by L A Warren
What the hell? This wasn't her. This was something alien at work.
The High Tender's screech continued, "Sire! On my authority, I command you to release the girl. Her rank is not established. You cannot claim her. Not until she's confirmed."
The Emperor ended the kiss just as abruptly as it had begun, leaving her breathless and pulsing with an odd electrical energy.
Red suffused the High Tender's cheeks and the muscles over his left jaw ticked.
The Emperor narrowed his gray eyes. He turned to the High Tender, his gaze hard and unyielding, and his breaths tugging hard and deep. "I concede. Do as you must, but I say she's mine. Our connection is unquestionable." Releasing her wrist, he kept a hand on her chin. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you well."
She held those eyes and poured all her hate and anguish into their brittle depths. It was that or give in to the hunger swirling in her veins. God only knew how hard her heart beat for more of that fiery kiss.
An errant thought crossed her mind. She should have aimed the Taser at his groin. "You fucking bastard."
"WOR do not swear to lords," the High Tender said. He pushed a slim silver rod against her jaw.
Gregor yelled. "High Tender, No!" He jerked her away, but it was too late.
Pain engulfed her world. The Emperor's shout was abruptly cut off and darkness followed.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday noon, February 13, 2035:
An electrifying jolt of pain thrust Elise from unconsciousness into complete and brutal awareness. One moment she was lost in a world of blackness, the next she found herself strapped to a chair in the parlor of her home.
Sitting across from her, dominating her grandfather's chair, the Emperor regarded her with brows tugged tight and eyes pinched with concern. The black tattoo over his left eye moved as if the ink were a living thing. His gaze roved with avid interest over her body.
The intense scrutiny made her squirm. His blatant desire had her shivering with treacherous betrayal from her own body. Heat flicked up and down her skin with every sweep of his lustful eyes, chasing away the pain from moments before.
As she realized this, her neck and face flushed, burning with the knowledge of her body's rebellion. Where was this coming from? This wasn't a natural reaction.
His eyes flicked to a looming presence behind her. "At least we know the braklav works."
"Yes, Sire. She has Rank." The bass rumble of the High Tender appeared to agree. "I'll be ready for the testing in a moment."
The Emperor leaned forward, hands crossed. "I'm sorry for that, but there are some lessons you must learn. My protection extends only so far, and I can't protect you from the braklav. That is in the Tender’s hands. Do not resist your training, Elise. Behave and the braklav will not touch you again."
What the hell is a braklav?
He settled back into the chair. The fingers of his left hand drummed out a rhythm as he waited. Two guards flanked him. The High Tender puttered about behind her while another guard stood to the side.
The Emperor watched her. She returned his scrutiny, unwilling to avert her gaze and show weakness, but her body trembled. Her heart hammered and her blood roared past her ears. She could barely hear. There was no way she would blink first.
She should have been scared, but she was too busy focusing on her anger and tamping down the odd response of her body. She hated herself for lusting after him. Now that he was here—in the flesh and no longer a figment of her dreams—it made it that much harder to concentrate on hating him.
His face broke into a smug expression that she wanted to slap off his face, or kiss. His lips looked delectable. His chest was broad and strong, perfect for leaning against. His arms bulged with cords of muscles she wanted to trace with her fingertips.
Stop. Just stop. He's the enemy, not your lover.
"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you." His left eyebrow lifted and the swirling tattoo writhed under his skin. "From the moment we met, I knew you were meant for me."
How was she to respond to that? What had he called her? Her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to remember. A treasure. Is that what she was to this man?
A metal rod touched the back of her neck and she flinched at the cold touch.
Colder words followed as the rod pressed to her skin. "First lesson," the High Tender said, "is the hardest, but most important."
Pain spiraled into her shoulder and dove down her right arm.
Elise gasped. "What the hell?"
The voice of the High Tender whispered in her ear. "When your master speaks, you answer."
The pain receded, leaving a dull ache behind and many questions flooding her mind.
He pressed the cold metal against her flesh once more, holding it steady. Fire scorched her skin.
"Oh, my God. Stop!" Her heart hammered in her chest and sweat broke out on her palms. "He hasn't asked a fucking question."
The High Tender touched the rod to the angle of her jaw. He spoke in a soft, paternalistic tone. There was no malice in his words, only the sound of eternal patience.
"The proper response is High Tender Marcus, my lord, please stop."
The bonds on her legs pinched her skin. The ones around her arms cut her wrists. She gulped air as her mind whirled.
In front of her, the Emperor watched the exchange, doing nothing to intervene. He jerked his chin, and the rod pressed to her side. "Please stop with the profanities." He waved with the power of command. "This is an important lesson, opés. Pay attention." He nodded. "Continue, High Tender."
She tried to twist away from the silver rod, but the bonds held her in place. Pain flashed, ripping and tearing through her belly. The world went dark.
Warm fingertips traced the angle of her jaw, lingered on her chin, and then pressed against her lips. An answering heat within her echoed the touch. Her eyes fluttered open.
The Emperor smiled as he traced her lips. He knelt before her on one knee. "Ah, back among us, opés?"
She wanted to spit, or kick, or say any number of vile things, but she held her tongue. How long had she been out?
