us." 

I glanced as Asher, tilting my head to the side. 

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he nodded, glancing at my flat belly, worry creasing his handsome features. 

"You three," Jackson said, pointing at Scar, Asher, and me, "will enter an area only after it's been cleared by a member of my team. Step foot out of line, even once, and I'll shoot you myself. We get through this by being smart. Do you understand me?" We all nodded, and though Jackson continued to glare, he opened the back of the truck and said, "Good. Let's go find the Lieutenant General, shall we?" 

"Don't worry, Priestess," Asher whispered, placing a large, warm hand on the bare skin of my lower back. "I won't let anything happen to you. Or them," he added, lips pressed to my ear. 

I shook off the nerves, digging for the cold, black fury reserved for Tyra alone. "We're not done until that bitch is dead," I returned, bumping my forehead against his shoulder. 

"Take a deep breath, Mila. This isn't going to be pretty. Shields up." 

He wasn't wrong. Once clear of the truck, I staggered, feeling as if I'd set foot on a different planet entirely. A thick layer of grey dust had settled on everything, still clung to the air in a thick, noxious cloud. The bricks and wooden beams we'd been able to see from the street were what remained of an entire wall that had crumbled during the blast. And the people... some screaming, others moaning, and too many lying quiet. Still. Although the hospital had been a single story building, it had been full of people. The sick, the wounded, the frail. All without the aid of a Priestess such as Carly... or me. 

My stomach turned as Jackson stooped to check the vitals of a young man whose left leg was wrapped in a hip-length cast. When he rolled the man, it became clear he was no longer of this world—what little remained of his face was charred black, the stump of his tongue visible behind charcoal teeth. I turned away, fixating on Asher, soaking my mind with his calm warrior's mask. 

"This area is clear," one of Jackson's Elites murmured, checking the little device with the antenna. The bomb sniffer, as I'd begun to think of it. 

Jackson placed one careful foot on a chunk of loose concrete, motioning us forward. It was slow progress, but each step was another closer to finding Tyra as my senses recovered bit by bit. Though I was almost afraid to look, terrified that I might see the remains of... of recognizable faces, the number of injured was far less than I'd been expecting. In fact, the damage appeared to be contained to the Eastern wing of the infirmary, leaving the vast majority of the building undamaged. 

Doctors and nurses, already on scene before the explosion had occurred, hovered over the wounded, tending to the most serious victims with steely determination etched in the hard lines of their faces. With cold efficiency, they either administered morphine to the rest, or added those already lost to a neat row of black bags lined up along a still standing wall. 

"We should ask them if they've seen... the Lieutenant General," I said, catching Asher's eye, knowing he heard what I didn't say. 

Asher nodded, tapping Jackson on the shoulder and speaking in quiet, rushed tones. 

"Finish the sweep," Jackson said to his men, and they split off in different directions, taking slow, careful steps, eyes fixed to their handheld devices, weapons swinging ready on their hips. 

After catching Jackson's eye and receiving a terse nod, I drifted closer to the injured. If Marco's team had indeed been caught in the blast, they'd be here. Among these unfortunate souls. If we couldn't find them here... the black bags were already conveniently organized. 

A young woman to my left reached for me, her voice hoarse, silken scraps of cloth clinging to her slim figure, free arm wrapped around her midsection. "Priestess... pleas—please... help... me..." 

Unable to stop myself, I snagged a blanket from a passing nurse, stooping to wrap it around her shoulders—and gasped when my hands came away soaked in blood. "Let me see," I soothed, urging her forward. 

"Mila, don't," Asher barked, pulling me away from the breathing corpse. 

"But I can help her..." 

"No, baby, you can't," he said, trying to turn me away from the gruesome sight, pressing my face against his shoulder. 

"Sh—she can," the wounded woman said, wheezing, clutching at shiny ropes of entrails slipping between her fingers. "See? S'not that bad, is it? Jus—just stuff it all back in." 

I wrenched away from my bond-mate, reaching for the broken pleasure slave. 

"Mila, you can't," he whispered against my ear, too low for the victim to hear. "She's already gone, my lady. See how glassy her eyes are? There isn't enough left in her for you to fix. There isn't enough left in you," he added, voice a coaxing rumble against my cheek. 

My lip trembled, but I couldn't look away, not even when Asher wrapped the fragile remnants of my senses in his shield, protecting me from the backlash of her imminent demise. I watched as moments later the pain melted from her face, leaving her pretty and pale beneath the streaks of blood and grime. 

"Thank you," she whispered, voice stronger than it had been a moment before. "Thank you, Priestess. The pain is gone. Thank you..." 

"But I didn't—" My breath caught, for she was gone. Just like that. 

With gentle pressure, Asher turned me away, leading me toward Jackson, Scar, and a stately woman in a long white coat, rubbing tiny firm circles on the back of my neck. "Tyra will pay for it, Mila. I promise you that." 

"My men are sweeping the rest of the building, ma'am," Jackson said. "Hopefully they'll report back with the all clear in a few minutes. In the meantime," he continued, voice devoid of any emotion, "we're looking for Lieutenant General Hastings. Have you—" 

"Over here," the young doctor barked, cutting him off, leading the way toward the line of black body bags. "But I wouldn't open that bag all the way, if I were you," she added, with a shake of her head. 

Jackson unzipped the bag just enough to reveal the mangled face of Lieutenant General Hastings, pocked with a hundred tiny black burns and covered in blood. He was quite dead, as I knew he would be, but somehow seeing the body of the mind I'd been connected with not fifteen minutes prior rocked the foundation of my world. It was so... real. What of his Priestess? Had I even thought to ask after her? Had she survived his death, as I would not survive without Asher? 

"I'll radio the Curator," Scar murmured, withdrawing a sleek handheld device. "Looks like we've got another acting General for the Northern front." 

Asher sneered at Scar's retreating back, pulled out a radio of his own, and hailed the Brigadier General. "Confirmation that the Lieutenant General is dead, sir. Congratulations," he added, voice dry. "You're the acting head of the Northern Front." 

"Alright. Thank you," the Brigadier General said, voice crackling over the radio. "Now get your ass back here, Major Rawlings. Did you really think I wouldn't notice that you took your Priestess with you? What the fuck is wrong with—" 

"Shit! We're losing him!" came a shout from ahead. 

My breath caught in my throat, seeing the familiar black cut of a soldier's uniform. 

"Over and out," Asher snapped, stumbling forward, toward the working doctor, leaving me to follow. 

"Goddess, no," I breathed, scrambling over a mountain of debris, only to come to an abrupt halt at Asher's side. Laid out across slabs of broken concrete, was Aiden. His left leg was dangling by a scrap of flesh, blood seeping from the wound below a rough tourniquet, face grey and waxy in the dim light. 

"Fuck. Fuck! Get me a bag. He's gone." 

Asher's jaw flexed, but he moved at the same time I did, casting desperate eyes around the rubble. And then—"Gabe!" he shouted, rushing toward another cluster of doctors and nurses. Unconscious, dust caked in the sweat pouring off his forehead, but breathing. Against all odds, it seemed, Gabe had managed to shield the Elite boy from further harm, for the child remained on his stretcher, sedated and breathing. 

"How is he, doctor?" Asher asked. 

"Get out of my light," the doctor snarled, not looking up, pressing his weight into a mass of bloody rags on Gabe's chest. 

Asher drew his weapon, pouring a tiny river of strength into it, holding it aloft. 

"Th-thank you," the doctor said, glancing up with wide eyes for an instant before returning his attention to the wounded soldier. "He's critical, but if I can get this lung drained, he'll make it." 

I turned to Jackson as he stepped closer, dark eyes flicking over the scene. "I need your Elites." 

"They're busy at the moment, Priestess," he replied without taking his eyes off the downed man. 

"I wasn't asking," I snapped, seizing his wrist, letting him feel my sluggish power, letting it press against his life force in a threat so primal, his pupils dilated and he stumbled back. "You were right. I am a healer," I said, employing every ounce of self-restraint I possessed to avoid simply draining him then and there. "This mission is a search and rescue. You found them, now help me save him," I continued, unblinking. "I just need more power. I need your Elites." 

He watched me for a moment longer, lips parted, eyes narrowed, before he nodded, and turned on his heel. 

Asher glared at me, fire peeking through his calm warrior's mask. 

I shrugged, said, "We'll leave tonight," then took his hand and knelt in the dirt beside the doctor. "How can I help?" 

"His lung's been punctured," the doctor replied, eyes flicking over my silver-blonde hair. "I need to drain it before I can stabilize him. Unfortunately not Priestess territory," he continued, sighing in relief as a nurse dropped beside him, an archaic looking needle and tube set in one hand, a freestanding lamp in the other. "See if you can apply your skills elsewhere. There are several other soldiers in worse condition." 

My nostrils flared. "Thank you." 

"Get the fuck off me!" came a familiar growl from the left. Reese. "Help him you bloody moron. I'm fine. No, fuck off. I said I'm fine!" 

We turned, as if in slow motion, bringing Marco's once handsome profile into view. A young nurse patted his shoulder, withdrawing a needle from the vein in his right arm before she moved on, her absence revealing the extent of his injuries. A jagged laceration was splashed across the left side of Marco's face, passing through the eye and ending at the top edge of his collar bone, laying open his cheek to the bone. But that wasn't the worst of it. His remaining eye was wide, glassy, and staring into space, his lips moving over silent words. A rusty metal rod protruded from his chest, several inches below his heart. Clean through him. 

"You're not being paid to lay around all day, you lazy bastard," Asher whispered, dropping to his knees beside his fallen friend. 

Marco's gaze sharpened for a moment, and he coughed on a laugh. "Fu... fuck y-you, old man..." he whispered voice almost inaudible over the flurry of activity swirling around us. He held up a twisted black shard of metal, and said, "Im-important," before his head dropped back, and his eye closed. 

"Oh Goddess," I whined, heart pounding. "Is he—" 

"Unconscious," Asher replied, tucking the twisted shard in his pocket. "Hey!" he barked at the doctor still fussing over Reese. "Get over here! He needs help, dammit." 

The doctor glanced up, dodging an irritated swipe from Reese. "I have neither the time nor the resources to deal with an injury like that one. I'm sorry. There isn't much I can do for him, aside from easing his passing, I'm afraid," he said, grimacing. "And I've already given him as much morphine as I can spare at the moment. I'm sorry," the doctor said again, glancing at Marco's still form. "But there are other lives I know I can save." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 27



Asher swallowed, teeth bared as he looked away, plucking Marco's limp hand from the rubble. 

"No," I hissed, placing a ginger finger on the metal pole protruding from his chest. "I don't believe that. I won't." 

"Mila," Asher whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. 

"There's no blood," I pressed, ignoring the desolate set to Asher's features. "You wouldn't let me save the girl because you said there wasn't enough left to work with. But Asher," I urged, clutching at him, "this has stopped the bleeding. There's no blood. I can work with that." Grinding my teeth against the urge to scream, I found Marco's thready pulse, heart lifting. 

Asher perked up. 

"If we can remove this—slowly," I stressed, testing Marco's life force with my weakened senses, and feeling it flicker, "I... I think I can fix the damage as we go." 

Asher shook his head. "Mila... we don't have the power... even if we could... we... we can't," he whispered, eyes sweeping over my belly. 

"We have to try!" I cried, fighting back a flood of tears. "And we'll have what we need in just a moment," I continued, searching the crowd for Jackson and his Elites. When I found them, they were tucking their bomb sniffers away, shaking hands with the stately young doctor, exchanging grim smiles. My skin relaxed. No more bombs. That, at least, was a relief. 

I caught Scar's eye as he returned from contacting the Curator and waved him over, too. 

"What are you doing?" Asher hissed. "Not him. He's the Curator's whipping boy, Mila. You might as well just tell the Curator we're worth his attention." 

"Do you want him to live?" I returned, glancing at Marco's ruined face. 

A wordless snarl burst from Asher's lips, but he didn't argue further. 

"Just..." I swallowed back a lump of nausea, unable to continue looking at Marco's face and keep my breakfast. "Just keep him alive. I'll get what we need." 

Jackson, his men, and Scar all arrived a moment later, faces grim. 

"Ah, shit," Scar drawled, grimacing. "That's too bad. I liked Marco." 

"Save it," I barked, struggling to stand on uneven footing, lingering dizziness made worse by Asher drawing on our bond, holding Marco's spirit here. "He's not dead yet. I'm going to save him." 

Four sets of eyes widened, traveling from Marco, to Asher, and back to me. 

Jackson cleared his throat, but I cut him off. "I'll need your help. All of you." 

"The fuck you want me to do?" Scar asked, incredulous. "I'm no healer." 

I ignored him, looking instead to Jackson. "I need you to trust me." 

"Trust is a rare commodity, Priestess." 

Collecting Asher's fingers, I gathered what little energy we could spare and aimed the remainder of my attention at Jackson, diving into his very core. Drenching my mind with all things Jackson. "You're a good soldier," I purred, holding his eye without blinking. "You do right by your country. Make your people proud. You make the calls others can't. Don't you?" 

His pupils dilated. "Wh-what sorcery is this?" 

I took a step forward, refusing to let him buck me, drawing on Asher's reserves like I never had. "That's what I'm asking you to do now, Jackson. Trust me. Trust me because you're tired," I continued, reaching for the hand resting on his weapon. "You're tired of being treated like an attack dog. Tired of risking your life for a man you've never seen, who never thanks you for your heroism, and wouldn't blink if you died today." I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, relishing the touch of skin on skin, ruthlessly forcing my will down his throat as I took small, economic sips of Jackson's power. Siphoning it to Asher, and through him, Marco. "You're ready for something greater," I murmured, just loud enough for the other Elites to hear, letting my senses seep toward them. Ensnaring them in my net. Building ties between us. "You can feel it, can't you?" I asked, pushing at him with everything I could muster. "Just out of reach. Something... better. I can show you," I whispered, filling him with every ounce of rebellion and defiance living in my heart. 

Jackson inhaled, lips parted, eyes wide. "You're dangerous," he said at length, and although he didn't pull away from my touch, I could feel my grip slipping. 

"No," I replied, flashing him a brief glimpse of my elongated canines. "You're dangerous. But together? We're unstoppable." 

Silence followed my words as four sets of Elite eyes watched me, unblinking, each caught in my delicate, invisible web. 

"I can prove it, if you help us," I pressed, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his eye. "Help us breathe life into a man past saving. Please?" I whispered, blinking for the first time, channeling Carly's sparkling, submissive blue eyes. 

Jackson swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing under an old beard. And then, unable to look away, his chin dipped in the slightest nod I'd ever seen. But it was enough. I beamed up at him, pulling him forward by the wrist, watching the other three follow without hesitation. 

"We'll need someone strong enough to pull that out," I added, touching the length of metal rebar. 

*** 

Four. 

Four Elites. 

Through them, four Priestesses. 

Fourfold and again the power. 

Incredible. 

I shivered, following Asher's lead, concentrating on the flagging spirit in the middle of our circle, focused on the damaged skin, muscle, and bone. I did not, however, go straight to the wounded man, but sunk my healing light into my bond-mate, familiarizing myself with the delicate network of bones, arteries, muscles, and various other tissues housing his vibrant spirit. 

Only when I shifted my attention to the blood seeping around the gray foreign object in Marco's chest did I realize just how extensive the damage was, just how difficult repairs were going to be. Only then did I consider saving Marco might be an impossible task. 

Asher—connected to me in a way the other were not—felt my indecision, sent a wave of reassurance, and flooded my mind with resolve. "Just try," he murmured, watching me as he held the circle together, Jackson, Scar, and the others all physically connected to him in one way or another. Moderating the level of power I had access to... tempering the darkness. 

"Okay," I said, glancing at the human man we'd recruited to remove the twisted metal bar. "Go slowly." 

And so I worked, trying to match the ruined veins and arteries to what I saw in Asher's chest, losing all track of time. One hand on Marco's most devastating wound, the other wrapped tight around Asher's fingers. Marco's face, gruesome though it was, was the very least of my concerns. Deep within his chest cavity, a scant few inches below his heart, an artery had been clipped. Not quite close enough to cause a deadly bleed, or rip through the thick wall of the life sustaining tube, but just enough to cause a pulsing weakness. 

"Stop," I gasped as the bar slid a fraction of an inch past it, threatening to tear a hole in the bulge. Without further comment, I dumped everything I had into repairing it, coaxing new cells to grow, redirecting the majority of Marco's strength into that one, tiny spot. When I'd regained a little confidence, I motioned for them to pull again, hissing when my work was snagged by a burr in the metal. 

Marco lurched, responding to the pain even through his senseless state. 

"Asher," I said, turning sightless eyes upon my bond-mate. "He can't wake up," I urged, glancing at Asher with sightless eyes so he'd know I was speaking to him. 

My bond-mate rallied, pulling surplus energy into himself, replenishing his senses in order to lull Marco into false sleep. Lowering his shield in order to shelter Marco behind it. 

And then all hell broke loose. 

"Tyra," he snarled, head twisting toward her malevolent spirit, unprepared for the onslaught with Marco laying helpless between us. Wrenching his mind away from the task at hand, Asher zeroed in on Tyra. She was close... just a few streets over. Hiding. Biding her time. 

Marco groaned, caught up in Asher's fury—but the sound of distress only served to incite my bond-mate further. "She's mine," he breathed, rising to a half stand, caught up in the all-consuming need for vengeance on the woman who'd wrought so much damage. Losing himself to the darkness. 

But that was my curse. "Asher, don't—" 

"Well, well, well," said a familiar voice. "Looks like we've caught ourselves five Elites, boys." 

"Rebels!" Jackson shouted, taking a half step away from the circle, reaching for his weapon with his free hand. 

"Ah, no. I wouldn't do tha' if I were you," the newcomer drawled. "Wouldn't want t'get shot, now would yeh?" 

"Jackson, not another step!" I shouted, finding myself cut off from both Jackson and his Priestess, staggering under the additional weight necessary to sustain Marco's life. Marco, too, felt the strain, groaning beneath me and raising a weak, trembling hand a few inches off the ground. I forced him to sleep while scrambling for the unraveling ends of the circle, desperate to keep it together. 

"Alicia?" the voice gasped, moving closer. "Oh, but that's not right, is it?" the speaker sneered. "It's 'Mila' now, yeah?" 

I blinked, trying to see something other than Marco's innards, to force my Elites to remain with the circle, to place the voice speaking my name. "Josh?" I asked, squinting up at him. But his face was distorted behind a rippling blue light. It took another moment to realize I was staring down the barrel of a modified Elite weapon, complete with shield. 

"Get the fuck away from her," Asher snarled, Tyra forgotten as he took a step forward, flanked by Jackson, Scar, and the others. 

"Asher, don't break the circle!" I cried, shooting frantic eyes at Marco, noting the heinous grey pallor on his cheeks, knowing I wouldn't have the power to hold his spirit without them. 

"What circle?" Josh asked, peering around the edge of his shield at the jagged line of Elites, brows furrowed. "Oh, and I'd listen teh yer little viper there, if I were you," he added, stroking the side of his weapon. "Take another step and we'll shoot." 

"What's stopping you?" Jackson asked, placing his hand back on Asher's shoulder. And in spite of Jackson's inflammatory words, I breathed an immediate sigh of relief, weaving his power around Marco once again. 

"I can shoot you if you'd like," Josh allowed, sending Jackson a confused glance. "But I'd really rather not. We have another... more noble job in mind for you lot. Seems we've had a recent opening in the Eloran United Forces that you five would fill rather nicely." 

"So you bomb a hospital?" Scar sneered, taking another half step forward. "Gutless fucking cowards." 

Asher, recovered from his brush with Tyra's evil presence, snagged Scar's arm, stopping him from leaving. 

