by Isabel Wroth
~Satesh. Are you one of my people?
Her shoulders slumped a little when he traced, no, on her leg. Had he not been numb to feeling, the sight of her disappointment would have tugged at his already broken heartstrings.
“I WANT THE PERSONS RESPONSIBLE FOUND, TONIGHT!”
Ilaria threw herself to the side, anticipating the foot Margen intended to plant in her belly, the breath heaving out of her when the queen’s boot caught her hip instead.
Satesh was on his feet, hefting Margen’s gilded seat to slam it as hard as he could into her rage-filled face.
The chair shattered on impact, and Margen went flying across the room, crashing into the nearest lounge, landing in the laps of three of her open-mouthed subjects.
“Nasrin, blow it,” Satesh ordered softly, and by the time Margen picked herself up, the entire fortress rocked with the power of the explosives.
Windows shattered, doorways crumpled, holes opened in the floor to swallow several of the screaming Mystresses into the bowels of their own dungeons.
The concussion knocked everyone off their feet, and Satesh turned to shield Ilaria from any debris, only to find a fissure had opened up right where she had been sitting.
He was a breath away from jumping down the hole after her when he saw a flash of red. Aley had appeared from the wings of the hall, his scarred figure unmistakable even as the room began to fill with smoke and dust.
Sheltered between Aley’s body and the wall, the larger man hunched over Ilaria, protecting her from whatever came next.
“Huh. I must have used too much HVX,” Nasrin reported dispassionately. As soon as Satesh was given the serum to reverse his emo-dampener, Nasrin was going to get the brunt of his rage.
“I couldn’t tell,” Satesh drawled sarcastically. “Retreat to the shuttle.”
Any moment now, the shock would wear off, the dust would settle on his armor, and he would no longer be invisible.
He hurried to where Aley was still bent around Ilaria and touched his fingertips together, the armor dematerializing into the collar around his throat. Satesh had stolen one of the black sarongs the male slaves wore in hopes of going unnoticed. Just another slave among many fleeing the hall.
“It’s time to go,”
Aley’s head shot up, clearly startled to find Satesh standing right beside him, “Where did you…who are you?”
Ilaria’s swirling purple eyes peeked over Aley’s arm, widening a little as though she recognized Satesh.
Her gaze swept him from head to toe, her perusal of his body interrupted when a large section of the ceiling fell not far from them, crushing a Mystress as she tried to escape.
“I’m your ride off this planet. We have to hurry. This way.”
Even as he scooped Ilaria up and followed, Aley questioned Satesh skeptically. “You’re dressed like one of us, but I don’t know you. Who are you?”
“Satesh,” he answered without breaking stride or looking back.
CHAPTER TEN
Ilaria~
“It’s alright. Trust him.”
Aley didn’t hesitate, holding her close while he kept pace with Satesh’s ground eating strides.
In the back of her mind, Ilaria was irritated to be so helpless that Aley had to carry her, but she was certain she wouldn't have been able to keep up with either of them anyway. She would have been too busy staring at Satesh.
The touch of his invisible fingertips on her thigh had both startled and exhilarated her, her flesh prickling with awareness and no small amount of arousal.
That had been the most shocking of all, to feel her body run hot with want, simply from a caress of unseen fingers. Fingers that felt real and solid, not ghostly or etheric.
Satesh seemed to be flesh and blood when she distinctly recalled the sensation of metal on her leg. After Margen had lashed out at her—enraged to have been delivered her daughter’s corpse— no one had been as startled as Ilaria, when Margen’s chair had suddenly shot up into the air and slammed against the red-skinned queen with enough force to shatter the wood.
Margen had gone flying, and moments later the entire palace had trembled from the force of the explosions set off somewhere deep beneath them.
The charge of energy had electrified her, Aley had swept in to yank her to safety, and then Satesh had been there. Fully formed, dressed as a slave, and Aley was not alone in wondering where Satesh had come from.
Even with a collar around his throat and the thin black sarong knotted over his hips, Satesh was very obviously not a slave.
Muscles bunched and flexed beneath smooth bronze skin, not a single whip scar, burn mark, or raised knot of scar tissue could be seen on his flesh.
A hand or two taller than Aley, Satesh glowed with health and vitality, his broad shoulders showed no hint of stooping, and he walked too proudly, too tall to be one of the oppressed, tormented souls who lived here.
Thick black hair spilled in wild disarray down his back, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, Ilaria saw the flash of gold rings and bars piercing his left ear from lobe to pointed tip. Another hint to say this male was no slave.
One of the Red Mystress’s would have pulled those piercings out one by one the moment she got her hands on him.