A corner of his mouth twisted up. "Lesson number one is always the hardest, but you are smart and will learn." He paused. "It's about obedience." His eyes twinkled, and he moved his finger off her lips only to draw it down to her jaw, her neck, to circle in the hollow of her throat. His words were soft, but his gray eyes hardened with steel. "Do you understand?"
She opened her mouth, but he pressed his fingertips to her lips.
"You must remember certain things. Be careful how you address me. From now on, you will only ever use my given name."
Her brows drew down at the removal of his fingers. He gestured to a small chair in the corner and one of the guards brought it over. The Emperor took a seat. His knees brushed her skin. The touch electrified and revolted her at the same time. A tear of desperation trickled out of her left eye.
The High Tender stepped around. In one hand, he held a black box. He placed it on the floor as he bent to one knee. In his other hand, he held the slim metal rod. It was the length of his forearm, no wider than the diameter of his thumb. He twirled it in the air as if it were an extension of his body. He made to place the rod to her leg.
Before the metal touched her, she looked at the Emperor. "Gregor, I understand." She flicked her eyes to the High Tender. "High Tender—" She'd almost said vlor'Vardhal but corrected herself before she made the mistake, "High Tender Marcus, my lord, please stop."
Gregor sat back and regarded her with a bemused expression. "She learns. I think she'll be easy to train."
Like I'm some animal? Never!
The High Tender dropped the rod to his side. It hung from a small chain wrapped around his wrist.
Relief flooded her body, and she shuddered, ashamed at how she had caved.
The High Tender snorted. "She has too much spirit, but that should be easy enough to break. The braklav will see to that." He ignored her and opened the
black case. The High Tender hummed as he assembled a strange device.
Gregor's brows drew up as he considered her. "My given name is perfect on your lips, opés, just as you are perfect for me." The sound of possession matched the desire in his eyes. Such intensity in anyone would be strange. In him, it was overpowering.
Her eyes flicked to the floor to stare at the contraption the High Tender cobbled together. She had so many questions. So many profanities she wanted to launch at the pair of them. Tied to a chair as she was, words were her only weapons, but that tiny silver rod had taken even that small bit of defiance away.
Her heart sank at how she’d been tamed. A glance at her body revealed no outward sign of injury, but the pain… The agony from that rod had been unbearable. It shamed her that she hadn't fought back.
Gregor followed her gaze. "It takes a moment to assemble the Tenderstat."
The High Tender fit small black beads into a long crystal tube.
Gregor's eyes sparkled. She tasted bile, wanting nothing more than to slap that smug expression from his face. As tightly bound as her hands were, however, she could barely lift her wrists. She wriggled her fingers, working to keep the circulation going and prevent her hands from going numb.
A frown pinched at his brows when he noticed her movement. He reached for the straps. She flinched when he undid her restraints. His touch sent an involuntary shudder through her body.
He smiled. "You have no idea what you mean to me… to my empire."
Elise massaged the areas where the cords dug into her skin. "What do I have that you need?"
Gregor gave her one of his crooked smiles. "Everything."
Her anger flared. Like an avalanche there was no stopping it. "Bastard! What does that even mean? Did that give you the right to murder my family, or destroy Earth?" She slapped his face. The sting on her palm felt too damn good. "Are you a rapist, too? Is that what you mean when you say I belong to you?"
They must have done something to her. That had to explain her odd attraction to the man.
The High Tender sprang to his feet and pressed the rod to her chest. Her world exploded in fiery brilliance. Her body twitched, flopping like a fish in response to the pain pouring out of the rod. He twisted it on her skin. Icy cold tendrils entered her body, bringing an entirely different sensation of pain.
Gregor's voice remained clear and focused. "That's enough High Tender." He reached forward and pulled the High Tender's hand back from her chest. "Finish the Tenderstat so we can get her out of here."
"She is my charge, not yours. I will discipline her, as is my right.”
Gregor gave him an icy stare. "Yes, of course, but first the Tenderstat. I'm eager to see how she ranks. You may discipline her later."
"And if her Rank is not as you predict?"
"We have a connection. The kiss confirmed it, and she survived the Activator."
His lips pressed into a thin line, a grimace of displeasure twisted at his face.
The other men in the room stood so still Elise had almost forgotten them. The uneasy expressions they exchanged between themselves, however, got her attention. Was it usual for a High Tender to fight with their Emperor?
Her chest heaved with residual pain, but she bit out a few meager words of defiance. "Whatever you think I can do, it didn't give you the right to destroy my world. And what the hell is an Activator?"
A heavy exhale accompanied a tight-lipped expression. "I don't have to explain myself to you," Gregor said.
Tears ran down her face. "Why did you do it?"
"I need Earth's treasure, little opés, as is my right. You are a part of that and will be trained to serve." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "I'm curious. All the others kick and scream. They babble on for hours and cry forever. Some can't tie together a coherent thought for days. You're different. You strike back, even knowing we'll only punish you for it."
Her heart fluttered. "What others?"
"You are not the only treasure of Earth, just the one meant for me."