"Bomb a hospital?" Josh asked, then laughed, the sound sharp and unnatural in the smoky, death-filled air. "We didn't bomb yer fuckin' hospital, Elite. But we're not above taking advantage of a situation. Ye've yerselves t'thank for that," he added his accent thickening with passion. "Ye've reduced us to right fine scavengers, haven't yeh?" 

"Sure," Scar sneered, lip curling. "We're just supposed to believe—" 

"He's not lying," I said, interrupting him, unfocused eyes fixed deep within Marco. "The Rebels had nothing to do with this." 

"Then who did?" Jackson asked, contempt pulling him further and further from the circle, threatening to pull his men away from me, regardless of their continued contact. 

"Tyra Tilcot," Asher replied, speaking for me. 

"She's a Rebel mole!" Scar declared, wrenching free of Asher's grip. "That's already been established!" 

I whimpered, feeling Marco begin to slip past my ability to help him. 

"They're here to silence their loose end," Scar continued, reaching for his weapon, radiating menace. 

"They're here to collect Elites," Asher said, forestalling Scar's rampage, buying me—and Marco—a few precious seconds. "They need us to power their shields, isn't that right? You're probably running low on battery cells already, aren't you? Especially after this morning. After losing the boy." 

Josh didn't respond past a furious glare in my direction—a glare I felt, rather than saw. 

"Ha!" Scar barked, stepping close to Asher. "And what makes you think I take orders from—" 

But my bond-mate didn't give him time to continue, cutting him off by seizing the larger man about the throat. "How does a mad woman under lock and key get access to a bomb?" he asked, gesturing at the destruction still smoking around us, subtly draining Scar at the same time. Channeling the surplus energy back to me. 

"Find Tyra, find proof," I whispered, face going slack with the effort to sustain Marco and follow the conversation. 

"Easy enough," Jackson said, nodding at his men. "We'll be off then—" 

"No!" Josh and I shouted at the same time. 

"Don't fucking move," Josh elaborated, weapon trained on Jackson's chest. 

"You'll kill him," I whispered at the same moment, desperately trying to patch Marco up while I still had access to the energy I needed. 

"Hate to say it, Priestess," Jackson retorted, not taking his eyes off Josh and the Rebels, "but there's more important things going on right now than the life of one soldier." 

I bared my teeth when Asher did little more than clench his fists, for Jackson wasn't wrong. Drawing on my Elites with everything I had, I knew it wouldn't be long until the circle broke. Until Marco was truly beyond hope. 

"Now this is how things are going t'go," Josh said, eyes flicking from one Elite face to another. "Yeh'll drop yer weapons and come with us peacefully. This doesn't have to be hard." 

"No," I hissed through my teeth, dumping the weight of Marco's life on Asher. "Enough." 

"Ha!" Josh barked, fixing his gaze on me. "I'll tell yeh when it's enough, yeh two-faced little bitch." 

At the very end of my rope, I snarled, flinging the full weight of my Elites and their Priestesses at Josh's pitiful human defenses. "You're angry because you think I betrayed you," I said, catching him with ease. "And I'm truly sorry that my actions haven't aligned with your cause." I paused, drawing him in, making him feel the truth of my words. "But we're fighting on the same side—" 

Incredibly, he bucked me. "Yeh expect me teh believe yeh still fight to end the Empire? You're saving them! Even now." 

"I fight to preserve life," I returned, realizing it was true even as I continued to pull him deeper, stopping just short of smothering him with my will. "You would make slaves of these men. Draw on their life force until there's nothing left. And you're not wrong," I allowed, feeling fury rise within him at my words. "You must do whatever it takes to protect your people. You are strong and brave and noble. But slavers are none of these things, Josh," I continued, beckoning him closer, reaching for his hand. When he placed his rough palm in mine, soft brown eyes glassy and wide, I smiled, concealing my elongated canines. He was mine, and with him, his men. 

Josh lowered his weapon, dropping the shield and exposing himself to the wall of furious Elites behind me. Jackson was not prepared to let such an opportunity pass, and reached for his holster—but Asher laid a hand on his forearm, shaking his head, eyes fixed upon me. 

"There is always another way," I purred, sending Asher a wave of gratitude. "A way in which no more of your people die. Where they are free to live in peace. But the first step must be yours. Break the cycle," I whispered, appealing to the kind man I'd had a glimpse of in Rebel Mountain. "You know what you're doing is wrong, Josh. Don't let them corrupt you." 

"How?" he asked, voice soft, features slack. 

"You didn't bomb this infirmary," I said, lifting one shoulder in a delicate shrug. "Prove it. Rise above this racism." 

Josh nodded, fire flickering in the depths of his soft brown eyes. "We'll collect Tyra Tilcot," he said, voice monotonous. "As an act of faith." He adjusted his grip on his shield gun. "Find Tyra, find proof. Of our innocence in this." 

I smiled then, toothy and genuine. Two major problems, one easy solution. "Good idea," I agreed, stroking his cheek. "Tyra's soul is twisted and black... I've felt it. She wants to watch the world burn, Josh... you can't let that happen. At any cost." 

"I won't," he promised, eyes lingering on my lips. 

I nodded, pulling away, pointing in the direction I knew Tyra was hiding. 

Without another word, he turned, snapping his fingers at his men, and disappeared in the shadows between two buildings. 

"What are you?" Scar whispered when I dropped to my knees beside Asher, reclaiming the threads tethering Marco's spirit to this world. 

But I didn't answer him, already too absorbed in the Herculean task waiting for me in Marco's chest. 

*** 

"Where—" Marco gasped, voice much too loud for someone who could scarcely draw breath, let alone someone who'd only been free of life-threatening foreign bodies for a scant ten minutes. I laced my fingers with his as he coughed, feeding him a slow trickle of Elite energy so he might try again. "Whereisit?" As he struggled to sit up, his remaining good eye darted about the remains of the hospital, sweat dampening the fresh pink scar bisecting the left side of his face. 

"What are you doing, you fool?" I hissed, pressing him back with ease. "I've only made the damage slightly less life threatening. Be still," I added, gesturing at the doctor set to take over Marco's care. 

He seized my wrist. "Where is it?" 

"Where is what?" I asked, nodding at a nurse as she held up a needle full of morphine, an inquisitive tilt to her head. 

"The—" he coughed, bringing up a wad of bloody phlegm. I handed him a handkerchief with a grimace. "Where's the sh-shard?" 

"What shard?" 

"A-Asher. I gave it to-to Asher." 

My bond-mate frowned, stepping into the light. 

"You have it?" Marco wheezed, reaching for Asher's forearm. 

Nodding, Asher ran his hands down the length of his torso, searching pockets as he went. "Yeah," he said at length, pulling the twisted, black length of metal out of his pocket. "You said it's important—" 

"S-serial numbers," Marco whispered, good eye drooping. 

"What serial numbers?" Asher asked, blinking at his best friend. But Marco's second wind had died as quickly as it had come, and he slipped back into the still sleep of the very sick and wounded. 

I took the shard from Asher's fingers with a huff, squinting at the grimy thing in the gloomy half-light. "Right here," I said, rubbing my thumb over the raised digits, scrubbing away a layer of scorched soot. 

Asher took it back, tilting the shard to catch the light, his brow furrowed. And then he paled. "Jackson get the truck!" he hollered, scrambling toward the other Elites. 

"Asher—" I gasped, fingers still laced with Marco's. "What—" 

"You're staying here, Priestess. With Marco and the wounded." 

"No I'm not," I replied without thought, forced to release Marco as I rushed to keep up with Asher's long legged stride. 

"Don't argue with me. This is the safest place for you. " 

"Safest—Stay with him," I ordered the nurse, lending Marco a final parting glance. "Asher! What are you talking about?" 

"This!" He pressed Marco's shard under my nose. "I spent six months with the Western Front before I was sent here," he said in a rush, the whites of his eyes visible as he scanned the area around us. "I still have the occasional nightmare about the explosions. The Westerners," he continued, passing the shard to Jackson as he jogged over to us, "were master bomb makers. Naturally that fact alone was enough to draw the Emperor's attention West." 

"Tyra's in league with Western bombers?" I asked, taking three running steps for every one Asher took. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 27



"We took the West, Mila. I was deployed at the very end of the conflict. Just in time to see the worst of it, of course. To witness a new generation of bombs born." 

"That treacherous piece of filth," Jackson spat, passing the shard to Scar, who blanched, whispering, "no, it's not possible," under his breath. 

"Asher, please!" 

"The Empire assimilates the technology of the nations we conquer, Mila," he said, coming to an abrupt halt beside the great diesel truck. 

Jackson's men were strapping a single black bag in the flat of the truck—the late Lieutenant General Hastings, I assumed—and glanced up as Jackson wrenched open the driver-side door, vaulting into the cab. 

"This," Asher continued, taking the shard from a white-faced Scar, "is the remains of the highest quality bomb known to man. No longer marked with the Westerner's state insignia, but serial numbers. Owned by Caledonia." 

"Oh," I breathed, finally understanding. "How—why bomb their own—" 

"That's not all, Priestess," Asher pressed, tucking the shard in a safe pocket. "These devices were known to be especially nasty for the secondary explosion rigged with shrapnel." When I blinked, thoroughly confused, Asher continued. "I've seen what these bombs can do to people standing too close. This isn't it." 

"The secondary bomb didn't—Oh. Oh." 

He nodded. "It would seem Tyra isn't finished with her quest for vengeance. And she has another bomb." 

"But how—" 

"If you won't stay where it's safest then find her," Asher demanded, cutting me off as he picked me up and set me in the flat of the truck, hopping in beside me. "Find her first. I'll explain everything when we've stopped her." 

"With pleasure," I murmured, gathering my power about me in search of the madwoman who dared threaten my people. It wasn't hard, not with my blood thrumming with the combined strength of four Elites and their Priestesses. Even still, it took a moment to pick out her twisted spirit, as close to the Elites as she was. "Oh, no," I breathed, meeting Asher's eyes. 

"Where, Mila?" Asher barked, both hands on my shoulders, giving me a little shake. 

"The Priestesses... Asher... She's heading right for them. She's so close..." 

"Sonofawhore," Jackson snarled, thrusting the ancient vehicle in gear, tires spitting gravel in a great tail behind us. 

"Relax," Scar said from beside us. "The Priestess bunker is designed to withstand a bigger explosion than what she's got." 

"The Priestesses are the only ones in the bunker," Asher retorted, pulling out his radio and silencing Scar. "Brigadier General. Come in, sir. It's an emergency." 

"What?" Viridian snapped, his irritation audible even through the tinny radio pitch. 

"Lock down Headquarters," Asher barked, wrapping his fingers around the back of my neck. "You've got Tyra inbound. She's carrying explosives." 

For a moment, the line was silent, and then, "Where are you?" Viridian asked, voice clipped. 

"We're here," Jackson said over his shoulder, features set in a tight scowl as he pulled into the driveway, tires screeching to a halt. 

When Asher relayed the information, Viridian's voice exploded over the line. "Stay where you are! Don't come one step closer. I swear to fucking God, disobey me in this and I'll have your ass nailed to a whipping post before I ship you off. Keep that Priestess of yours away from this, Asher." 

Asher met my eye, a ghostly tremor passing over his features. 

My hands went straight to the twins, power crackling around me. He was right—this was... this was madness. Pure and simple. To endanger the twins like this... 

Scar's dark eyes glittered in the half-light, watching my every move, cataloging Asher's every subtle gesture. 

Leaving the door open behind him, Jackson vaulted from the driver's seat, the others following close on his heels. "Where is she?" he barked, weapon snug against his shoulder. 

I turned away from Scar's penetrating gaze, swallowing the urge to unleash the darkness and eliminate any possible threat he might represent. "We can't abandon them," I whispered, fixing my attention on my bond-mate. 

Asher ran his thumb along my lower lip. "They aren't my priority." 

I leaned into his touch, relishing our connection, the steady thrum of his energy as it flowed through me. 

"Goddamn it," Jackson snarled, snapping his fingers at us. "Summon your magic, Priestess and point me in the right direction. Your bitch cousin won't get close enough to threaten what's mine, Rawlings." 

"Find her," Asher said, pulling me to him, giving me access to his power. 

I hesitated, swallowing the dark impulse as his essence washed over me, hands drifting to the twins of their own volition. But I closed my eyes all the same, letting Asher deal with the here and now as I drifted down the dark and twisted path tying me to Tyra. 

So many Elites. Too many, too close. Clouding my vision. Obscuring the vicious bitch with their casual power. Drawing my attention away from the task... tempting... 

"Focus," Asher snapped, filling me with the vibrant energy of Scar and his Priestess, keeping me grounded. 

"More," I gasped, trying to push the unsuspecting Elites away, to ignore the low buzz of panic surging within HQ. Distracted by the evacuation and the familiar, furious energy, coming this way. "Viridian," I whispered, raising my left hand toward the Brigadier General as he rounded the corner at a dead sprint. 

"Tyra, baby," Asher purred, stroking my back, giving me Jackson and his Priestess. "Find Tyra." 

"Major Rawlings!" Viridian hollered, red faced and puffing. "Was I unclear? Get her the fuck out of—" 

Scar stepped between me and Viridian, seizing the Brigadier General's throat in an iron fist, cutting him off, muscles rippling with unsuppressed fury. "Not another step, old man." 

"Wha—" Viridian gagged, pulling at Scar's fingers. "What tha' fuck—" 

Asher placed his hand on Scar's shoulder, shaking his head without taking his eyes off me. 

Scar released the Brigadier General, stepping back with his hand on his weapon. "Don't touch her." 

"She's not in danger from me, you fucking idiot!" Viridian bellowed, rubbing at the marks around his throat. 

I whined, Tyra's thread slipping through my fingers as my attention splintered. 

Asher cupped my face in both hands, pressing my forehead to his chest. "Focus here, Priestess. Find her so we can go. So I can take you away from here." 

I inhaled Asher's scent, relishing it regardless of the tang of sweat, the lingering burnt ozone, or the fainter coppery nip of Marco's blood on his shirt. Allowing it to center me. 

He pressed his palms over my ears, blocking out the argument escalating between Scar and Viridian—and dropped his shield, cutting me off from the others, but giving me everything I needed to find her. Giving himself. Joining me in the hunt. 

Heads twisting to the side, we turned as one toward the target, finding her through the blinding haze of Priestess and Elite lives pulsing around us. I laughed, stepping forward, the embodiment of vengeance and wrath. This was easy! And she was so close... it would only take a minute or so to get to her. And then... and then we'd get justice for the lives she'd taken, and the people she'd hurt. Tyra would never take another life. 

We stepped off the tailgate together, our Elites falling in around us, weapons drawn. 

"What are you doing?" Viridian hissed, trying to stand in our way. "Where's your head, Asher? Don't be a fool!" 

Jackson pushed him aside, dark eyes sweeping the perimeter. "They'll come to no harm, sir." 

"No one touches them," Scar added, lip curled. 

For a moment, Viridian's jaw worked over words stuck in his throat, cheeks flaming with indecision. And then he did something quite unexpected. "You'll be working a desk job for the rest of your life, Major Rawlings," he rasped, withdrawing a handsome chrome and gold Elite weapon from his hip holster, joining our ranks. "I cannot stress how valuable this pair of morons is," he continued, taking point. "I don't care who you have to kill, they make it through—you hear me?" 

Matching grins spread across every face present, and a chorus of, 'yes sir,' burst from every pair of lips. 

My heart lurched, pounding with an excitement not my own—Tyra was making her move. Eager for it. Teeth bared and blind to my surroundings, I stepped forward, filled with the savage joy of the hunt. 

Asher surpassed me, long legs carrying him toward her at a pace that begged me to compete. Rising to the challenge, I picked up a light jog, heart singing with the thrill, laughing as we raced toward our prey. Fingers intertwined with mine, he gave freely, fueling both me and the twins, matching my strides as we sprinted beside each other, flanked by the most powerful warriors in the Caledonian army. 

I buried myself in her mind, feeling every nuance, every flicker that passed through her—and found an odd sense of acceptance slowing my steps. She was... at peace. Quite the opposite of the twisted, bitter woman I'd become intimate with since the death of Harper Tilcot. My senses tingled, prickling the small hairs on the back of my neck, putting an abrupt end to my hunt and pulling me out of the darkness altogether. Something wasn't right... even a mad-woman should be able to see these were futile actions, for Scar was right. The Elites would never let her get close enough to threaten the Priestesses, or themselves. So what— 

We rounded the HQ building, and I slid to a halt, my Elites fanning out around me and Asher, weapons drawn. Wandering the battered strip of No Man's Land, Tyra Tilcot moved through the ozone-laden mist, clutching a case to her chest. Blood streaked her pretty, angular face. Her hair, once long and glossy, was a tattered mess tied in a haphazard knot atop her head. Yet in spite of the haggard exterior, her face was split with a radiant smile, aglow with happiness. 

But we were not the first hunting party on scene. Josh Trapper and his men lay in wait, crouched between Tyra and HQ, unseen, hiding behind a massive dirt berm created by the discharge of Elite weapons. Attention drawn by our arrival, Josh turned and caught my eye. His chin dipped in a slight nod before he drew his weapon, now only a few dozen feet from an unsuspecting Tyra. 

A moment later, Tyra's wild eyes found mine, and savage joy burst through her. She caressed the case in her hands, picking up a light jog, and came straight toward me. 

"Get down!" Viridian snarled, shoving me behind a concrete barrier. "Anyone have a shot?" 

"Not if that's the bomb she's carrying. She's too close," Scar murmured, crouching beside me. "It might explode." 

Viridian, Scar, Jackson and his men drew their weapons anyway, taking aim. 

"Lady Tilcot, stop!" Viridian hollered—but Asher's muscles bunched, as if ready to spring forward, completely lost to the darkness... his mind and energy still tied to Tyra's life force. 

It all happened too fast to do more than experience the horror. I screamed, knowing what would happen should Asher remain tied to her when they shot her. Wrenching my mind away from the hunting party, I put everything I had into a hasty shield and thrust past his defenses, cutting my bond-mate off from the darkness, stunning him with the abrupt loss. 

My cry made Josh jump, his head snapping back to me. His eyes widened at the sight of five Elites aiming for Tyra, weapons spitting green fire. Following their line of sight, Josh's head popped over the berm, bringing him face to face with Tyra who was sprinting now, closing the distance between us faster than he'd anticipated. 

And then she reached for the clasp on the case. 

Viridian, too, had been distracted by my outburst, shouting, "Shoot her!" a second too late. 

Josh had already scrambled over the berm. He dropped his modified weapon in his haste and lunged for the charging woman. He tackled her about the middle, launching them toward a deep pit left by an Elite weapon. His momentum set her off balance, spinning her clockwise. She fumbled the case. 

My breath hitched as I watched it travel a great arc, still caught by the fingers on her left hand. When it hit the limit of her reach, the case snapped back, cracking it open and revealing a mess of gray blocks and colorful wires. 

For one, endless second, Josh's face was visible, set in a determined grimace, honey brown eyes meeting mine below Tyra's bony elbow. 

Gravity pulled the pair down just as the case flashed white, searing Josh's face into my retinas. 

*** 

Author's Note: Ohhhhai. Good to see you. How's things with y'all been? They good? I hope so... Okay, hey now. Don't look at me like that. It's only a wee cliffy this time, right? Not so bad!! Could have been worse. I COULD have had Mila administer some lovin' to bring Marco back, and then they could have ridden off into the sunset on the dorsal fin of a great Levathian. THAT would have been a cliffhanger. No? Maybe you're right. That might have just been madness, but now you've got a little window into why it takes me so long to write these chapters. I'm wrestling with a lot of crazy up in this noodle, you see. Sometimes Baron VonKarmann, SF, unoriginalnames, and Princess Consuela Bananahammock have to rope me in. It's a team effort. And this is a ramble. 

If you still love me, comment and let me know what you thought. Come on, now! This is synergy, people. I'm the parasite on your mind! Feed me with your thoughts!! ;) haha omg I'm done now. Kthxbai!! 

Love and kisses, 

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 28



Hey guys! So this is almost it. We're almost at the ending. If you follow me on social media, you'll know that Chapter 29 is already finished, which means the entire story is now complete. I'm pretty pumped about it, as you can imagine. :) And I've already started working on the rewrite as I wait for the edits for chapter 29 to come back. :) :) :) 

Anyway, right to it. :) Last time, on Tritan: Mila communes with the darkness and her tiny family as they float about in nothingness, then wakes to Carly getting handsy and frantic. Mila tells everyone the Lieutenant General is dead, and they can't find Marco, which naturally means he's dead too. Then the Curator kicks the door in, trying to take command of the men, and Viridian grows a set, exposing a few teeny holes in the Curator's story. Asher uses the confusion to manipulate Viridian into letting he and the Lady Wildcat go on a hunting mission (which pisses Viridian off, especially when the Curator also sends Scar along for some spying and fun), and we meet Jackson and his team. The infirmary is a bloody mess, but they find the Lieutenant General's body and confirm that Viridian is now the acting head of the Northern Front. Then they find Marco's team—Aiden is dead, Gabe has a punctured lung, Reese is mostly okay, and Marco's all kinds of beat up. (You shouldn't have told me you love him... ) Missing an eye, and impaled with some nice, rusty rebar. He gives Asher a shard (which was a fucking derp on my part, and I don't know how it happened aside from the fact that I was probably drinking too much caffeine and sleeping too little. Ma'scusie.) Mila convinces the Elites to let her use them, and saves Marco, and they form a circle of badassery, where Mila and Asher earn some much-needed loyalty. Before they're done with Marco, Josh Trapper makes another appearance, trying to collect some more Elites to fuel their shields, but Mila warps his mind and sends him on a Tyra-hunting mission. Marco wakes up, Asher realizes the significance of the shard (I'm sorry!) and they figure Tyra's not finished with her quest for vengeance. They warn Viridian that she's on her way with another bomb, and pin to find her themselves. Viridian tells them to stay away (which is sound advice) and is furious when they ignore him—which is when Scar and Jackson show their desire to protect the Lady Wildcat, and hearts swoon. ;) Viridian joins them, they run toward Tyra in an effort to stop her, and arrive just in time for front row seats to watch Josh Trapper (still under Mila's persuasive influence) throw himself into the path of danger. Boom! On with the show!! 

*** 

The shock-wave stole my breath, knocking me flat on my ass. An instant later, a wall of sound caught me too, compressing my lungs with concussive force. Black stars twinkled at the edge of my vision, but I clung to consciousness, fighting the weight pressing me to the uneven ground. Dirt, rocks, and bits of scalding-hot metal rained down upon us, but though I was dazed, I didn't flinch. 

Ears squealing a high-pitched tune, I blinked, shoving at the weight pinning me to the ground. 

It was Scar, braced above me, face set in tight lines. His lips moved, but his words were drowned by the block in my ears. "What?" I shouted, head tilted back. "I can't hear you." 

"Are you hit?" he bellowed, running his hands over my shoulders. 

I shook my head, following the path his hands traced over my torso—until Asher, similarly pinned beneath Viridian—caught my eye. Scar continued his assessment as I reached for Asher with my sense, loosing a shaky breath when my bond-mate met me halfway. 

Asher's inspection went south, directly for the Twins nestled in their cocoon, slumbering even through the chaos of the last fifteen seconds. "C'mere," he breathed, reaching for me. 

Scar pushed off me, clapping the dirt off his hands. 

"Is everyone alright?" Viridian asked, dark eyes finding mine as Asher wrapped himself around me, filling me with his clumsy, wild version of Elite healing. 

"I'm hit," came a breathless reply from my right—one of Jackson's men hadn't been able to get his entire large body behind the concrete barrier. "It's not bad," he continued, fingers pressed to the red seeping from the meat of his shoulder. 

"Flesh wound," Jackson agreed, then peered over the edge of the barrier, weapon tucked tight beneath his armpit. "I need eyes on the Tilcot woman." 

"It would be my pleasure," Scar said, stepping around the concrete barrier before I'd taken another breath. 

"Oh, for fuck—that's not what I meant!" Jackson snapped, watching Scar pick his way through the debris littering the field between us and Tyra. "Fucking amateur," he added under his breath, but after a moment, moved to follow, looking down the barrel of his weapon, searching for movement of any sort. 

Without being told, both his men stood, though the one who'd taken the shrapnel struggled, breathing hard as he tried to take position with one hand, his wounded arm hanging limp at his side. 

"You stay," Jackson ordered, glancing back. "I'm not a babysitter." 

Shrapnel nodded, sinking to his backside with a tight sigh, resting against the concrete barrier. 

Keeping my head low, I crawled toward the injured man, placing my hand above the wound in his right shoulder. "May I?" 

Shrapnel hesitated for a moment, dark eyes searching my face. "Sure," he allowed, shifting toward me. "Work your magic, my lady." 

Asher moved to his knees as I proceeded, hand drifting to the back of my neck—a silent offer of strength, should I need it. 

"Any m-movement over there?" Shrapnel gasped, grimacing as I dug through the wound in search of the offending bit of metal piercing his flesh. 

Asher peered over the edge of the barrier. "Nothing yet." 

Drawing on my bond-mate's strength, I commanded Shrapnel's body to heal, using his uninjured shoulder as a point of reference. When the skin and muscle had knit, stemming the flow of blood, I stopped to conserve our strength, leaving Shrapnel with a working—if still wounded—right arm. 

"Hang on," Asher said, muscles tightening as he peered over the ledge. "I think we've got trouble—Oh. Never mind. It's just those Rebels stumbling around." 

"Her pets from the infirmary?" Shrapnel asked, jerking his chin at me. 

When Asher's head bobbed, I swallowed, blinking away the after-glow of Josh's soft brown eyes. Eyes that would never again—I choked, something deep within me twisting. I shoved it away, ignoring Shrapnel's side-eye as I turned to watch Jackson and Scar. There were indeed several Rebel soldiers wandering around the place I'd last seen Josh and Tyra, taking stumbling, uneven steps. All three men were covered in blood and dirt, modified Elite weapons dangling from slack fingers. 

I stood, stepping over Shrapnel's legs. 

"Oh fuck no," Asher snarled, catching me about the waist, hauling me off my feet as he stopped my momentum with his forearm. "That's a sight you don't need to see, Priestess." 

"Finally," Viridian drawled, arms crossed over his chest, back pressed to the barrier, "an ounce of common sense. I was beginning to wonder." 

"Let me go," I returned, voice calm, not bothering to struggle against him or acknowledge the Brigadier General. 

"Not fucking likely." 

"They need help." 

"I don't give a shit." 

"I can't just let them—" 

"Sure you can," Asher said, cutting me off as Shrapnel stepped toward us, drawing and scanning the obliterated field around us for threats, weapon snug against his left shoulder. "Let's start with walking away from the men who'd like to enslave you for your power, hmm?" 

"Har, har," I snipped, trying to shrug him off when he smirked at me, reeking of irony. And then, when I'd taken a moment to gather my thoughts, added, "I did this to them, Asher." 

"No." He turned me, pressing my cheek to the solid muscle above his heart. "This is Tyra's doing." 

"You know what I mean," I whispered, breathing him in. "They wouldn't be here if it weren't for me. What I did. And Josh..." 

To this, Asher said nothing, letting my statement go without rebuttal. "Report," he barked, speaking over my head. 

Jackson cleared his throat, holstering his weapon as I twisted to see his face. "The Tilcot woman and the Rebel are dead." 

"You're sure?" 

"Very." 

"Did you get confirmation—" 

"Mate," Jackson said, pulling out a battered, Rebel shield gun. "There's not much left to get confirmation from," he continued, checking over his prize. "But pretty boy's digging around in the muck for whatever unfathomable reason, so feel free to ask him." 

"Good," Viridian said, joining us. "Disaster avoided with minimal loss of life. Well done, team." 

I shuddered, pulling away from my bond-mate, wandering to the opposite side of the concrete barrier—and realized just how close we'd come to a horrific and painful death. Though the barrier was two feet thick, tiny silver ball bearings had obliterated the smooth finish, tearing away chunks of concrete in several places. If Josh hadn't tackled Tyra, sacrificing himself at my behest, we would have been hit with the full force of the explosion. 

I traced the uneven surface with my fingertips, watching Josh's Rebels stumble around in the destruction. It would be easy to summon them, to follow the threads I'd tied between us and bring them to me. To repair any damage they'd sustained in pursuit of Tyra. But would they let me, having seen me manipulate their leader at the cost of his life? While I'd already demonstrated that something as paltry as consent couldn't stand in my way, would I be condemning them in doing so? After all, an infirmary had been bombed. A living person needed to take the blame. Might I save them, only to see them accused and publicly executed for these heinous crimes? 

"Stop it," Asher said, tugging my hair. 

Too tired to speak, I merely raised my eyebrows, gaze still following the stunned Rebel soldiers. 

"This isn't your fault." 

I nodded, but kept my silence, pulling away from my Elites. Cutting myself off from the majesty of our collective power. 

"Hey," Asher murmured, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. 

But before he could continue, a door banged open, and I spun as a great rush of Elites and Caledonian soldiers alike flooded the field. Though it had been reinforced, the front of HQ had taken the worst of the damage from the explosion. Extra thick glass hadn't been enough to stop a swarm of tiny silver ball bearings as they obliterated everything in their path. 

Agony seeped through my shield, and I whined, jaw slackening under the onslaught of so much pain... So many injured Elites... 

Without speaking, Asher nudged me behind him as Jackson and his men closed ranks in front of us, smothering me in the cool peace behind his shield. 

For a moment, the only sounds were HQ creaking and groaning under its own weight. The shellshocked Caledonians—gawking at the damage with wide, dark eyes—were silent. 

It didn't take long for our ragged little group to attract the unwanted attention of the mob before us. When someone from within HQ screamed, setting the spark, the wounded and confused Caledonians staggered toward us as one. 

I reeled, digging my nails into my palms, doing everything I could to resist the lure of such a feast. So much feeling, so much raw power... 

Growling low in his throat, Jackson shoved his Rebel shield gun at Asher, drawing on his own people, uncertain if the wounded beast would turn on us—though the muzzle was low, aimed at the dirt. 

Not one to be left out, Asher sneered, muttering, "Hold this," under his breath as he passed the Rebel weapon to me, swinging his heavy gun forward, aiming from the hip. 

Struggling to wrap my fingers around the grip, juggling the awkward, ungainly thing, I watched as my Elites faced off against their countrymen. 

"Easy," Viridian murmured, placing a hand on Jackson's shoulder before stepping forward, once again donning the cloak of acting General of the Northern Front. "I need threat assessment, and cleanup crews on the double. Get me an entire wing of Elites, armed and ready. There's still an army of Rebels camping on our front lawn, boys. Get medics on scene, and set up a triage right here. Move!" 

"It collapsed," gasped a man covered in soot and blood, stumbling toward General Viridian. "The whole front of the building came down, sir. There's—" he started coughing, tears cutting a path through the filth on his cheeks, leaving behind dark crevasses. 

"We need medics in HQ," Coffee Buddy said, hands pressed to his side as he skidded to a halt before us, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead. "It's... it's bad, sir. Fucking hell, what happened out here?" 

I glanced at Asher, tucking the Rebel shield gun under my arm and burying myself in the safety of Asher's mind for fear of brushing up against a horde of dead and dying Elites. "I suppose you'll let me help them?" 

Face twisting, my Elite nodded, but spoke to Coffee Buddy instead. "Get a crew ready to evacuate the building. I want no more than ten men going in, none of them Elite. We're going to need everything we've got out here. Just in case." 

Viridian nodded. "Set up a triage over there," he said, pointing. "Rate the wounded on a scale from one to three, one being the most serious and in need of a Priestess." 

"Yes sir," Coffee Buddy said, swiping at the blood trickling between his eyes, and before I could offer to fix him up, he turned on his heel, tottering off as fast as he could manage. 

"Asher," I whispered, blinking at the men scrambling in and out of HQ, each in a various state of dishevelment. "This isn't a good idea. I don't think... I can't fix them all." I whined. "There's so much pain... It's too much..." 

"I know, baby," he replied, brushing my hair back from my face. "I don't expect you to do this alone." 

I frowned, tearing my gaze away from the wounded. 

"You'll have reinforcements. Jackson," Asher barked before I could follow his logic, "we need a barricade set up. Somewhere for the wounded to go where no prying eyes can see them." 

Jackson squinted at Asher for a moment, then said, "Why?" And when he got no response, Jackson took an involuntary step back. "Oh, fuck no! That's an idiotic plan, mate. You want to risk your Priestess, you go right ahead. I won't stop you. But you can't tell me what to do with mine. I don't give a fuck what your rank is." 

"We need their strength," Asher replied, color rising in his cheeks. 

"Not with her here, we don't. She can deal with the worst of the wounded." 

"I'm just as likely to kill the Elites as heal them," I admitted, eyes fixed on my toes in order to avoid seeing the condemnation I felt in Jackson. "I shouldn't—I shouldn't be near this much death... it's dangerous. For everyone." 

"Not with us here," Asher replied, tracing the edge of my jaw, forcing me to raise my eyes. 

Gaze locked on his, my lips twisted. That was a lie, and we both knew it. If I lost myself, nothing here could stop me. 

"My Carly is a healer, too," Viridian mused, following the procession of wounded men as they began to make their way clear of the ruined HQ building, some borne on makeshift stretchers, others able to walk under their own power. "She was Sasha's prodigy, once upon a time." 

"Which is why you can't risk her," I insisted, shaking Asher off. "If we lose her, the Priestesses won't—" 

"My girl is tougher than she looks," Viridian said with a proud little smile. "And I'm sure she'll be quite furious with me if I leave her in that hole when she could be doing some good with her gifts." 

"Summon her," Asher said before I could point out that 'good' was rather subjective, especially considering the topic at hand. My bond-mate steered me toward the growing pile of injured men, reclaiming his favorite hold on the back of my neck. "We'll do what we can in the meantime." 

*** 

If the reinforced glass and concrete of HQ had taken more damage than our lucky little hiding spot, the same was true for the Elites and Caledonian soldiers hiding within. 

Ball bearings had torn through the glass as if it wasn't there, compromising the building's structural integrity. In spite of our efforts, the number of dead was approaching a half dozen—four of whom were Elite. And if Carly couldn't stop the bleeding in the Elite she was working with, we'd lose one more. My mind drifted to the women below our feet. Were there four dead Priestesses to match the mangled bodies above ground? Two Elites had died in the initial blast, but Carly hadn't mentioned any mirror Priestesses deaths in the bunker, and I hadn't mustered the courage to check for myself. Instead, I pressed my lips together, watching Carly work on the bloody mess that was her patient's arm. 

I had, for the most part, taken a back seat in the medical tent, deferring to Carly in all things. And much to my surprise, it had nothing to do with any lingering hatred toward the Caledonian soldiers themselves, but rather my desire not to slaughter them all in even the slightest lapse in control. The wounded Elites posed the biggest temptation, beckoning me to sample their unique signatures as they lay helpless before me. Ripe for the taking. 

Instead, I was simply Carly's assistant, sticking close to her side, giving her access to the limitless wellspring of Elite strength within me—unnoticed in the shadow of the powerful Priestess working miracles on men who might have never seen another sunrise without her healing touch. 

"How are you doing that?" Carly murmured as I sent her another surge, keeping her eyes fixed on her work as she spoke from the corner of her mouth. 

"Later," I replied in whisper, eyes downcast. 

Asher patted my forehead with the cuff of his sleeve, blotting at the sweat beading along my hairline. "Almost there with this one, Priestess?" 

Carly and I nodded at the same time, thrown by his use of our mutual title. 

Before either of us could speak, the Curator burst through the door, surrounded by his Elite guard. "Get your hands off me, you disobedient dogs!" he shouted, trying to free his frail shoulders from the grip of younger men. 

"I'm sorry, sir. We can leave after you've been checked out by a Priestess. That's a nasty gash." 

"It's nothing," the old man snarled, slapping the tall Elite with an open palm, and to his credit, the taller man didn't react past the tightening of full lips followed by a deep, steadying breath. But the Curator wasn't finished. "You'll take me out of here, this instant, or—" 

"You know I can't do that, sir. In this, my orders come directly from the Emperor himself. Your safety comes first." 

For a long moment, the Curator merely stood still, so angry it appeared he couldn't formulate a thought. And then, forcing the words through clenched teeth, he said, "Fine. Let's get this over with." 

One of Scar's comrades trotted toward us, and I shrank back, slipping behind Carly to hide from such a vibrant life-force. "Are you the Healer, miss?" 

"I am," Carly replied, not bothering to look up as she continued working on her Elite patient's savaged arm. 

"Come with me please." 

"I'm sure you can see I'm busy," she said with uncharacteristic disregard, eyes blank and glassy, her mind elsewhere. 

"The Curator needs immediate attention, miss." His lips twisted, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm afraid he pulls rank here." 

One glance at Asher's blank warrior's mask was enough to still my murderous impulse toward the Curator. Now was the time for stealth, for patience. Now was the time to gather allies. Stifling a hateful snarl, I wrapped my fingers around Carly's elbow, pouring my strength into her. "Go," I whispered, keeping my eyes lowered. "I'll hold him while you're gone." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 28



Pupils dilated with the infusion of more raw Elite power than she'd likely ever experienced in her life, Carly stumbled back, watching me with slack features. "Y-yes, alright," she mumbled, and for a moment, I thought she was going to faint, such was the pallor of her fair cheeks. 

"The sooner you check him out, the faster we'll be out of your hair," the Curator's man whispered, placing one large, firm hand on Carly's shoulder. "He's desperate to leave the front. I've never seen him this way." 

"Yes, terrorist bombings tend to have that effect on people," Carly replied, brushing her hair back, and with a deep breath, began to make her way to the Curator. 

Trembling all over with the effort to keep the one-armed Elite alive—and resist the temptation to drain him dry before moving on to other, more deserving victims—it was a moment before I realized the Curator's man was still standing with us. 

"I'm, ah, sorry about this. How is he?" he asked in hushed tones, indicating the man who was now my patient. 

Asher stepped forward, blocking me from sight, signaling Jackson to join us. "He'll live. What's got the Curator all tied up in knots?" 

"Fuck if I know," the other man replied with a scowl. "He's been especially pissy since we got here. But we'll be packing up as soon as the Priestess is through with him. Which won't be long. I'm sure his injuries are minor." 

"Why the hurry? You're not enjoying the majestic scenery the North has to offer?" Asher quipped, seeming to fix his attention on Jackson's approach, but pulling me deeper behind the cool serenity of his shield, keeping the darkness at bay. 

"It's not the grandeur of the Capital, of course, but the north has its quaint charm. I'll admit I'm actually enjoying the fresh air," he continued, nodding at Jackson as he sidled up to us. "Any idea where Theo got to, mate? Haven't seen him since he set off with you lot." 

"Yeah, pretty boy's still mucking about in that damn hole, the fuckin' halfwit," Jackson replied, sinking his teeth into an apple. 

I swayed as the man in my charge stirred, the blinding pain just enough to keep him senseless for the moment. 

"Take a break," Asher whispered, lips moving against my ear, but I shook my head, terrified of what would happen should I relax my hold on the brutal injuries before me. He'd likely lose the arm if I tried anything, being untrained as I was. But with Carly working on him? She might just be able to save the limb—especially if I continued to feed her the necessary strength... I had to hold it together for a just a few minutes longer... 

"Oh, you vile little tart!" the Curator snapped, shoving Carly away. "That hurts." 

"My apologies, Master Curator," she replied, chin dipping, eyes downcast. "There's a fragment of glass embedded under your skin. I'm afraid it's got to come out before I—" 

He flicked curved fingers at her, narrowly avoiding contact with her face. "Yes, yes. Be quick about it." 