There were others? Survivors? She was not alone. Which meant… she would have help in bringing down the Vendel and their Emperor.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunday later, February 13, 2035:
Strapped to a chair, at the mercy of the Vendel, Elise should have been frightened. Instead, Gregor's words rang in her head, bringing hope and a fiery determination to fight.
She wasn't the only survivor.
"You didn't answer my question," she said. In fact, he flat out ignored it. Demanding an answer felt good. It gave her the smallest bit of control in a hellish situation.
Gregor turned to the High Tender who cradled a growing mass of black and clear crystal tubes in his lap. "See how she challenges me? She doesn't shrink in on herself with fear like the others. This is a great strength for one destined to be my s'vlor, don't you think?"
"Trouble." The High Tender glanced up and shook his head. "She's going to be a problem."
"Perhaps."
Gregor leaned toward her, and to her shame she shrank back under the intensity of his gaze. He reached out, but when the High Tender cleared his throat, Gregor paused, his fingers hovering inches from her cheek.
"You must wait, Sire." The High Tender focused on his task and didn't bother to look up. "She's my charge until then."
Gregor dropped his arm with an exasperated sigh. "So many rules."
"For your protection."
"Tell me, Elise, how many days did it take before you recovered?"
She paused, uncertain what he asked. The silver rod began its spin in her peripheral vision, an extension of that horrible man's arm. The way the High Tender handled it creeped her out. He brought the thing toward her. All she knew was the moment it touched her skin incredible pain would flow out of the thing.
She reared back. "Why the hell do you even care?"
The High Tender grumbled. With no emotion, he put the tip of the rod to her forehead. A tingling built to a steady throb, and it was clear that sensation would only worsen.
She pleaded with utmost sincerity. "High Tender Marcus, my lord, please stop."
Gregor tapped the High Tender's shoulder. "Easy, there's no need for that."
The High Tender's voice took on a lecturing tone, reminiscent of her professors in her online university. "This is why the Tenders train. You lords are too gentle with them." He turned his attention back to Elise and twisted the tip of the rod against her forehead. The tingling turned to a burn.
"She's no good broken," Gregor said in a warning tone.
She whimpered.
"I'm barely touching her with the braklav." High Tender Marcus’s broad face and dark brown eyes looked down on her with parental concern, but this man was no kind parent. He was a monster. "Now answer him, or that burn you're feeling will turn into something that will make you talk."
Her gut clenched at the dispassion in his gaze. She croaked out a whisper. "But, I don't understand." She squirmed beneath the touch of the metal rod.
The High Tender closed his eyes as if bothered by her whining. He turned to Gregor. "Sire, we don't have time for this. I need to finish my task."
Gregor pulled at the High Tender's arm. The offensive rod lifted from her skin. "You're too quick to apply the rod when a simple question would suffice. Finish the Tenderstat and I will question her."
"You can't afford to be easy on them, not at this critical stage."
Gregor ignored the High Tender, turning his attention to Elise. After a long pause, he asked, "Is it possible you weren't sick at all?"
The High Tender slid a third clear rod through a flat black plate with five scalloped edges. He mumbled, "They all get sick." His hands worked at assembling the growing contraption.
"No," she said. "Everyone else did, and they died. What did you do to them? To me?"
"Curious," Gregor said.
Two identical egg shaped black discs, with five deep grooves on one side, were now separated by four of the foot-long
glass tubes. Each tube was filled with black spheres the size of marbles. With a solid click, the fourth tube snapped into the device. The High Tender worked on the fifth, and what seemed to be the final tube.
Whatever he was putting together scared the crap out of her, so she focused on something else, something hopeful. "You said there were other survivors."
Thoughts of her brother-in-law and her nieces flashed through her mind. What were the chances? Without hope, her world was a dark place. She believed they made it, because she needed something to fight for.
"We need to be certain. Think before you give your final answer."
Final answer? Like this was some game show where she won a prize for surviving a great plague. Her mind reeled. Billions dead, and all he cared about was whether she had the sniffles.
She didn't hold back. "Everyone else was sick! Me? I was fine. Okay? Got it? Not a sniffle, a sneeze, or even a cough. You killed billions. My entire family is dead because of you. You're a monster. Why do you care if I sneezed or coughed? Everyone I care about is dead because of you."
"Lord vlor'Vardhal," he asked, twisting to face the High Tender, "what do you think? Possible?"
"Improbable," the High Tender said, "especially if she tests out as you hope. It's always hardest on those with greater rank."
She shifted in the seat, or at least as much as she could, considering she was still strapped in. Hatred for Gregor flowed through her veins. Her feet remained bound and were now numb. At least her hands were free. She brought them up slowly, watching them shake, and brushed the hair away from her face. The contraption the High Tender worked on was almost complete. Knowing what the braklav did, she could only imagine the pain that thing would cause.
The High Tender's beady brown gaze regarded her from where he knelt fiddling with the last rod. "After the banquet, did you feel sick? Think before speaking."
No need to think. Memories of the night after the banquet stirred in her head. She went to bed feeling well. The morning of Elenor's death, she was fine. Each day flashed through her mind. Nothing. She even recovered from her hangover in record time. The answer these men wanted wasn't there.