The Elite standing to her left claimed the pair of long tweezers from Carly's fingers, extracting the glass himself and sparing her from the Curator's ire. To the amazement of everyone present, Carly placed a single, slender hand on the side of the Curator's face, channeling her store of excess Elite power directly into the frail old man. Before our eyes, his wound knit, leaving little more than a shiny pink line. 

"... God, did you see that?" 

"... I've never seen it happen that fast..." 

"... more powerful than Sasha!" 

"... prodigy..." 

"N-no," Carly stammered frantic blue eyes finding mine through the crowd, trying to speak over the muttering. "I-it wasn't me—" 

"Why is a talent such as yours being wasted in this dingy shit-hole?" the Curator asked, reaching out to take Carly's chin in hand, turning her face this way and that. 

"I'm sorry, my lord, but you don't understand. I didn't—" 

"Who's your master, girl?" 

"Brigadier General V-Viridian, sir. But—" 

"Of course he is," the Curator snapped. "Well no matter. You'll come to the Capital, of course. You're wasted out here, girl. Utterly wasted." 

Apple paused halfway to his lips, Jackson stilled, glancing at me from the very corner of his eye, eyebrows raised. 

Asher shook his head—the movement so subtle, it would go unnoticed to anyone watching. 

But Jackson's chin dipped once in response, and he tossed his apple in the bin beside my foot, pulled the canvas back to peer outside, and shouted, "We've got movement!" 

"What is it?" the Curator asked, voice cracking as he shrank away from the closest fabric wall. 

Carly stumbled away from her tormentor, seizing my hand in a trembling grip. 

"Rebels are making a move," Jackson clipped, stepping in front of Carly before turning to catch first Asher's eye, then mine. "Get ready, and keep out of sight." 

"What are you waiting for?" the Curator snarled, aiming a kick at the kneecap of his closest guard. "Bring the car around!" 

Fury rippled over the surface of his face, but the Curator's man turned to do his master's bidding, leaving without a backward glance to collect the vehicle. 

Jackson spit on the ground as he watched his fellow Elite depart, and without acknowledging the Curator, motioned for his men. "Come on. Let's go get pretty boy outta that hole before he becomes a pretty Rebel hostage." 

*** 

Peering through a flap in the tent, I had a decent view of the blue lights as they flickered to life, lighting up one by one, spreading across No-man's Land. 

The Rebels—a hundred strong, each carrying a personal shield as they moved toward us. 

"Why did you do that?" Carly hissed, squeezing my elbow, her voice too low for the Curator's old ears to hear, though he waited on the opposite side of the tent. 

"Do what?" I hedged as Viridian hollered for snipers, very much in his element as commander of the Northern Front. 

"Don't play stupid," she snapped, and my breath caught as I recalled the same words from Sasha's mouth. "I'm not the gifted healer. Why am I taking the credit for something you did?" 

"Tell me," I drawled, watching the frantic movement of the Caledonians as they scurried to obey orders, "does it make sense for the Curator to notice me right now? Given my..." I trailed off, right hand drifting over the Twins, "... my condition?" 

"So you sacrifice me? To the Curator?" she hissed, glancing at the man in question, patches of pink blossoming on her pale cheeks as he glared back at her. "He's a monster!" 

I winced, turning to give her my fullest attention. "Nothing will happen to you, Carly. I won't allow him to touch you again. You have my word." 

"Let him hang himself," Asher whispered, landing a heavy hand on my shoulder, tipping my gaze away from the foul old man tapping his foot as he glared at us. 

"Hang himself?" She crossed over her chest, the perfect mirror of her Elite counterpart. But a moment later she shook her head, changing her line of questioning as she asked, "And what if he doesn't?" 

"The Curator owes a debt," Asher replied with a shrug. "We mean to see him pay it." 

"We? Is Conrad in on this little plan of yours?" she asked with no small amount of bitterness lacing her voice. 

To this, I merely raised an eyebrow, leery of giving any of my Elites away before the proper time had come. 

For a long moment, Carly's gaze darted between Asher and me, eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said at length. "I'm with you. And with me, the rest of the Priestesses. On one condition." 

"Which is?" Asher asked, the corner of his lips twitching. 

"I make a much better accomplice than pawn." 

"As you wish, Priestess," Asher drawled, chin dipping. 

"You are a gifted healer," I added when Asher moved off to collect his heavy gun. "You'll work miracles with my strength running through your veins." 

She shook her head. "It's not right. I'll teach you," she said, rubbing my arm. 

I suffered the contact for the count of ten, then pulled back. "Perhaps." 

"When this is all over," she agreed, offering the first tight smile I'd seen in the long minutes since she'd been summoned from the bunker. "Until then... I've got patients to address. Could you..." 

Nodding, I filled her with the strength she'd need to continue working on her patient's mangled arm, then returned my attention to the scene unfolding all around us. Jackson and his team still lingered on Caledonian soil, apparently prevented from collecting Scar—or rather, Theo—by Viridian and the line of approaching Rebels. Closing my eyes, I traveled the fragile thread tying Theo and me together, finding him exactly where Jackson said he'd be—at the bottom of the grave-pit, spirit sound, but for the anxious flutter vibrating through him. 

Asher brushed up against me, using the familiar gesture to smuggle Jackson's Rebel weapon into my hands, face blank, eyes forward. I wrestled with the heavy thing, trying to wrap my fingers around the thick handle as Asher swung his heavy gun forward, keeping my movement blocked from sight. When I could, I raised my weapon, pouring a tiny river of energy through it, testing my capacity to use Rebel technology. When the muzzle came to life, spitting a distinct, hypnotic blue and lighting up the inside of the medical tent, Asher shook his head, murmuring, "not yet." 

Eyes locked on the glimmering blue shields, I held off, lacing my fingers with Asher's, my new toy dangling from my free hand, out of sight by my hip. Ready. 

Before Viridian's snipers could assume the position, however, a shout rang through the silence between us and them. "We wish t'collect our dead and wounded!" 

"A ceasefire?" Viridian returned, surrounded now, by armed Elites. "We are at war, boy. Dead and wounded are commonplace." 

"Let us end th' fighting for a day, brother. Out o'respect for fallen heroes. From both sides." 

"Unacceptable! We do not negotiate with fugitives of the Empire. Strike them down, Brigadier General." the Curator demanded, elbowing me in the kidney as he pushed past me. 

Carly squawked, indignant, as Asher snarled, pressing his hand to my side, flooding me with power as he touched the twins. I stilled him with a shake of my head, covering his hand with mine—the Curator was a frail old man. Such a blow—even delivered at the height of anger—couldn't hurt a Priestess such as I, let alone the children I carried safe within. 

"Are you alright?" Carly breathed, gathering her strength should a healing be needed. 

"Fine. Thank you," I whispered, offering a slight shrug. 

Viridian ignored his superior and the small commotion behind him, attention focused on the wall of blue Rebel fury before him. "What assurances have we of your honor in this?" 

"Just our word," the Rebel spokesman replied, spreading his hands. "Master Trapper was a champion of peace, a hero to the young ones, and a good man. We'll see him properly buried outta respect for his ideals. We'd prefer t'accomplish such a feat peacefully, if it's all th' same teh you." 

Viridian paused, deliberating—which was the moment Theo chose to emerge from the pit, face covered in blood and grime. Seemingly oblivious to the stand-off, he grunted and continued his ascent, tossing a charred bit of something over the ledge ahead of him. It landed with a wet splat! 

Straightening with a regal dignity I would have thought impossible given the circumstances, Theo adjusted the lapels of his coat, brushing at the filth before he stooped, retrieved the prize he'd claimed from the grave-pit, and turned to face us. Staring down the full force of the Rebel army didn't seem to faze him, for without pause, he swept his hand in a great arc and said, "All yours." 

The spokesman offered a slight bow, and signaling to his men, continued their approach, well protected behind a wall of shimmering blue. 

The Curator spluttered, face going an alarming shade of red, before he turned on his heel and stormed off. "With me!" he screeched, beckoning to his guard. And then, as if it were an afterthought, "Theo, come!" 

"Trust me," Theo said to Viridian, unperturbed by the summons, flicking a bit of something red and white off his shoulder, "there's nothing in there we need. Not anymore. Let them have their dead." 

Asher exited the tent, towing Carly and me close behind him. "What's that?" 

For a moment, Theo didn't respond, staring at the scrap of char in his hands, thunder clouds gathering on his brow. And then, teeth bared, he said, "It's evidence of high treason." 

Jackson drifted closer, still glaring down the barrel of his weapon at the Rebels, his team fanned out around him. "Whose?" 

"Mine," Theo replied without hesitation, voice tight. 

"Explain," Viridian demanded, reaching for Carly. 

"I believe it was Major Rawlings who asked how a mad woman under lock and key gets her hands on explosives," Theo said, turning the scrap of burned, brownish material over in his hands, avoiding our eyes. "The answer is a simple one." 

"It's given to her," Asher said, warrior's mask firmly in place. 

"That it is," Scar agreed, immobile past the twitching in his scarred cheek. 

Jackson cut his eyes to the left for an instant before he resumed his vigilance. "I'd bet everything I own you were following orders." 

"I'd take that bet," Shrapnel chimed in, damp upper lip the only evidence that his injury was a lingering bother. 

"What you're suggesting is grounds for public execution," Viridian murmured, voice audible only to our intimate little circle. "Without trial." 

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Jackson hissed, abandoning his post. "He can't be allowed to do this—" he flung his arms wide, encompassing the wounded men milling about the field, "—without suffering the consequences." 

"And would you like to be the one to confront him?" Viridian returned with a sneer. "He'll order his obedient little pets to fire on you before the sentence leaves your mouth." 

Jackson laughed. "Is that right? What do you say, pretty boy," he continued, elbowing Theo in the ribs, "you feel like following orders after this?" 

Fucking Elites. So much raw power. So much potential. And they were hamstrung by an inexplicable fear of a tiny old man and an invisible Emperor—both of whom were nothing more than humans with inflated egos, as far as I could tell. I ground my teeth at the ridiculous injustice. What could he possibly do should the Elites rise against him? 

I blinked. What could he do? 

Suppressing the giddy bubble rising in my chest, I gave the question a brief moment of serious contemplation. And came up blank. 

I placed a hand on Asher's lower back, adding slight pressure to get his attention before I tapped into his strength. "They are Elite," I said, drawing Carly's sparkling blue eyes to me, but it couldn't be helped. "They are bound by honor and the rules of the Empire... but I'm neither Priestess nor Elite. And neither are you. Not anymore. We stand apart," I whispered, and then, without further speech, locked on to the Curator, finding him with ease through the blaze of Elite power surrounding me. 

In the parking lot. Making a break for it, the slimy old fool. 

"You!" I shouted, voice echoing above the din, fueled with the raw power of my bond-mate. "You did this!" 

"What the fuck," Viridian snarled, lunging for me, face blanching of all color. "Rawlings, muzzle her—" 

Asher turned cold black eyes on his superior, silencing him with a single, vicious glare. One with me. 

The sounds of agony and confusion died off as those gathered followed the direction of my accusing finger. Asher and I stepped forward, toward the man standing before a sleek, extended magnetic car. His Elite Guard—excluding Theo—surrounded him, holding the passenger door open even as he paused half-way toward his seat. 

Laughter, weak and thready with great age, split the crisp autumn air. "Such a willful little slut we have here." And rather than continue seating himself inside the plush leather town car, the Curator straightened, fixed his yellowish eyes upon our group, and added, "Theo. Bring her to me. I shall take great pleasure in breaking that wild spirit for her incompetent master." 

Something dark unfurled in my belly, something possessive and foreign that rippled with challenge, reveling in the joy of promised battle. I glanced at my Elite, blinking when I encountered a face made all the more handsome by the savage light gleaming from deep within. 

I echoed the Curator's amusement, the unspoken challenge ringing true and clear. "You will not escape what you've done here today, Master Curator." 

"Bring her here, Theo. As a matter of fact, bring them both," he continued, eyes falling on Carly's pretty face. "The prodigy healer, and the wild little slut." 

Carly reached for my hand, squeezing until my fingers ached. Flooding me with her pure, white light, and though the gift was likely unintentional, I reveled in it. 

"Don't do it, pretty boy," Jackson breathed, taking a step closer. 

But Theo paid him no mind. "Why?" he asked, taking a single, faltering step toward his master, charred bit of treason clutched in a white-knuckled fist. 

The Curator chuckled, folding gnarled hands atop each other before pinning Theo with narrowed eyes. "Why? Because your job is to do as you're told. Now be a good pet, and bring them to me." 

Muscles bunching, Theo stepped forward, lips pressed in a tight, white line. "Look around you, my lord," he spat, long legs taking him ever closer to the walking corpse. "Is this what you intended?" 

"I'm quite sure I've no idea what you're blathering about, soldier. But you've been loyal in your years of service, and I'm willing to afford you one last chance to obey me. Leniency in light of the current... tragedy. Bring the traitors to me this instant. Or join them." 

Theo stopped his forward progression, his large frame rigid. Silence fell all around us, Elite, Caledonian, and Eloran alike watching the spectacle unfold. 

"Traitors?" Theo whispered, voice audible to all in spite of the volume. 

Jackson took a measured step back, bumping against my hip, sandwiching me between Elites, blocking Carly and me from view. Bare skin brushed my hand, and I glanced at the rough man at my side, catching his side-eye. He nudged me again, nodding this time as he flashed the skin on the back of his wrist. Not an accident then, this offering. 

My lips twitched as I prepared to take it—not quite ready to reveal myself as something more than a 'willful little slut,' but ready all the same. 

"Traitors?" Theo said again, louder this time. "If you name them so for simply speaking of this atrocity," he said, gesturing at the destruction surrounding us, at the dead and wounded, "then what name will you give the man who did this? What title will you give the man who enabled the slaughter of his own people, my lord?" 

The Curator's cheeks paled, but the sneer remained firm upon his lips. "This tragedy, this act of terrorism is the work of a madwoman. A madwoman in league with Rebel scum. It is established fact." 

And then, propelled forward as if released from a set of invisible chains, Theo closed the distance between he and his master. "Fact? Since when is the word of a madwoman taken as such? What proof is there that Tyra Tilcot has done any of the things she's been accused of? Has the Empire really fallen so far, my lord, or are her people becoming willfully blind?" 

"Be very careful, soldier. You are perilously close to being made an example of." 

"And what an example I'll make, my lord," Theo sneered, ignoring the Curator's Elite Guard—his comrades—as they drew on him, casting wide, confused eyes between their master and a man they saw as brother. "This mess is my doing." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 28



The Elite guard from the medical tent stepped back, weapon dipping low. "What?" 

Theo tossed the scrap of treason at the Curator's feet. "I gave the Tilcot woman that case. Without me, she wouldn't have had the opportunity to do this. To slaughter Caledonians by the dozens. But you knew that already, didn't you, my lord?" Theo mused, circling ever closer. "Did you think I wouldn't put it together? Wouldn't recognize the case you had me lug all the way here from the Capital, tattered and burned though it is? Or were you hoping to be gone before anyone had the sense to start asking questions?" 

"Shut your fucking mouth," the Curator snarled, lips pulled back in a sneer. "What complete and utter nonsense! To even suggest such a thing is the highest trea—" 

"I haven't quite figured out why you'd want to do such a thing, though I don't suppose it matters much at this point. Damage is done, yeah?" 

"That's enough! As Lord Curator, and brother to Emperor Octus Clavius, first of his name, I hereby charge you with high treason—" 

"Does your Imperial sibling know what you've done here today?" Asher asked, drawing even with Theo, keeping me tucked tight to his side. "Or were you acting of your own free will?" 

"This is utterly preposterous!" the Curator shrilled, spittle flying from thin lips. "I've had enough, I tell you!" He raised one gnarled finger, pointing directly at Asher's heart. "Shoot them!" 

The Curator's Elites raised their weapons, faces tight and unsure. "But—the Priestesses," one of them said, gaze flicking between us and the Curator, the whites of his eyes plainly visible, even from this distance. 

My fingers tightened around the handle of my Rebel weapon, concealed behind Asher's hip, my grip on the river of Elite and Priestess power surging through my blood remaining firm, waiting for Asher's permission to unleash it. 

My Elites tightened their circle, muzzles spitting green flames. 

Standing behind me, Carly clutched at my shoulders, though she remained firm, unwavering in her decision to join us. 

Warrior's mask immovable, Asher tossed the twisted shard of metal at the Curator's feet, and said, "Good men and women, loyal to the crown, died today. They died," he continued, speaking louder now, to the rest of his people, "not for their country, but for one man's ambition. This man," he continued, glaring down his nose at the Curator, watching as one of Theo's comrades stooped to retrieve the fragment, "who dares to throw away Caledonian lives as if they are his to use." 

"You insolent maggot," the Curator snarled, frail old frame trembling with rage. "You are property of the Emperor! I am his right hand!" 

Asher let his smile do the speaking as Viridian stepped around him. "Property of the Emperor, are we? Nothing more than flashy toys for him to break or share at a whim?" 

"How dare you—" 

"Is it true?" said the Elite who'd collected the shard. "Did you... did you do this, my lord?" 

The Curator whirled on his man. "I command you to kill these traitors, soldier. Do it now! Go on," he continued, stamping his foot as he addressed the rest of his guard, "strike them down for their blasphemy. In the name of the Empire!" 

Three of the guard repositioned their weapons, bringing our little group into their sights, while the two standing closest to their master hesitated, both wearing identical expressions of shock. 

"It's true," came a whisper from behind me, from deep within the crowd of Elite warriors. "The Curator did this. The Emperor's own brother set that madwoman on us." 

"Betrayer." 

"He means to kill the Priestesses!" 

"... slaughter the most powerful healer we've ever seen, and for what?" 

"Sending good men to their deaths—" 

"Traitor," someone hissed, then drew his weapon. It was an Elite, this latest addition to our cause. I could feel him, burning bright behind me as he unwittingly joined our circle, pouring his excess into his weapon. In an instant, the air was so thick with tension and power, I could simply reach out and take it, if I so desired. 

Two more of the Curator's Elites broke off, backing away from the man they'd been charged to protect, leaving their remaining three brethren to glance between each other, eyes bright and wide. Weapons held firm, though the muzzles dipped and wavered. Elites from the crowd began to step forward, joining our ranks one by one, adding their energy to the circle. The human soldiers were not unaffected, though they remained separate, spectators. 

A slow, easy smile spread across my face, and I reached out, touched every Elite present—and through them, the remaining Priestesses secured deep within the bunker. 

Viridian cleared his throat, the muzzle of his handsome, ornate weapon glittering in the sunlight, pointed directly square between the Curator's eyes. "It's over. We won't be used any longer." 

"Fire! Kill them, damn you!" the old man screamed, stepping forward, ignoring the show of defiance staring him down. 

Two of the three remaining guard—either compelled by a lingering sense of duty, or clinging to the comfort of a given order—fired their weapons. Twin beams of weak Elite plasma hit the dirt separating us from them, launching soil and rocks into the air. 

For a moment, all was quiet, the Elites at my back standing stone still, as if the situation were impossible to comprehend. And then, as a searing hot reminder of the mutiny unfolding before my eyes, dirt and rocks rained down upon us, pelting my Elites with a choking cloud of hot dirt. The remaining member of the guard—the only one left who'd disobeyed his master—stumbled away from his brothers, face twisted in horror, weapon slipping from lax fingers. 

I beckoned to him, wrapping him in the warmth and a profound sense of belonging impossible to ignore. Adding yet another to our ranks. 

"Incompetent fools!" the Curator screamed, spittle flying from slimy, white lips as he rolled up his sleeve. 

Theo stepped forward, weapon forgotten in his hip holster, a wall of towering, furious muscle heading straight for the frail old man. 

A toothy grin spread across my face, and Asher squeezed my hand, echoing my sentiment—until my eye caught a flash of glittering black. Sunk into the skin of his left wrist, the Curator wore an onyx control cuff, thicker and bolder than any I'd seen before. 

Theo's brethren stumbled back, finally breaking free, leaving the path to their master clear. Theo did not hesitate, seizing the Curator about the throat, all but hefting the old man clear off the ground. 

The Curator's sallow face split in a horrific grin as he wrapped long, gnarled fingers around Theo's wrist. 

"No!" Asher hollered, too late. 

Theo seemed to deflate before our eyes, his impressive Elite form crumbling at the Curator's diseased touch. And when Theo sank to his knees—hands falling lax at his sides, face slack, eyes blank—the Curator laughed outright, shifting his grip, burying sharp yellow fingernails into the delicate red scar marring Theo's throat. 

"Surely you didn't expect it to be that easy!" he bellowed, yanking Theo's weapon from his holster and turning it upon us. And to my horror, it lit up, glowing with a sickly yellow fury, plasma dribbling from the muzzle, spattering on the ground at his feet. Some of it splashed against Theo's boot, sending up tendrils of thick, black smoke, but aside from the veins bulging in his red face, Theo did not react. 

I looked to my bond-mate, frantic to do something, to unleash the power we'd collected. To save one of mine before his life force was used in such a perverse way. 

Asher's head jerked to the side once, though his eyes remained fixed upon the scene before us, jaw tight. 

"You traitorous scum," the Curator continued. "Turn on the Empire, will you?" He flung his aim about wildly, narrow eyes flicking from face to face, blobs of viscous plasma threatening everyone in range. "You dare turn on the country that gives you everything you are?" 

Viridian laughed, seemingly unaffected by the Curator's outburst, by the danger hissing and spitting in his face. "Without us, the Empire is nothing." 

"No one else will take you, you filthy pack of mutants!" the Curator screamed, swinging his aim at Viridian. And then, pulling every spare ounce of power from Theo, draining him before my very eyes, the Curator fired. 

But I was ready. I raised my borrowed Rebel weapon, kicked open the door to the ocean of power waiting for my command, and dumped everything I had into the shield in my hands. It exploded forward, engulfing my Elites and meeting the Curator's shot head on. My shield swallowed the offensive, jaundiced plasma with ease, protecting Viridian and everyone who stood behind him. 

For a long moment, shock silenced my Elites. And then, gazing up at the glittering blue shield taking the brunt of the Curator's attack, Viridian laughed, a smile splitting his handsome, lined face. "You can't touch us, old man. Not anymore. Put it down." 

"Impossible," the Curator breathed, his attack petering out, face slack behind the brilliant rippling blue of my shield. 

I stepped forward, fingers laced with Asher's. "Give him to me." 

The Curator shook a limp Theo, sneering, though the bravado was lost somewhere in translation. 

"I'd do as the Lady says," Viridian drawled, raising two fingers—and at his behest, the might of the Caledonian Elites fixed their Curator in their sights. Down to the man. Including the remaining fragments of his Elite guard, standing outside my shield. 

The Curator's lips moved without sound for a few long seconds as his wild eyes darted around the clearing. 

When they landed on me, I bared my teeth, power swirling around me. "He's mine. Release him." 

"This isn't over," the Curator snarled, tossing a boneless Theo in the dirt. 

"Oh, I rather think it is," Viridian replied, stepping forward when I let the shield drop. 

"You think the Emperor will stand for this? You'll beg for death when he gets his hands on you. All of you." 

Viridian ignored him. "Interesting bit of technology, this," he mused, taking the Curator's frail wrist in his large hand, examining the cruel, black control cuff. "Unfortunately... I can't allow you to keep it. You understand." 

"Get your hands off me!" the Curator barked, trying to pry his wrist free. But without Theo's stolen Elite strength flowing through him, he was nothing more than a frail old man once more, and Viridian was careful to keep the Curator's touch off his skin. "It's impossible to remove, you filthy inbred ape!" 

"So it is," Viridian agreed, turning the Curator's wrist to and fro, inspecting the strange black material sunk into the paper-thin skin. And then, in one fluid motion, Viridian drew his weapon, pressed it to the Curator's forearm—above the glittering black manacle—and fired a single shot, severing the man from the manacle in the only manner possible. 

The old man's jaw dropped open in a wordless scream, eyes bulging, remaining hand clutching the clean stump. 

"Shh," Viridian soothed, guiding the Curator to find his seat on the uneven ground. "It had to be done. You know that, sir. No one controls us. Not anymore." 

I followed Carly to Theo's side, breathing a sigh of relief when he took a shuddering, raspy breath, though his eyes remained closed. 

"Shall I..." Carly hedged, not looking at me. 

"I'm no healer," I said with a twitch of my lips, placing my hand on her shoulder and infusing her with a taste of the limitless power running rampant through me. "Do your thing, Prodigy." 

She scoffed, but set about her work, reviving Theo with the energy Asher and I provided. 

"Are you fucking joking? You're going to let him live?" came a hoarse shout from the Elite's gathered all around me. 

"Mick and Kane both died because of him! And countless others!" 

The darkness stirred within, and I turned toward the shouting, drawn to the potent collective emotions of a growing hive mind. 

Asher's heavy hand fell on the back of my neck, but he did not stop me from moving toward the disturbance. 

"Get back!" Viridian barked, standing between the Curator and certain death. "He has a message to deliver to his Imperial sibling. He lives!" 

"Would he have done the same for us, Brigadier General?" asked a man of the former Elite guard, kicking dirt in the face of his master. 

"It doesn't matter," Viridian pressed, weapon drawn, face set in a grim line. "To kill him without trial would be—" 

"Justice," rasped a freshly restored Theo, staggering ahead of me, his weapon spitting furious green flames. 

"Theo, no!" Carly shouted, just as a brilliant beam of plasma tore through the Curator's chest, leaving a smoking cavity gaping wide and grotesque for a moment before the old man fell back with a wet thump. 

Gaping, I turned back to Theo, watching as he listed to the side, face pale. "He doesn't need breath to deliver your message, Brigadier General," he said to the silence, weapon slipping from slack fingers. 

"No, I suppose not," Viridian returned, visibly grinding his teeth. 

"He was sick," Theo continued, staring at the corpse, watching the tendrils of steam as they danced in the crisp air. "The things I've seen him do with my own eyes... They are unspeakable." 

I shrugged then, moving to place a delicate hand on Theo's forearm, feeding him a careful stream of Elite strength, trying to pull him back from the dark abyss I could sense him hovering over. This was uncharted territory for all of us, this new path we walked. There was as much room for learning as there was for mistakes—regardless of how massive said mistakes might be. And murdering the Curator, however justified it felt, was a mistake of epic proportion. 

"Someone fetch some paper, then," I quipped, guiding Theo to take a seat as Jackson and his men fanned out around us. "And a pin," I added with a morbid little smirk. The Elites around me bared their teeth, savage smiles all around. 

"You jest?" Coffee Buddy gasped, stepping forward, face drawn tight. "You jest when the Curator—the Emperor's own brother—lays murdered in the dirt? This is a declaration of war." 

"This is Elite business, boy. Stand down," Viridian snapped, stepping in front of me. 

"The Curator was human, sir. Not Elite. But in either case, you just murdered a man without trial." 

"First, I did nothing of the sort," Viridian snapped, casting an uneasy eye toward the humans. "And second, should he be found guilty, Theo will do penance for his crime." 

Coffee Buddy laughed. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be judged by a court of his peers, won't he?" 

"It is the Caledonian way." 

"And who will pick these peers?" Coffee Buddy shouted, asking not Viridian, but the crowd at his back. "Who gets to decide if the actions against a human were unjust? Another Elite? No. I don't think so." 

"Be very careful, soldier," Viridian replied, as several Elites stepped forward, moving to protect their commanding officer. 

"Tell me, Brigadier General, where is it written that Elites, and Elites alone, are permitted to disobey a superior, hmm? Why shouldn't we just... take him from you, hmm? Dispense a little justice of our own." 

"You can try." 

Asher tugged my hand, stooping to press his lips against my ear as the humans began to twitch and murmur, unease rippling through a crowd that was easily five times the number of Elites present. "This is about to get ugly." 

"We can stop it," I returned, brushing my cheek against his jaw, letting the power swirl around my feet. 

Asher's hand drifted to settle over the Twins, his face twisting. "It shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't be within a thousand miles of danger." 

I nodded, sharing his grief for the things we couldn't undo. But we stepped forward anyway, our Elites parting to let us through, reaching to touch exposed skin as we passed. And for once, I did not recoil from the contact on instinct, but welcomed it. Drawing it in. Cheeks warm with the flush of such unfathomable power, I struggled to contain it, burying myself deeper behind Asher's shield. 

"Witch." 

"... what are they?" 

"... unnatural..." 

"Evil." 

My lips twitched. Call me witch, would they? Fine. It was time to act the part. Time to fight the embers of fear and resentful hatred before they spread and destroyed us all. My hands dropped to my side as I let the power drip down my arms, letting it pool invisible in my palms. But raw power wasn't enough to diffuse a mob of this size, and I was not the ideal person to wield such power. Not with my history of losing to the darkness so fresh in my mind. Not with Carly—so sweet and selfless—laboring to save lives and do right. And especially not with the gift of life I carried within my womb, so fragile... so much potential. The hope of Elites and Priestesses both. 

But I was not alone. Asher laced his fingers with mine, opening himself to me, leaving nothing hidden. Smothering his rage, grief, and helplessness under the cool logic of the warrior I so cherished. The answer, as it presented itself, brought a smile to my lips. And it was a fitting solution, given the theme of the evening, but Asher's shield—his cool warrior's mask—was the only thing that had ever allowed me a moment of clarity since I'd come to this place. 

I turned blank eyes on the human soldiers, burying my mind in all things Asher. Projecting his strength as far afield as I could. 

Brows marred by hatred began to smooth as passion-warmed cheeks lost their intense color. And still, the Elites at my back continued to give, pulsing with so much vibrant life it hurt to be near them. Fingers stretched wide, I continued to push, radiating the cold, emotionless logic I'd come to associate with Asher. 

Awakened by such a magnificent display, the twins stirred, breaching the safety of their cocoon—but just as fast as they moved, their father was there to distract them, keeping them free of outside influence, and leaving me free to work. 

It wasn't enough. 

Coffee Buddy, the head of the mob, raised his weapon, an ugly sneer marking what might have been a handsome face. 

Without thinking, I raised the Rebel weapon still clutched in my fingers, preparing to protect my people—my family—from this newest threat even as I continued to move forward. 

When we came abreast of Viridian, the Brigadier General smirked, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Stand down, boy, and holster that weapon." 

"You gonna sick your little witch on us, Brigadier General?" Coffee Buddy sneered, a bitter laugh echoing through the ears of those gathered. 

I snarled, baring teeth. This man was damaging my efforts to cool feverish minds! And worse, he was no longer the only man with weapon drawn. 

"The way I see it, you're a traitor to the Empire," he continue, "you and the rest of your kind. And we don't answer to defectors." 

"This is absurd! You can't do a damn thing against us," Viridian shouted, fingers biting deep into my shoulder. "Your weapons are powered by Elite strength. You can't touch us." 

I grit my teeth, barely resisting the urge to silence Viridian for being inflammatory. The effort to contain this one human man and his influence was taxing in a way I'd never experienced. I was already drawing upon my Elites as much as I dared, fearing not for the risk of draining such an infallible resource, but for what the access to this incredible power would do to my self-restraint. Sweat traced the length of my spine as tremors raced over my skin—not symptoms of someone in complete control of their faculties. 

"You may have more power," Coffee Buddy allowed, his scowl spreading from man to man, my control slipping in spite of the Elites at my back. "But we outnumber you ten to one. How many are you willing to lose today, Brigadier General?" 




The Last Tritan Ch. 28



Asher pulled me close as Jackson and his men stepped around us, a bristling wall of Elite muscle. 

But now was not the time to be passive. 

"Enough," I said, silencing the argument as I pushed forward, catching Coffee Buddy's eye and spread my arms wide, encompassing the men at my back. "We are Elite. You cannot defeat us. Are you really willing to die for a man who killed more humans today than he did Elites?" 

"His death was not for your kind to sanction, witch." 

I ignored the slight, glancing at the Curator's body. Slumped to the side, fleshy face grey and waxy, he was no longer the embodiment of Caledonian cruelty and power, but a sad, empty husk. An unpleasant memory to be forgotten at the bottom of a cup. For it was true—of anyone I'd ever met, the Curator had truly earned the end he'd received. Any sound moral foundation this man of privilege may have been born with had long since dissolved under the weight of age and a lifetime of wielding power over powerful men. And yet... his memory was enough to inspire men to die in his name. 

Coffee Buddy took a step forward, making my Elite wall twitch. 

My index finger traced the trigger of my Rebel weapon as I glanced at the man advancing on us. He was nothing more than human. So frail. Not a true threat, in spite of the numbers glaring at us. 

But... 

Who was I to pass such judgment? To take the lives of others in hand, to decide their fate as if my opinion was word of law simply because I wielded power. As if I were infallible. Was I no better than the Curator himself? Or Tyra? Poor, mad Tyra, so twisted by grief and rage that she'd abandon her infant son to a life of uncertainty and orphanage, killing innocent people in a mindless quest for vengeance? Would I allow the memory of a sad old man and a mad woman to corrupt me further? 

How long before I lost myself to the Darkness altogether? How long before someone stood over me, ready to pass judgment for my crimes? 

Would it end? Was that the world I wanted to build for the twins? 

"We will not fight you today," I said, tearing my eyes away from the crumpled human husk, meeting the dark, Caledonian eyes of my human opponent. "This ends now." 

"Unacceptable. You think you can murder the Emperor's own brother and return to the Empire as if nothing was amiss? You think he'll take you back?" 

"I don't care what the Emperor thinks," I returned, letting power whip around me, raising gooseflesh on my skin, pressing at Coffee Buddy with the full force of my Elites. 

"Defectors," Coffee Buddy whispered, weapon dropping, broken at last. 

"You have ten minutes before I change my mind," I whispered, wrestling the Darkness, rolling my neck when Asher's fingers trailed down my spine. "Run back to your precious Emperor, human, and deliver our message yourself. We are slaves no longer." 

"You are f-fools, each and e-every one of you," Coffee Buddy whispered, stumbling back from us. "There will be war." 

But I was no longer listening. 

*** 

Author's note. 

Hokay, so yay! The Curator is finally dead! Chapter 29 is almost finished, but I am going to Iceland on Saturday, and I'll upload it when I'm back on Wednesday! In the meantime, tell me what you thought of this chappy, because you're running out of chances to do so!! The next one is the last one! (bitter-sweet, I know, but I'm working on the rewrite where I get to fill all the ridiculous plot holes that i couldn't fix because this baby is a 300k word first draft manuscript. omggg!) 

Okay, I love you, byeeee! No more waiting, yay!! 

Myra Danvers



The Last Tritan Ch. 29-Epilogue



Omg!! This is it, guys. The very last chapter. (Plus epilogues) Before anything else, I want to thank the people who stuck with me through the last two and a half years. In no particular order—Livia Grant, Sophie Kisker, Jennifer Bene, Baron VonKarmann, Princess Consuela Bananahammock, SF, and unorigionalnames, and of course, all of my readers who've made it this far! It's been a long road, but we made it! I'm already working on the rewrite, which will include all of the same characters, but be without all those pesky little plot holes that make you frown and question my ability to do this writing thing for a (hopefully) living. heh. I post about my progress fairly often, so I won't be disappearing anytime soon! But on with the story! I'm not going to do a 'last time on,' because you read 28 so recently. ;) 

*** 

"So that's it? We're to leave the Empire?" Jackson asked, looking first to me, then Asher. 

Still a part of my intricate net, the Elites of the Northern Front turned to us, swamping our bond with their confusion, with their uneasy fear. 

Their hope. 

I staggered into Asher, shivering, trying to untangle us from the circle before I lost us both in the blur. 

"I didn't sign up for this!" someone shouted, sparking a chorus of murmurs. 

"Yeah, Rawlings," called another, tapping Asher's shoulder. Aggressive. Too close. "What are we supposed to do now?" 

I shook my head, casting wild eyes around the tightening group of angry men, looking for a way out. "Please... I need air..." 

"Give them space!" Jackson shouted, shoving the crowd back. "Leave the Lady be!" 

"She and Rawlings got us into this! What's the plan to get us out? Challenge the Emperor?" 

A sharp bark of laughter burst from the lips of the man Theo had shoved. "We can't take the Empire down! It's not possible, even with this one and her fancy new power." 

"Oh, Goddess," I whispered when Asher pulled me to his chest, burying my face in his shirt, dropping the Rebel weapon, lest I be further tempted to use it. "It's too much. I'm sorry." 

"Breathe, baby. We're leaving," Asher hissed, all but hauling me off the ground, trying to cover me with his shield. 

"Not fucking likely, Rawlings," a burly giant of a man growled, towering over us. "The Curator is dead by Elite hands, your Lady Witch sent the human soldiers off with a declaration of war, and here we are, thumbs planted firmly in ass, trying to figure out just what the fuck is happening. You two," he stressed, clapping a massive hand on Asher's shoulder, "go nowhere until we've a plan." 

"I don't know about the rest of you," said another from outside my narrow scope, "but I live a good life with the Empire. I'm not leaving." 

"A good life?" Carly said, stepping forward, placing a gentle hand on my wrist, infusing me with her peaceful energy. "You're war mongers." 

"The fight is in our blood, Priestess," Giant rumbled, though his chin dipped with respect as he addressed her. "We are Elite." 

"Is that so?" she asked, single elegant eyebrow raised. "And what did you aspire to be before your Elite status was known, I wonder? I myself wanted to be an explorer when I was a child. I wanted to visit exotic places and paint the sunrise each morning before I set out for a new adventure. But I was born with Priestess blood, and when I came of age, my fate was decided for me." 

Giant frowned, pursing his lips. 

"You can't tell me each and every one of you is perfectly happy in this life!" she continued, raising her voice to be heard by everyone present, standing in front of Asher and me. "Your only option with the Empire is to fight. Fight and hope you never come across an enemy who's stronger than you. More powerful than you. You spend your entire lives trying to rise through the ranks, moving from one target to the next, never putting down roots. While your female counterparts spend their lives in chains, whether you want them there or not." 

Here, the Giant snorted. "And what are you proposing, Priestess? That we flee? That we take our Priestesses, the lot of us, and live a life of fugitives on the run?" He slapped the closest man on the back, laughing deep in his belly. "Let's for a moment, assume we'd be able to outrun the Empire—which in itself is an absurd notion. Let us assume, for the sake of the argument, you can keep everyone healthy all by yourself, Healer. We're still doomed to die out within a generation. At most. We need the Empire, just as much as they need us." 

Carly's face split, her grin making her sparkle in the dimming light. "And if you're wrong? If there's hope?" 

Asher stilled, his fingers tightening on my shoulders, his breath gusting out against the back of my neck. So this was it? After everything we'd been through, we'd put our trust in the wrong people? Chosen the wrong allies? 

"Hope? Of what, Priestess?" Giant asked, brows raised. 

Carly turned to me, still smiling, though now her face was twisted, as if apologizing without words. 

And so she should, the silly little bitch! Asher and I were leaving this place tonight. We had to. Too many knew of our secrets for us to stay. And the Twins... the Empire couldn't find out about them. Not until we were in a position to protect them properly. 

Heart pounding, I turned to glare at Carly, furious that she could betray us like this—but caught the dark eyes of the Elites standing spell-bound around us. Looking from my face, to hers, and back. What if we hadn't chosen wrong? What if we simply hadn't trusted enough? The Twins needed protection... Did we not stand at the head of a leaderless army? An army of the only people on the planet who stood a chance of understanding what the Twins could be? These were the only people on the planet who wouldn't hate, enslave, or dissect my children simply for being born what they were. 

I blinked. 

Here was a people whose loyalty to the Twins could be guaranteed with little more than learning the truth of their existence. 

"Asher," I whispered, tilting my head to see his face. 

He stared down at me for a long moment, wrestling with the weight of the decision himself. But he nodded, face grim, and said, "Do it," hands slipping to rest on my hips. "We're going to need all the help we can get." 

I stepped forward, breathing through parted lips. "Um... Right. Hi," I said, blushing hot when my voice cracked. "Uh, Carly's plan is viable." 

"What fucking plan?" someone snarled, making my Elites twitch and glance around nervously. 

"To leave the Empire. Strike out on our own. We won't die out in a generation." 

"Go on," the Giant said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at me. 

"I... we'll flourish as a new people. Separate from the humans. Free of their chains. Free of their laws and cruelty. Free... to raise our children to be better than we are." 

"Our children?" the Giant scoffed, head jerking back. "What a beautiful fantasy-land you live in, Lady Witch." 

At the new variation of my moniker, I curled my lip, exposing elongated canines as I stepped up, toe to toe with the Giant. "I'm pregnant." 

"You're what?" Jackson whirled to face me, eyes bulging from their sockets, as every man within hearing distance roared their shock and disbelief. 

"It's true!" Carly shouted, straining to be heard over the Elites. "I've felt them myself." 

Jackson gaped at me. "Them?" 

"Twins," Carly said, beaming. 

"How is that possible?" 

"Are they yours, Rawlings?" 

"Of course they are," Asher snapped, pulling me back to his side, glaring at the speaker. 

"Are they... can you tell if they are Elite? Is it too early?" 

"They're not Elite," Carly said, a wicked little smile tugging at the corner of her lips as the Elites deflated. "And neither are they Priestess." 

The Giant sighed, offering an apologetic shrug, though he was grinning down at us. "I suppose that would have been too much to hope for, but—" 

Carly cut him off, commanding the attention of the most powerful men in the North with the simple gesture. "They are Priestess and Elite both. Like their parents." 

The crowd erupted into chaos, forcing Theo, Jackson and his men to keep the Elites back even as they pressed forward, searching for evidence of Carly's wild claims. And for a single, terrifying moment, I thought we'd be crushed to death by the crowd. I remembered the discarded Rebel weapon with equal parts irritation and relief, knowing I would have been hard-pressed not to use it. 

"Get back! Someone bring the Priestesses!" Jackson shouted, shoving the Giant hard in the midsection, though Jackson himself stood a full head shorter than the man. "Get back, you damn fool. Collect the Priestesses. They're the only ones who can confirm or deny any of this. Mobbing Rawlings and the Lady will accomplish nothing." 

"But the Rebels—" 

"The Rebels are running low on power-cells," Asher said, palm splayed over my belly, using his bulk in an attempt to keep his fledgling family safe behind him. "They're not getting past us. Collect the Priestesses, and step the fuck back." 

"Asher," I whispered, keeping a wary eye on the high-strung men as they rushed to free the Priestesses from the bunker. "The wall. They won't be able to sense anything through the wall." 

He cursed. "Weaken it. Quickly." 

"Help me," I begged, knowing this was a moment on the edge. A moment between revolution, or a half-life on the run. 

Asher sank to his knees, pulling me down beside him. "Stand guard," he snapped at Jackson, tucking me close, ripping through the flimsy barrier between us. "We need a moment." 

It had taken hours to build the wall around the Twins in our effort to protect them from outside influence. To put a crack in said wall, however, took but a few short minutes. The Twins, stirred to restlessness by the day's chaos, met us halfway, their combined appetite for power growing at an unchecked rate. 

"Fuck me," Asher breathed, brushing against his progeny in open-mouthed awe. "They're—" 

"Incredible," I finished, echoing his sentiment with a nod, leaning into his hand where it had come to rest against my cheek. 

Someone cleared their throat. "Is it true?" asked Whisper, a Priestess I recognized from my one and only trip to the bunker. 

I stood, reeling back from our gathered audience, from so many faces watching me, their eyes shining with unguarded emotion. Voice caught in my throat, I reached for her hand, placing her touch over the Twins. 

"Goddess be merciful," Whisper said, sinking to her knees before me as the Twins rose to the occasion, tasting her unique energy pattern. She pressed her ear to my belly as if she could hear their tiny hearts beating, and said, "They're beautiful." 

"Are they what they claim?" the Giant asked, his voice tight. 

"They're both," she confirmed, pressing a kiss to my belly. "Priestess and Elite." 

I cast wide eyes at Asher, trying to disentangle myself from the invasive intimacy of Whisper's touch. 

"Give her some space," Asher growled, though his hand on Whisper's shoulder was gentle. 

"Oh, please!" cried another Priestess, rushing forward, big blue eyes luminous with unshed tears. "May I?" 

I took a shuddering breath, wishing I could say no, wishing Asher would just take me away and let me sit in the dark for a few precious moments. "Of course," I said instead, lips trembling, voice breathy. 

"Mila, they have their proof. You don't—" 

"It's okay," I said, seizing my bond-mate's fingers. "They need this." 

It took almost an hour to satisfy the Priestesses, and by the end, I was trembling with fatigue, senses so overloaded by the potent emotions swirling around me that my vision was blackening at the edges. 

"That's enough!" Asher roared, prying me away from a woman who was halfway through her second pass, hauling my limp frame into his arms as my Elites resumed their circle around me. He completely ignored the shouts of, "where are you going?" and, "come back!" as he—finally—carried me away. 

*** 

When I woke, it was with a sharp gasp, for I was alone shrouded in darkness. "Asher?" I called, not bothered by warble in my voice. 

"Here," he replied without looking at me, standing by the window, bathed in moonlight. In his hand, he held a glass of amber liquid, though from what I could tell, it was full. Untouched. 

"Where—" 

"We're safe. For now." 

"For now? What happened?" 

"Assuming the Rebels honor the cease-fire, we've got another ten hours of quiet. But Jackson and Viridian have got defensible positions set up in case the—" he coughed, "—Caledonian soldiers... the humans cause any trouble in the meantime." 

My hand passed over my face as I tried to banish the fatigue from my head. "I don't even remember falling asleep." 

"You needed it." 

"How long?" 

He sighed, swirled his drink, then tapped the glass with the tips of his fingers, not responding. 

Long enough, then, judging by the rising moon and the late hour. "Something happened." 

He nodded. "Carly called a vote." 

"And?" I asked, flinging the bedclothes off me, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. 

"We act as a united people," he murmured, swirling the glass. "The vote was unanimous." 

"A united people?" I gasped, stumbling out of bed. "Are we to go to war then?" 

He turned to me at last, all emotion cleared from his face. "That's yet to be decided. They're waiting for you." 

"What? Why?" 

"Carly and the other Priestesses refused to make anything final until you've had your say." 

"That's absurd," I snapped, shifting from foot to foot. "Even if I disagreed, it wouldn't change the outcome. It's just one vote." 

"Did Sasha give you the Priestess History tome? The—" his brow furrowed, "—The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia." 

"Did she—yes," I replied, thrown by the abrupt change in topic. 

"Did she give it to you, specifically?" he pressed, careful to keep his voice neutral, though his eyes were fixed upon my face. 

Frowning, I paused to recall her words. "She said she had a gift for me, and that I would know what to do with it when the time came. Is there some significance to Sasha giving the book to me?" I asked, heart beating in my throat. 

Asher's expression did not change and he kept his silence, watching me. 

"Ah," I said at last, stalking toward him, letting my canines show through a savage grin. "I get it. Sasha gave the book to me. Passed the gauntlet, as it were. And you're uncomfortable with the idea of me in a leadership role." 

The only part of him that moved—as I walked toward him on the balls of my feet—were his eyes. Otherwise, he was utterly still. Waiting. 

"You don't like the idea of me speaking for the Priestesses... knowing what I can do... How..." I trailed my fingers down his chest, letting my nails catch of the buttons of his black shirt, "... how easy it is for me to manipulate them. But don't worry," I pouted, tugging his shirt free from his trousers, "they'll never know it's happening. And with that kind of power at our disposal, what's to stop us from simply..." I unbuckled his belt, loving the unconscious tightening of his lower belly beneath my fingers, "taking what we want? We could rule it all, or let it burn. We're unstoppable now. Nothing can touch us." 

Asher set his glass down and seized both of my wrists in his larger hands. "Mila—" 

My laughter cut his protest short. "I'm fucking with you," I drawled, trying to wriggle free. "I know about as much about being a Priestess as I know about motherhood. Let's deal with one impossible task as a time, please." 

Jaw slack, Asher stared down at me, emotions no longer concealed behind a cold warrior's mask. "Fucking with me, were you?" he said at last, voice a deep growl, but the corners of his lips twitched. 

"Can you imagine a more inappropriate choice for Head Priestess?" 

He cleared his throat. "Ah... No. I can't." 

"Ha!" I barked, digging my thumbs into his ribs when he refused to release me. "You thought I'd actually want to be Head Priestess?" I laughed again, grinning in the half-light. "I bet you had a whole speech planned to convince me to turn Carly down, didn't you?" 

Heat splashed across Asher's cheeks. "No I didn't." 

I stilled, tilting my head back to look him in the eye. "Oh my god. You did! Let me hear it! Convince me not to become a power-hungry tyrant bent on world destr—" 

"You sassy little bitch," he rasped, and dropped to one knee, placing his shoulder against the ridge of my hip. 

I squealed, still laughing as he lifted me, heading toward the bed. "Did you write it down somewhere?" 

"Give it up, Mila," he snapped, and without missing a beat, landed a firm slap on my ass. "I haven't written a damn thing." 

When he set me down, more gently than the dark flames flickering behind his eyes would suggest, I stared up at him in open-mouthed shock. "Did you just spank me?" 

Asher froze, stuck halfway between reaching for me and pulling back, his expression so guilty, I almost couldn't suppress a snort of cruel laughter. "Yes," he said at length, not breaking eye contact. 

"Why?" 

Eyes narrowed, he paused again, gaze darting about my face, looking for what, I couldn't say. And then, seeming to come to some internal decision, he said, "Because you were being a brat." He thawed, planting first his left knee, then both hands on the mattress. "Why, my feisty little witch? Did you like it?" 

"Of course not." My cheeks flamed, but I refused to back away from his sexuality—especially if he intended to use it against me. "It hurt." 

"Innocent little Mila," he purred, crawling forward, his face just inches from mine now, breath sweet and hot on my lips. "Pleasure and pain aren't so different. Fuck—the things I could teach you..." he groaned, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth, gazing down at me with incomprehensible hunger. 

"You want me to spank you?" I returned, though it was not the sexy rasp I had envisioned, but a mousy squeak. 

He grinned, pressing me back, covering me with the length of his body, thrusting against my thigh in a leisurely stroke. "If you want, sure. I can take whatever you dish out. Trust me." 

I sucked in a breath, though my chest was constricted, heart fluttering wildly in its cage. "Oh." 

"It's never been my kink," he continued, voice calm, unaffected, "but if you wanted—" 

"No!" I gasped, aborting any notion that I could compete with him in this. 

His laugh rumbled through my chest, and he pinned my shoulders to the mattress. "I thought so." 

I hesitated, trying to keep us separate—his desires and mine. He wasn't entirely correct, but he neither was he wrong... I was curious, but... "I don't—" 

He jostled me, both hands slipping to the crease betw een ass and thigh, hoisting me closer to the headboard. Spreading me as he settled between my legs. "I can feel it, Mila," he groaned, eyes drifting closed as he breached my shield. "Your curiosity. It's intoxicating." And then, as I tried to formulate something witty to say, he slipped his hand beneath my skirts, dipping his fingers into the scorching wet heat gathered between my legs. 

I grunted, nails biting deep into his shoulder. 

"Just thinking about it gets you hot, doesn't it?" he rasped, forehead pressed against mine, fingers sliding in and out, thumb strumming against the tight bundle of nerves at my apex. And then he withdrew, leaving me completely overwhelmed as he whispered, "Taste it," pressing his fingers to my lips. 

My breath came in a pathetic little pant, and then not at all as he caught me with his dark eyes, pinning me with the temptation to play his game. Challenging me. 




The Last Tritan Ch. 29-Epilogue



"Suck it," he whispered, coating my bottom lip. "Taste that sweet little pussy for me, Mila. Fuck yes," he groaned as I wrapped my fingers about his wrist, licking his finger from base to tip—because fuck it, I'd done this for him before, and the way his eyes darkened as he watched me? Nirvana. 

"You like it?" 

I snorted and pushed at his chest. "Yes sir," I simpered, batting my eyelashes. "May I have some more?" 

"Mm," he purred, licking my lips before taking his fingers into his mouth. Sucking them clean. "Of course you can," he replied, hand drifting back down my body. 

"That's not what I meant," I whispered, heat searing my cheeks, naughty thoughts bouncing around inside my skull. 

"Oh?" he asked, brow arched. 

"Do you trust me?" 

Asher stilled, taking a moment to consider the question. "Tell me what you want." 

"I..." I looked away, caged beneath him, desperate for somewhere to hide. Burnt by his non-answer, though it was true I'd never given him a reason to hold faith in me. 

"Bashful, Mila?" he drawled, kissing my temple when I squirmed away from his lips. "It must be something really big to shake the confidence of my wild little Priestess." 

"Yeah," I agreed, smirking in spite of myself, "it's a good size." 

He reeled back, brows almost lost in his hairline. "Did you..." He shook his head. "Either I'm losing my mind, or you just make a joke—" 

"What?" I asked, sensing weakness, my chance to regain the upper hand. "You have a nice cock. I've never denied it." 

He blinked. "I—Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

"So..." he said, sitting back, releasing me from the warmth of his arms. "Let me get this straight. You want something that has to do with trust and my good-sized cock?" 

A strangled, confused sound escaped my throat. "I'm sorry," I whispered, scrambling to an upright position, confidence shaken by his retreat. "Forget it. I—I ruined the mood..." 

"Hey," he rasped, lunging for me, seizing my wrist before I could get away, "no. You didn't ruin anything, Mila. Are you kidding? I'm trying not to spill in my pants just considering the wicked thoughts running through your head. Tell me what you want, my dirty little Priestess. For the love of god, don't be shy now." 

My breath caught, and I steeled myself, blurting, "I want to taste you," before I could talk myself out of it. 

"Fuck," he bit out, fingers tightening on my wrist. 

Not sure just what that meant, I let my senses tell me, pressing at his shield, sampling his emotions. Lust—pure, and unfiltered—blasted through me. I grinned, feeling just how close he was to complete loss of control, licking my lips. All thoughts of pride and winning the constant battle between us faded, a distant echo, for this was a different sort of winning altogether, wasn't it? "I want to feel you," I whispered, shifting, pushing him back. "I want to know what you taste like. I want to know what it feels like to hold the most sensitive part of you in my mouth..." I bared my canines, not needing to vocalize the reason such an act would require his trust. 

"Fucking hell, Mila," he rasped, tangling his hand in my hair, thumb kneading the muscle at the back of my neck as his eyes drifted closed. A pained expression flickering across his handsome face. 

"You're the most powerful Elite the world has ever known," I continued, not caring if my statement was true or not, "and I want to make your knees shake. I want to face our people with the taste of you still on my lips. I want your heart to beat faster when other men look at me and shake their heads, put off by my savage countenance. Scared off by the crazy wild thing only you are brave enough to try and bed." 

Asher exhaled, eyes wide, nostrils pinched white. And then, fist tightening at my nape, he pushed me toward the edge of the bed, and said, "Then get on your knees, my Lady." 

"Yes sir," I drawled, letting the brilliant flicker of his arousal fuel my actions, hips rolling beneath my skirts, his greedy fingers trailing across every available inch of visible skin as I passed him. 

Kneeling before him, light eyes fixed upon dark, I watched Asher stand, shoving his pants down and freeing his throbbing erection. "You want this?" 

I smirked. "Do you?" 

"Keep playing your little word games, Mila," he said, stroking himself before stooping low, bending at the waist to meet me at my level. "You can win every argument we have. I don't care. Do you know why?" 

I shook my head. 

"I don't care because I know what you're hiding." 

"Oh?" I asked, head cocked to the side, refusing to let my gaze wander to the thick head of his penis peeking out from clenched fingers. 

"You don't have to admit you want this, Priestess," he continued, straightening, tight fist moving over his length. "I know it with more surety than I've ever known anything in my life. And I'm willing to wait. Now open up, and take this cock," he snapped, restraint breaking, fingers tangling in my messy hair. 

Not put off by his wild claims, but thrilled by them, I did as he asked, bracing one hand on his inner thigh, wrapping the fingers of the other around the girth of his shaft. Confidence failing me, I glanced up at him. 

"This is your show, Mila," he drawled, thumb stroking my lips, gazing down at me with hooded eyes. "Or do you want me to tell you what to do, hmm?" he asked, tugging at my jaw with his thumb, coaxing my teeth apart. And when I didn't answer—mesmerized by the rasp in his voice, by the pulse beating his in cock—he continued, taking the lead. "Go on, taste it," he said, guiding my head forward, touching a bead of moisture to my lip, connecting us. 

He placed his hand over mine, prompting me to stroke his length as my tongue darted out, tracing the tiny hole at his very tip. 

"Yes," he hissed, head tilting back for a moment before his attention dropped back to me. "Suck it, Mila." 

I exhaled, opening my mouth as far as it would go, mindful of my canines as I took him in, as he slid between the dangerous points. A perfect fit. 

"Fuck," he groaned, leaving me to stroke him, tangling one hand in my hair as the other drifted lower, cupping me just beneath the chin. "Let me see your pretty eyes as you suck me, baby." 

I obliged him, straining to make eye contact without catching him with my teeth, mouth watering around him. 

With a shaky exhale, Asher pulled back, guiding my head, his grip in my hair bordering on painful. "That's it. Use your tongue," he rasped, baring his teeth as he watched me. Cheeks flushed hot. Veins bulging in his forearms. The pounding of his pulse visible at the base of his throat—even from my vantage point on my knees before him. 

"Stroke it," he hissed, picking up a rhythm now, though he could only go so far until he was hampered by the spacing of my modified canines. Until he was forced to pull back, making shallow thrusts. He guided my hands to the heavy sack drawn tight between his legs. "Careful." 

I weighed them in my palm, fascinated by the texture, by the way his every muscle strained when I rolled his balls in my hand. Quite taken with the power I held there, with knowing both a cruel swipe of my nails or a gentle squeeze would bring him to ruin—though the brands of either were very different, indeed. Taken with the knowledge that it was my choice. 

Drunk on knowing he trusted me enough to make it. 

I squeezed his balls with the utmost care, letting my eyes drift closed as I continued stroking him, my hand slippery now with saliva. And when my jaw began to ache, unaccustomed to such arduous activity, I breached his shield, joining his race to climax. Pushing him toward the peak. 

"Fucking hell, Mila, you cheater," he gasped, hips jerking wildly, ass flexing, balls drawn tight. "I—I'm gonna come, baby. If you don't want it—" 

I stretched my jaws as wide as they could go, taking him deeper, thankful he couldn't reach the back of my throat even as I moaned around him, pouring everything I had into his climax. 

Air rushed over clenched teeth as he stilled, shuddering, his cock swollen past the point of comfort. Something hot splashed against the back of my throat, and I jerked, surprised by the force with which it struck me. I swallowed, acting on pure reflex as a second, then a third and fourth jet coated my tongue. 

"Fuck yes," he hissed, still coming, eyes still locked on mine. "Swallow it, baby. Ugh, fuck, take it all. That's a good girl." 

I glared up at him, then, raising one brow in irritation—and, quite deliberately, stopped swallowing. Holding the last of his spending in my mouth. 

He laughed at that, slipping free at last, cock softened though not completely spent. After a moment, breathing hard, he cupped my cheek, thumb stroking from nose to cheek. "Let me see it," he breathed, holding his cock up and away. Too sensitive, I knew. I could feel it. 

A wicked little shiver raced through my blood, and I allowed my lips to part. 

He traced my lips, eyes gleaming, pushing a bit of escaped come into my mouth with his thumb. "Mm, Mila. You look so fucking sexy right now. Now be a good little submissive, and swallow it for me." 

The hint of a smile on his lips saved him from any true retaliation on my part, but I bared my teeth, catching the meat of his thumb between the sharp points of my canines. 

I did, however, have to swallow anyway, or dribble semen all over myself. 

Asher hissed as my teeth threatened to break skin, tangling his fist in the hair at my nape as he pressed his captured hand forward, forcing my jaws apart with the pressure. "Not so submissive, after all," he purred, stooping, the stubble of his cheek pressed to mine. "Or is it the challenge you crave? The fight? Do you need to feel conquered, my Lady?" 

"I don't need anything," I rasped, back arched, teeth bared... heart pounding between my legs. 

"That right?" Grinning, Asher's hand framed the slender column of my throat for an instant before slipping lower, cupping the heat between my legs. "This greedy little pussy seems to say otherwise." 

With a restricted shake of my head, I struggled to get my feet beneath me, to fight him as my pride demanded. 

"Are you aching for it?" he asked, plunging two fingers inside. "Poor, needy Priestess," he continued, thumb grazing my clit, following as I struggled to put distance between us. "Did I leave you wanting, Mila? Was I selfish to use you for my pleasure? To leave you behind, a sexy, unsatisfied little mess?" 

I grinned. "It's okay," I whispered, eyes closed in an effort to ignore the burn of his fist in my hair. "I'm sure I can handle myself." 

"Feisty today," he growled, helping me to stand with my hair as a handle, hands braced on his forearm. "I like that." His free hand remained buried between my legs, fingers gliding through the liberal helping of lubrication gathered there. "You need a good fucking, don't you Priestess? Hmm? You want this dick, pretty girl?" 

I glanced down, curling my lip. "The poor thing looks a little tired," I drawled, affecting an air of disinterest, though I was balanced on the tips of my toes, standing too close to his large, muscular frame. Completely dwarfed by him. 

"Oh, you think I'm finished with you? Come now, pet. You should know better than that by now." 

My heart skipped as he stared down at me, the muscles in my lower abdomen constricting with enough vigor to lighten my head—to distract me for just long enough for Asher to strike. His hands dropped to the backs of my thighs, and in one fluid motion, he lifted me, draping my legs about his waist. 

But I was not a passenger in this—not any more—and I twisted my hands in his shirt, nails biting deep, stealing a kiss as he turned toward the bed, making him taste himself. Catching his lower lip with my teeth, I ground my pelvis against his belly, doing my utmost to distract him, groaning low and feral in my throat. Verbalizing just so I could hear his breath catch, just so I could feel his pulse jump, could relish the bite of pain as his grip tightened on my thighs. 

With a snarl, he tossed me on the bed, kicking his pants aside as he stared me down, all but tearing his shirt off in his haste. "I'm going to fuck you, Mila." 

"Awfully sure of yourself today." 

He stroked his cock, smirking. "And why wouldn't I be? I don't need to be inside your head to know what you need," he purred, inching closer. "Not when my hand is soaked with pussy." He inhaled, eyes fluttering closed before snapping open, finding me. "The fucking air is ripe with it, Mila." 

"It is not!" 

Grinning now, he stalked closer, pinning me in place with nothing more than the promise lurking in his eyes. "Come here." 

I snorted. 

"Hmm, no?" He paused at the bedside, his hip only a few inches away from my toes. "That's okay. I'm sure I can take care of myself..." 

Throw my words at me, would he? I rose to my knees, meeting his eyes—and tugged at the hemline of my skirts... tempting the darkness prowling just beneath the surface with every inch of thigh I exposed. For his part, Asher stilled, eyes fixed to my hands, lips parted, nostrils pinched white. Of its own accord, my back arched, pushing my breasts forward, toward him. But he didn't reach for me until I bared my pussy to the chilly evening air, folds of black silk resting high on my thighs. 

With a grunt, Asher lunged, pressing his lips to mine, his tongue plunging forward with little regard for the danger represented by my modified teeth. Frantic now, he stripped me, discarding the length of black silk away from the heat of my skin.  

"Gorgeous," he breathed, hardly taking the time to look before his head dipped and he seized a nipple with lips and teeth. 

I traced the length of his back with my nails, reveling in the wave of gooseflesh that rippled over him before I buried my fingers in his thick, dark hair. Tilting his head back, depriving him of the prize he worried between his teeth, I licked the vulnerable column of his throat, tasting salt and man. Shivering myself when his raspy groan filled my ears. 

"Please," I whispered, pressing my lips to his ear, crawling into his lap. 

"Yes." 

"Please fuck me." 

He grunted, reaching for his cock with one hand, supporting me with the other. The blunt head of his cock parted my lips, passing once—twice—through the slick, delicate folds before he stilled, poised on my threshold. "Again. Say it again." 

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, fingers tightening in his hair. 

The resounding crack of his palm on my ass echoed about the room, causing my hips to jerk, making me ride the tip. "Say it again, Priestess." 

"I need it." 

"Need what," he whispered, picking up a series of micro-thrusts. Teasing us both. 

Fuck this game. I hooked my heels under his calves, gaining leverage, using his shoulders for stability as I rocked against him. 

"Ah, ah, ah," he cooed, claiming his favorite grip at my nape, dragging my head back and stilling my hips. "Tell me what you want." 

"Ugh," I snapped, trying to push at him through our bond, and failing. "Why?" 

"Because—" he pressed a kiss to my sternum, pausing to suck at my nipple, "—seeing my little ice queen all hot and bothered turns me on." His hand slid down my back, coming to rest just above my bottom, adding subtle pressure. Guiding me toward his cock. "Do you like it, Priestess?" 

I nodded, unable to force the words into being. 

He released my hair. "Look at me. There isn't a thing you can do here that will turn me off, Mila. If it feels good, do it." 

Heat seared my cheeks, but I didn't look away. Didn't flinch when he touched his lips to mine, still holding eye contact. But... I whined, deepening the kiss, sharing his breath. 

Lips twitching, he pressed forward, parting me. "Does that feel good?" 

I nodded. 

"Tell me." 

"Yes," I breathed, clutching at the back of his neck. "God, yes." 

"And this?" He tilted my hips forward, blunt nails scoring my skin, rocking against me. Brushing my clit with his pubic bone... the pace seductive. 

"Y-yes." 

"Mm, I can feel how badly you need it," he groaned, keeping the same torturous pace. "How badly you want to come—fuck. Kiss me, Mila." 

I cupped his face with both hands, trusting his grip on my hips to keep the rhythm. When I kissed him, it was both chaste and one of the most intimate experiences we'd yet shared. He groaned—voice cracking mid-breath—eyes closed, brows pinched. 

"Faster," I whispered against him, safer while hidden from his eyes. Almost anonymous. 

Lips curved, his smile tasting of victory, Asher obliged me. "Good girl." 

I hissed, trying to match his pace, eyes drifting closed. 

"That's it, baby," he whispered, trailing kisses along the line of my jaw. "Concentrate on you. On how good it feels. Yess... Right there. Keep going." He lowered his shield, flooding me with his side, giving me the nudge I needed to find the edge. 

I whined, hips going still—though he continued to thrust, pushing me close, riding me to climax. 

"Let me hear you," he rasped, voice cracking, thumb finding my clit. "I want to fuck you so hard, you come screaming all over my cock." 

"A-Ash—" I gasped, his words sending me over the edge, my orgasm hitting with such force, the only sound I could make was air rushing through clenched teeth. Ecstasy rippled through me, pounding at me so hard, I curled in upon myself, hiding my face under his chin. 

And through it all, Asher continued to fuck me, keeping enough of himself separate to enjoy my climax without joining me. 

"God, you're sexy." 

I cringed. "I'm sorry." 

He wrapped his arms around my waist, squeezing me tight and tipping me onto my back, cock buried deep as he followed me down. "Now what could you possibly be sorry for, my little lunatic?" 

"I..." Heat bloomed across my cheeks. "I'm not loud, and—" 

He cut me off with a kiss, rocking his hips and sending a fresh wave of tremors through me. "I do enjoy a challenge. And trust me, Mila. You will scream for me some day. I don't care how long it takes." 

"Arrogant ass." 

"Stubborn witch." 

I grinned, clutching at him as he began anew. Lost in the moment. 

*** 

I don't know how much time passed—only that sunrise was still several hours off by the time we stepped into the shower. All I knew was the pleasurable ache pulsing in my most intimate places and the heat of Asher's arms as we lounged beneath the covers, hair still damp. 

"Major Rawlings?" 

"Fuck," Asher groaned, squeezing me tighter for a moment before flinging the blankets back. He rose nude, nicking a wet towel on his way to the door, draping it over his narrow hips. 

A pair of young Elites stood in the hallway, their nervous energy ruining the contended nest we'd built around us. "Sir." 

"Is it time already?" 

"Yes sir." 

Asher nodded. "Good. We'll be a moment," he said, then closed the door in their faces, raking a hand through his hair. 

"I don't suppose we could just give them the Priestess text, and stay in bed a little longer?" I asked, already rising, trying to sort out the length of black silk so I could wrap it around myself. Asher's pendant hit the floor with a dull thud, the gold catching the light, sparkling and seductive. 

"Not unless you want Viridian and the rest to join us in here. They were impatient even before I left." He cleared his throat. "Here. Put these on." 

"Pants," I breathed, ignoring his comment of what was to come in facing our people and took the bundle of clothing, letting the fabric drape over my forearm. "I never would have guessed you to be the romantic type," I teased, stepping into them, thrilled by the fine cut and fit. 

"What can I say?" he drawled, hopping into his own black trousers. "I've been wanting to see your tight little ass in a pair of pants since we brought you back from your Great Escape." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 29-Epilogue



I spun in a circle, glancing at him over my shoulder, pushing my bottom toward him. "You like?" 

In response, he growled, closing the distance between us in two strides, planting a firm smack on my ass and wrapping his free hand about my waist, lips dipping to the side of my neck. 

"I hate to rush you, sir," came a voice from the hall, "but the Brigadier General said not to come back without you and the Lady." 

"Bastard," Asher snarled, glaring at the door. 

I sighed. "Let's get this over with. Where'd you hide the Priestess text?" 

Muttering under his breath, Asher stomped off, disappearing into his closet. When he returned, he was holding the very case Sasha had had delivered to me. He cracked the lid, revealing the silver symbol for Priestess marking the ancient text. 

I frowned, chasing an abstract thought as it bubbled at the edge of my mind. And then, eyes lingering on the Priestess tome, I reached again for my black silks, for the Elite pendant discarded on the floor. "Look," I breathed, laying gold over silver, lining them up. 

"Huh. That's a neat trick." 

But it was more than that, and I shook my head. "No, I think—" 

"Asher!" Brigadier General Viridian shouted from the street, his deep voice booming through the open window. "Get your ass down here, before I drag you out. We've waited long enough." 

"Later," Asher breathed, snapping the case closed and draping the pendant over my head, letting it swing free between my breasts for the first time. 

I shrugged, letting him guide me toward the door—but as we passed his modest bookshelf, my copy of the Caledonian history text snagged my attention, returned to its place among Asher's other books. On impulse, I grabbed it, smiling at him when he raised his brow in question. "Some light reading, just in case this... gathering is a bore." 

"Sure, whatever suits you. Ready?" he asked, hand on the doorknob. 

I lifted a shoulder, glancing at him from beneath my lashes. "Sure." 

With a nod and a deep breath, he opened the door. 

One of the young Elites stepped forward. "Can I take that for you, my Lady?" 

"Huh?" 

"The, ah—" he cleared his throat, gesturing at the book clutched to my chest, heat staining his cheeks. 

"I think I've got it. Thanks." 

"And you, sir? May I take anything for you?" 

Asher's knuckles whitened on the handle. "Where is the meeting taking place?" 

"Right, uh—" the young Elites snatched his hand back. "With head quarters destroyed, we've relocated to the grand ballroom at the Tilcot Manse. It's the only secure location big enough to contain us all, sir." 

A smile tugged at the edge of Asher's lips. "Then lead the way, boys." 

The young Elite saluted, signaled to his partner, drew his weapon, and made for the stairs, looking down the sights every step of the way. 

Frowning, I glanced at my bond-mate, who shrugged, placing a hand on my lower back and guided me down the steps. 

But it was the second escort who answered my unspoken question. "We've been assigned to your protective detail, sir." 

A startled burst of laughter escaped my lips, but Asher's fingers tightening on the back of my arm stalled any nasty comment from being spoken. 

"Jackson and his team?" Asher asked, descending the stairs behind me. 

"Taking a break, sir." 

"Ah, well deserved. And thank you for your help, gentlemen. We'll try to stay out of trouble." 

"The Brigadier General said quite the opposite, actually," the first said over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

"You're damn right, I did," Viridian snapped, hands on hips, waiting in the kitchen with Carly by at his side. "I'd never set you two on some poor, unprepared souls. Should have put a leash on the pair of your long ago." 

I flashed him a feral grin, the sentiment mirrored by my bond-mate. 

"He's joking, the pig," Carly breathed, floating toward us, ethereal smile gracing her pale pink lips as she reached for me, hands connecting first with my shoulders, then sliding south. "How are you feeling, my Lady?" 

I stepped back before she could reach for the Twins. "Fine." 

"Well rested? I know how overwhelming telling the others must have been." 

To this, I bit back an indignant snarl, trying to say nothing, unwilling to taint the happy glow pinking her cheeks. This was a celebration for us all. 

"How are they?" she continued, eyes flicking toward my belly button. "The Twins." 

"Still fine. Are we ready to leave?" 

"Oh! Yes," Carly said, clapping her hands. "We're sharing a car." 

"Great." 

"The others are so excited—you have no idea. I've been answering questions for hours now." Her slender fingers found mine, squeezing. "Babies, and twins, no less! They can't stop talking about you." 

"Uh-huh." Asher claimed my hand, thumb tracing the back of my hand—but I didn't miss the amusement lighting up our bond. 

"You'll have an army of Priestesses around you at all times, of course." 

"A-an army?" 

"Those children will be the most protected—and loved—babies ever born, I'd wager. Oh, you can't imagine how liberating it is to finally be able to talk about them! Keeping the secret was killing me." 

"Nope." I threw my hands up, spinning on my heel. 

Asher laughed. "Mila—" 

"Fuck no." 

"Mila—" 

"Not for a chance to kick the Emperor in his royal balls, Asher." 

"Excuse us for a moment," he demurred, wrapping his fingers around my elbow. 

Viridian nodded sagely. "Pregnancy hormones." 

"Arrgh!" 

"Hey! Hey," Asher said, following as I mounted the steps. "Here, is this better?" 

Stiff in his arms, I allowed him to wrap me in his shield, relaxing a little more with every breath of his scent filling my lungs. "They're just excited. It'll die down." 

"I can't do it. An army of Priestesses breathing down my neck at all times?" I snorted. "I'll kill them all before the sun sets on the first day." 

He laughed again, arms tightening around my shoulders. "We'll work something out, I promise." 

"That cottage by the sea sounds pretty fantastic about now." I murmured, picking at a spot on his shirt. 

He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of my head and said, "Ready to try again?" 

I shivered. "Yes." 

*** 

"Head Priestess," Whisper breathed when Asher and I entered the room, head bowed, hands pressed together in front of her. 

I glanced at Carly, ready to offer her the same gesture of respect—but she appeared to have the same thing in mind. And she wasn't the only one. A hush fell upon the gathered men and women as I stared back at them, muscles tightening in preparation of flight. 

Asher smoothed my still-damp hair back, and I grit my teeth. "Uh, right. Well. Thank you for the consideration, but I really must decline such a... uh... enlightened position." 

Carly cleared her throat. "Sasha passed it to you, my Lady. It cannot be passed again until your death." 

"Oh, perfect," I retorted, letting a gigantic, false smile spread across my face, "because Sasha didn't actually pass anything to me herself, which means the job is still up for grabs. Here—" I said, snatching the case from Asher's hands only to thrust it into Carly's. "Honor's all yours." 

"But—you—you can't! It's not done this way!" she spluttered, a chorus of Priestess voices singing the same tune. "The late Head Priestess wanted you to take her place—" 

"Ha! No. I'm pretty sure I can guarantee she wanted no such thing." 

"But she passed the book to you," Carly insisted, trying to press the case back into my hands. 

"Well, there's where you're wrong. She didn't physically pass anything to me," I said, palms up, refusing to take the case. "She passed it to Alicia who stashed it in Asher's room for me to find. It was all very covert," I continued, speaking with speed enough to border on hysterical ranting, "but the point is, no actual passing of anything occurred. Except for now. I passed it to you just then. Congratulations! All hail Head Priestess Carly. Prodigy healer. Apprentice to the Late Sasha herself." 

"But—" 

"Seriously," I hissed under my breath, for her ears only. "Don't make me do this. You know I'd make a terrible leader, Carly. You can't deny that." 

For a few, gut-wrenching seconds, she simply gaped at me, her jaw working around empty air. But then, cheeks a pretty, dainty shade of pink, she nodded. "A-alright. I-if you'll have me. I'd be honored." 

"If I may," the Giant said, clearing his throat, "we're here to discuss the possibility of going to war against the Empire." He laughed. "Who does or doesn't lead the Priestesses doesn't make a difference." 

Carly stilled, head tilting to the side as she glared up at the Giant. "Doesn't make a difference? Does that also mean you think the Priestesses will be useless in this discussion, Victor?" When he remained silent for the space of ten breaths, Carly continued, fury rippling off her skin in such a way that even I was impressed. "And what exactly will you do without the Priestesses by your side? Because the days of us keeping our silence, being obedient slaves, are over. They ended the moment those two—" she flung a finger at Asher and me, "—conceived children. Children of mixed blood, mind you. And let's not forget who wielded the Rebel shield earlier, Victor. It was a Priestess, you bloody fool." 

"A Priestess with the power of an Elite. A freak, to be sure. Why should we—" 

Asher stepped forward, derailing the Giant's argument. "Then I guess the same should be said of me." 

The Giant—Victor laughed, the sound echoing around the room as Asher flushed hot. "An Elite with the power of a Priestess? Major Rawlings bestowed with the womanly arts? Now that's truly something I'd like to see." 

Nodding, I joined my bond-mate. A practical demonstration, then. I held my right wrist up to the crowd to show them the unmarked, pale skin, and then, without pausing to consider the pain, sank my teeth into my flesh, burying my canines as deep as they could go. An electric jolt flashed through me, followed by a wave of freezing cold sweat. "Fuck." 

The Priestesses cried out as one, pushing forward to come to my aid, though many of their Elite counterparts wrapped strong arms around their middles. 

"Help her, Carly!" Whisper cried, her voice echoed by the other women. 

But, as always, Asher got to me first. "Mila! You—what the fuck?" 

Carly pushed "Why would you—here, let me see," Carly said, trying to capture my wrist, to stop the flow of crimson spilling down my arm, her cheeks pale. 

I placed my palm on her chest, halting her before she could make the attempt. "You wanted proof," I said, addressing Victor—whose facial features had blanched white beneath his beautiful, golden tan. "Show them," I added, passing my wrist to my furious bond-mate. 

"There was a better way to do this," Asher growled under his breath, pressing his palm over the wound, staunching the flow of blood. 

"Probably." 

Still grumbling, Asher broke through the wall separating us, brushing against the Twins for a moment before turning his attention to the gash in my wrist. 

And if I guided him in the healing process when he started to flounder, inexperienced with the healing arts, no one would ever know. 

"Incredible," Victor breathed, taking my hand, his giant paws dwarfing mine. The only evidence of the wound a set of twin, pink scars. 

Viridian stepped forward, smirking. "Not so womanly, then?" 

Victor shook his head, eyes wide, running his thumb over my wrist. 

"It's a learn-able skill, as far as we know," Asher drawled, claiming my hand, pulling me close. "But not all Priestesses are healers, and if we assume a pattern of logic applies here, the same should be true for Elites. Which," he added, nodding at Viridian, "is a topic for another time." 

Clapping his hands, Viridian claimed a seat at the head of the table, being the highest ranking officer in the room. Hovering behind his chair, Asher and I were the only ones who remained standing. "Shall we begin the war council, then?" 

"I vote we march on the Capital," Victor said, eyes still locked on my wrist. "With the Lady Witch and Major Rawlings on our side, they won't know what hit them. We hit hard, we hit fast, and we take the Capital." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." 

A chorus of Elite voices hummed in the background, dark eyes glittering as the blood-lust in the room rose—I took a deep breath, resisting the urge to tamper with it. We would come to a conclusion as a united people, or not at all. 

"And as newly appointed Head Priestess, I vote no." 

"War is men's work, Head Priestess," Victor snapped, turning his head to face her, hands clenched tight on the table before him. 

"Man-business, or no, if you go to war you'll need Priestess power. And I refuse to endanger my people in such a foolish manner. My vote is no." 

"This is a war council!" shouted someone from the back. "Priestess votes don't count." 

"Do you really think, after everything these women have been through, they'd be content to continue as your slaves?" Carly laughed, and I squeezed Asher's fingers—we'd chosen well for the position of Head Priestess. "Or do you think the Lady spoke of Elites alone when she declared freedom from the Empire? We work as a team," she continued, addressing the whole room from Viridian's right side, "or not at all. I will take the Priestesses from you, down to the woman, and leave you here to fight your stupid little war without us." 

Victor planted his massive hands on the table, rising to a half-stand. "You can try." 

"And she will succeed," Asher snapped, stepping forward, brows drawn together. 

Viridian stood, placing a calming hand on Asher's wrist. "Have you forgotten the Lady's condition, brother? A battlefield is no place for a pregnant woman, awesome power or no," he added, offering an apologetic twist of his lips when I made a disgruntled sound in the back of my throat. 

"So we've been demoted to the Lady Witch's nursemaids, have we?" 

"Don't be dramatic, Victor," Jackson said, chuckling. "Even if every one of us—Priestess and Elite both—had the power the Lady and Major Rawlings wield, we're talking of attacking the Capital. The most protected and heavily guarded place on the planet. And for what?" he added, standing. "We lost people today. And with those deaths, there are three unbound Priestesses shivering in the medical tent. Who knows if they'll recover from the shock?" 

I shot Asher a glance, and he nodded, lips tight. 

"Pussy whipped, every one of you!" Victor shouted, slamming his fists on the table. "We have a shot at the Empire itself. But if we don't strike now, we'll never have the same chance." A tall Priestess standing at his side sneered up at him, taking a single, obvious step away from the giant man who must have been her bond-mate, and moving to stand beside Carly. 

And then the shouting started, the voices of both Priestess and Elite echoing around the room. I stepped back, rubbing my temples, trying to close them out. To let them sort through the differing opinions free of my toxic influence. 

"Here," Asher said, claiming the Caledonian history text from the case containing The Recorded History of the Disciples of Milithia. "Focus on something else for a moment. And breathe, Priestess." 

"Is that an order?" I drawled, focusing on him, trying to block the others out. 

He pressed his lips against my ear. "I'd be careful with that tone of yours, my little lunatic, unless you want me to bend you over this desk and claim you in front of them right now." 

"Pig." I grinned, but squirmed away from him—exhibitionism would never be in my wheelhouse. Instead, I pressed my back against the wall, and slid to the floor, clutching my pendant as I cracked open the pages I'd last seen while on my Great Escape. 

In this edition of Two Thousand Years of the Empire—Condensed., three main topics will be covered: the ten year fish famine of 301: the occupation of the war tribes of Kaledai: and the assassination of the boy king Bertrand. While there were undoubtedly other significant events over this 111 year period, these three are widely acknowledged as the most important in our rich history. 

"Are you insane?" Victor asked. "We are Elite, Jackson. War is what we do." 

"I'm a fucking realist," Jackson snapped, crossing arms over chest. "We can't go to war with pregnant, shell shocked women in tow. That's insanity." 

"One pregnant woman!" 

"Yes, the very one you'd have leading the charge!" 

Individually, these events would have been nothing more than another moment of strife in a long history of struggle and hardship. But together, they became a set of catalysts that made this Empire the great and powerful nation it is today. 

I rolled my eyes and glanced up in time to watch one of the unnamed Priestesses slap at the hands of her Elite, her cheeks pink with passion. "The Head Priestess has already spoken for us, sir. We won't go to war, and that's the end of it. We follow the Lady and Major Rawlings." 

The original Droa-nia islanders—as discussed in volumes one through three—would have merely survived such hardships. There had been fish famines in the past—though none so long or thoroughly devastating as the infamous Cursed Decade, as it came to be known. Similarly, war was not new to the Droa-nia, as hundreds, if not thousands of skirmishes had taken place between rival tribes through the ages. 

"She wasn't your Head Priestess five minutes ago, but she speaks and now you refuse to listen to reason? It's madness!" 

"No, madness is this endless cycle of war and killing! You Elites seem to think violence is the only way to solve a problem." 

"It worked today, didn't it?" 

"Not the point. You wouldn't know how to be diplomatic if your life depended on it." 

And finally, assassinations of political figures were commonplace, and often seen as a mark of strength in the constant struggle for the right of rule. Why then, did these three seemingly unremarkable events spark a revolution that changed the course of our history? 

"Fine. Let's assume for a moment that we don't go to war. What then, oh wise and powerful Head Priestess? Do we stay here to raise the Lady Witch's children? Do we attempt to defend this city from not only the Empire—who will undoubtedly come for vengeance before the snow falls—but the Eloran Rebels camping on our doorsteps as well? They've already shown themselves to be a resourceful blight on our backsides. And we just sent away five-sixths of our man-power, not to mention we'll be out of food inside a month without shipments from the Capital." 

Carly blushed. "I—I'll admit I haven't gotten that far. But there's no reason we can't talk it out here and now. There's always another way." 

This text shall seek to answer that very question by demonstrating the unique set of circumstances that provoked the purist population to pursue such dramatic action. To turn away from the Empire at such a time—to leave the island in the name of a dead Goddess—ignited the conflict that left the New Kaledroa-nia Islanders a nation divided. Civil war ravaged the continent for twenty-two years, and by then, the purists were all but forgotten but for their role as instigators. 

Years later, Caledonia arose from the flames—purged of internal conflict. The united, untouchable race of warriors we are today. 

"Admit it, Head Priestess," Victor drawled, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, "You're not prepared to make these decisions. Unqualified." 




The Last Tritan Ch. 29-Epilogue



... provoked the purist population to pursue such dramatic action. 

"There's no reason for you to be inflammatory, Victor." 

... leave the island in the name of a dead Goddess... 

"It's not inflammatory if I'm simply stating the truth." 

... the purists were all but forgotten... 

"Dear, Goddess," I breathed, surging to my feet, ignoring the arguments simmering all around me, reaching for the Priestess text protected in its case. 

"L-Lady Mila?" Carly stammered, stumbling back as I claimed my prize. 

"Look!" I whispered, hands shaking as I pulled my pendant over my head. 

"This is the woman you insist on following, is it?" one of the Elites said, disdain plainly audible. "She's mad." 

Fitting Elite gold over Priestess silver, I grinned. "A perfect match." 

Asher peered over my shoulder. "Mila, what—Oh," he breathed, head jerking back. 

"You see it?" 

He nodded, eyes transfixed on gold and silver. 

"What are you on about, Lady Witch?" 

"We're one people. We've always been one people." I stood the Priestess text on end, dangling my pendant over the cover, grinning when both ancient symbols lined up and the Elites and Priestesses fell silent. And then, while I had their attention, I read the passage from Two Thousands Years of the Empire—Condensed, aloud, hardly able to contain my growing excitement. "You see? We—the Tritans—are the purists of long ago. We left the Empire when worship of Milithia—the dead goddess—fell out of fashion. We settled on the mainland apart from the Empire's evolution, and that's why both Priestess and Elite have power. We're essentially mirrors of one another, because we share the same roots." 

"This is all very... fascinating and enlightening," Victor said, frowning. "But a history lesson doesn't solve our immediate problems with the Empire." 

"Sure it does," I returned, grinning at my bond-mate. "It's a blueprint. We do as the purists did—" 

"And flee? Ha! That's cowardice, and I won't stand for it." 

I ignored him. "We do as the purists did, but this time—" I seized Asher's fingers, "—we learn from our shared history." I raised our joined hands, Priestess and Elite, unflinching even when Asher's illegal gold slipped free of his sleeve, raising a chorus of shocked murmurers. "We rise from the flames as something new. Elite and Priestess, both. A new species superior to any that has come before. Warriors and Healers. An army of peacekeepers." 

At first, my words were met with silence, the faces of our people slack with shock—and I shifted against my bond-mate, palms sweating. 

"No more war?" 

"Fighting to keep the peace?" 

"It's... it's insane. I like it." 

"If anyone can do it," Viridian said, placing his hand on my shoulder, "it's us." 

"It won't be easy—" 

"—and the Priestesses won't be slaves anymore—" 

"—which is a lot of change, right there." 

"Peacekeepers." 

"And where will we go, Lady Witch?" Victor asked, arms loose at his sides, and though his brow was still drawn tight, I could feel hope glimmering beneath the surface. "You spin a beautiful dream, to be true. But it won't work if we stay here. We are too few, and the city too big. We'd need a fortress." 

Victorious, I squeezed Asher's fingers. "I know exactly where we're going. And I'm the only one who can get us there." 

*** 

"Marco." 

"Asher." 

"How are you—" 

"Fine. Thanks to you and my Lady Wildcat, I hear." 

"Listen," Asher said, pushing his hand through thick, dark hair, looking away from the scarred man lying on a cot in the medical tent. "I let things get out of hand and you paid the price. I'm sorry." 

"Go on," Marco drawled, sipping on a glass of water, watching my bond-mate through his remaining eye. 

"I, uh," Asher scratched at his chin, nails rasping over the coarse hairs, "I'm a terrible commanding officer, and a worse friend." 

"You are that. Continue." 

"I should have bought you a pleasure slave for every time you got me out of trouble, and for that, I am truly remiss." 

"There's still time," Marco returned, lips twitching. "I haven't seen a mirror, but I'm betting pleasure slaves are the only thing left to me now. Unless the Lady Wildcat can grow me a new eye?" 

"I can't," I admitted with a shrug. "But I hear women love a man with scars." 

"Is that so?" he asked, leaning forward with a wince, turning the savaged side of his face toward the light. "Well? What do you think? Ready to stop wasting your time with this old fool, and come to dear old Marco's bed?" 

I snorted. "You wouldn't know what to do with me, Marco, and you know it." 

He sighed, flopping back. "Ah, you're right. You need someone capable of matching your particular brand of lunacy, don't you? Oh, hello Asher. Didn't see you there..." he trailed off, smirking as his eyes drifted closed. "But don't count me out of that orgy you owe me." 

It was Asher's turn to laugh. "You know I won't." 

"So," Marco said after a moment of silence. "You're leaving." 

"We are. And—" Asher cleared his throat, "—and I want you to come with us." 

"Fuck no." 

Asher's head snapped back. "What? Why?" 

"A lone human among an army of super powered Priestesses and Elites who follow the Lady Wildcat? Thanks, but count me the fuck out." 

"But... Marco..." Asher said, floundering, looking to me with wide eyes. 

"We won't be coming back," I said, filling in what my bond-mate didn't want to voice. 

"I kind of figured. You have to build a new civilization to keep the Twins safe." 

"It will be a very long time before we're ready to let humans know where we've gone," I continued. 

"We held a vote," Asher added, eyes fixed on the only human remaining in the medical tent. His best friend. "The others agreed to let you join us. They made an exception for you." 

"On the grounds of my outstanding good looks and lovable personality?" he smirked with the unmarked side of his face. "Flattering, mate, but I can't." 

"Is it because—Marco, I'm sorry—" 

"We're good," he said, placing his hand on Asher's forearm. "But I can't come with you." 

"Why?" 

He shrugged with a hint of his roguish charm. "It's Elite business. Or rather, Priestess and Elite business. Or whatever name you lot decided to call yourselves in the end. There's no space for humans among you. At least not yet." 

"You'd be protected," Asher pressed, inspecting his hands. 

"You can't put Marco in a cage!" he shouted, then began coughing, thumping his bandaged chest with the heel of his hand. 

"He'd like it too much," I quipped, and Asher laughed, though I could feel his pain through our bond. 

"It would be a really nice cage," Asher added, pushing his hand through his hair. 

"Nah, mate. And besides," he said, sitting up, "you need someone on the inside. I assume you won't be giving up on the rest of the Elites and Priestesses scattered across the Empire? And there's the children of the Program to consider, should they be born with Priestess blood. Someone will need to smuggle them all out." 

"And that someone is you?" I asked. 

"Who else? I'll blame the blemish to my stunning good-looks on you two, and of course," he added with a delicate swish of his wrist, "when they hear of such a tragedy, no one will question my 'irrational hatred of Elites and Priestesses', and I'll get to fulfill my boyhood fantasy of becoming a double-agent within the Empire. It'll be fun." 

"You're mad!" 

"Then you've changed your mind about that orgy?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows. 

I laughed, rolling my eyes. 

"I'm going to miss you," Asher said, looking everywhere but his best friend's ruined face. 

"Oh, come on. You haven't gotten rid of me that easily. Setting up an underground network for Empire defectors is going to require a lot of communication. Probably daily. And besides, you have to keep me updated on the lives of my godchildren." 

"Well that's a little presumptuous," Asher replied, though he was smiling now. 

"Right, and who else is willing to deal with your demon spawn? I'm all you've got." 

"Raising demon spawn will be expensive," Asher hedged, head listing to the side, looking toward the ceiling. 

"Oh, hit me where it hurts, why don't you? Pardon me for being a poor, underpaid soldier. I'll keep your kids fed, warm, and in clothes." 

"I imagine you'll be able to do more than that, with the fortune you've just inherited." 

"The—what?" Marco said, doing a double-take. 

"I doubt very much that we'll need money where we're going, Marco. Everything in the Rawlings Estate is yours." 

"Actually," Marco said, holding up one finger, "I believe it's your lady wife's." 

"Not married." 

"You signed the contract." 

"Yes, well I guess it's a good thing that I've always kept the majority of my valuables in the box under my bed, then isn't it?" 

"Come on, Asher," Marco said, blushing now, flustered. "You can't just give me—" 

"Sure I can. I'm keeping a few of the biggest gems, just in case things get desperate, but the rest is yours. Congratulations." 

"I can't—" 

"Think of it as a bribe, then," Asher said, cutting him off by pressing a full brown sack into Marco's hands. "It's yours if you let Carina down for me." 

Marco whistled. "Harsh, even for you, old man. I like it." 

"Think of all the pleasure slaves that could buy..." 

"Alright, alright," Marco replied, laughing now. "I'll take your bloody money, you damn coward." 

"Good," he said, grinning, but after a moment, they lapsed into silence. "I guess... this is it then." 

"For now." Asher stood, holding out his hand, but Marco yanked my Elite close, pulling him into a manly, one-armed hug. "Keep the Lady on a leash for me when the Twins start making her really crazy. I'll talk to you soon, big daddy." 

"I'll hold you to it, pup." 

*** 

Forty-six. 

Twenty-four Priestesses, and twenty-two Elites. Of that number, three were Priestesses so shell-shocked by the deaths of their Elites, even Carly—prodigy healer and Head Priestess—couldn't do much for them. Besides that, there were six Elites so badly wounded by the explosion they were incapable of walking on their own, even with the Head Priestess sitting bedside. Of them all, it was the Elite boy I was most worried about, for I was leading us to the very last place on the planet he'd want to return, considering the abuse he'd undergone while held captive there. 

But we'd packed them all up anyway, taking as much food and supplies as we could jam into three army transport rigs—of which, we'd chosen only the magnetic versions to limit any trail we might be leaving behind. The coldest months were almost upon us, and we'd need enough food to keep all forty-six of us alive through the winter. It was going to be a rough few months, my survival skills notwithstanding. 

"Are you ready?" Asher asked, joining me on the rocky ledge overlooking what had once been occupied Elora. 

I sighed, still watching the smoke dance above the city, the signs of yesterday's battle still lingering on the wind. 

"Listen, Mila," he tried again, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I've been trying to figure out how to say this for weeks now. I've done... horrible things to you... and..." 

"Would you change any of it?" I asked, mirroring him, arms crossed over chest as a chilly breeze swept over us. "Would you undo any of it, if you could?" 

"I..." But he trailed off, silent for a long time, considering my question. And then, "I've done things I'm not proud of. Things I'm ashamed of. Things I dread telling the Twins when they're old enough. But would I change it? I... I don't think I could. Maybe that's selfish, I don't know. But I'm not willing to lose any of it," he said, gesturing at the empty space between us. "If I didn't purchase you from Jasper, none of this would have happened. As much as I hated it at the time, I know that if Sasha hadn't given you the Chains, you wouldn't have bound me and escaped. Neither of us would have the power or the wisdom we do now. The other Elites and Priestesses would still be with the Empire, and, most important," he added, placing his warm palm over my belly button, "the Twins wouldn't have been conceived." 

"Then don't bother with your apology," I returned with a shrug. "You regret the way things happened, not the outcome. An apology for actions you wouldn't change doesn't mean anything to me." 

"I think you need to hear one anyway." 

"Why?" 

He sighed, turning toward Elora, taking his hand off me. "Because I've wronged you, my Lady Wildcat, and I don't want bitterness to fester between us." 

"We'll deal with it as it happens. Let's not borrow trouble, hmm?" 

"Fine," he said, passing me the leather coat I'd stolen from him an age ago, "as long as you'll let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you." 

The ghost of a smile creased my lips. "I think your precious lady wife might have issue with that, don't you?" 

"You know, I never thought I'd say it, but jealousy suits you, Mila." 

"Hm, does it?" I asked, considering him from the corner of my eye. "Would it turn you on if I threw a Mila-sized tantrum and declared you to be mine for the rest of time? Marked my territory on your skin?" 

He grinned, brushing his knuckles beneath my chin. "Fuck yes it would." 

"Well..." I held up my wrists, showing off the soft golden glitter binding us, "I've already done it, haven't I? You're mine, Major Rawlings." 

"I am that, Lady Witch. Come here," he said, reaching for me, pressing his lips to mine, filling me with his breath and everything hidden behind his shield. After a moment, still cupping my face with both hands, he pulled back, staring down at me with his unfathomable onyx eyes. A smile flicked over his lips and he slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close as we watched the scarred strip of no-man's land smolder in the early morning breeze. 

"The Empire won't just let us go," he said at length, dark eyes glassy. "This is far from over." 

"No," I agreed, squeezing him. And then, with the acidic scent of ozone and smoke in my lungs, I turned my back on Elora and the Empire, watching the line of my people as the ascended they slope of the mountain. Priestesses and Elites, joined by two counts of mixed blood, two unborn children, and two opposite ends of the same culture. "It's only just begun." 

Le fin. 

*** 

Okay! That's it. Ze end. I can't tell you how excited I am to get to this rewrite. I've already got a wall of crazy in my living room so I can fix all the problems with this, the first draft of The Last Tritan. And I can promise the rewrite is going to be so much... more. More sexy time, more Asher and Mila, more Marco, more more more MOAR! 

Until then, my beauties! Toodles, crazynoodles. 

I'm going to miss y'all! 

Myra Danvers, out.