There was a scruffy dusting of hair on his angular jaw, framing stern, thin lips and highlighting the sharp blades of his cheekbones. His nose was thin, slightly crooked as though broken one too many times, and set deep beneath his pronounced brow sat a pair of flaming amber colored eyes. They were startling in their vibrancy, lit from within, ever so slightly glowing.
Predatory eyes.
Satesh cut a powerful figure, command oozing from his pores like pheromones. Ilaria wouldn’t have classified him as handsome or beautiful. He was striking.
Even if she hadn’t sensed his presence before today or felt the touch of his hand spelling out his name on her thigh and knew he was the unseen menace causing murder and mayhem among the Mystresses, Ilaria would have followed him.
Amidst the explosions and the stampede of people shoving and jockeying to get out of the crumbling hall, Ilaria’s intuition was screaming at her that Satesh was someone to be trusted.
She could feel Aley’s uncertainty, hear it in the rapid-fire rush of thoughts across the surface of his mind. Because his faith in her was as strong as his need to protect her and get her off of Myst, he was willing to try. To trust Ilaria knew what she was doing and follow a complete stranger who said he could get them off the planet.
“Rahannah, where are you?” Satesh asked suddenly, turning sharply to the right, leading them up the main stairs and down another hallway.
Aley looked down at her, silently asking Ilaria if she knew who their guide was speaking to, but all she could do in response was shrug.
“I have two more for the shuttle. We’re heading to the roof now. How many are left? Understood. Call—”
“YOU!”
Ilaria’s blood ran cold as she looked over Aley’s shoulder to see Margen bearing down on them, covered in dust, bleeding from a small gash by her hairline, flanked by four other Mystresses. Two red, two gray.
Ilaria’s belly soured with fear, fed by Aley’s certainty they were about to die, and his determination to give her whatever time he could to hide. Escape was futile at this point, but Satesh didn’t seem to think so.
“Go to the east corner of the roof. My people are waiting for you.” Satesh was smiling as he passed, not a hint of fear or uncertainty in his expression as he prepared to face down the five females.
Before Aley took off at a dead run, Ilaria saw Satesh cut his arm through the air, the gold bracelet coiled around his forearm slithering into his hand, transforming into a wicked sharp, curved hook of a blade.
The last she saw of him, Satesh had thrown his arm up to catch the barbed whip one of Margen’s guard shot at him, bringing his blade down to sever the braided leather in half. Satesh disappeared, and still running as fast as he could carrying her,
Aley didn’t waste breath to speak.
He slid around the corner and took the stairs two at a time, stopping only long enough to grunt his apology before throwing her up over his shoulder.
~I’ll live. I’m sorry I can’t help—
~You’re keeping an eye out for drones coming up behind us.
Right. Of course, that made sense. However,
~The drones should have flooded the dining hall at the first hint of an explosion.
~Yes, they should have. Your friend said he has people waiting, perhaps they disabled the drones.
Not only was Ilaria able to hear the hint of jealousy in Aley’s mental tone, but she could also feel his hurt that she hadn’t trusted him enough to say she had met Satesh.
If she hadn’t been ass up over his shoulder, bouncing along as he ran, Aley would have been able to see her roll her eyes.
~You know there’s no way for me to lie when we connect this way, right?
~Yes.
~I’ve sensed his energy for weeks now, on and off, but today was the first time he communicated with me. He traced his name onto my leg—
~Your leg?
Ilaria opted to ignore the outraged incredulity of Aley’s interruption,
~After Margen kicked me, I believe he was responsible for slamming the chair into her face. Did you see it?
~No, but I can imagine it was satisfying.
~Immensely. I’ve never seen more than a glimpse of what must be some kind of…armor.
~You remembered something.
Despite her discomfort, Ilaria found herself able to smile. Yes, she had remembered something, and without being able to see her face, Aley had heard the change in her voice to identify the memory.
It was just a flash, a flicker of light in the darkness, but it was bold and vivid. Silver armor covering an enormous male figure that disappeared with a flick of his strong fingers.
Ilaria had no idea who the male was and couldn’t remember where he was from or how they had met, but the memory evoked a sense of rightness. Friendship even.
Whoever the being was, Ilaria had trusted him. A blip of her past wasn’t enough to say whether the similarities between that unknown being’s armor and Satesh’s, didn’t mean Satesh was of that same race or if he was trustworthy. But Ilaria couldn’t shake the feeling all the frayed threads of her past were about to meet and once again twine together in a semblance of reason.
Aley climbed the last few stairs and stopped, his disbelief leeching from his skin to hers. He tipped his shoulder and let her slide down to her feet, keeping her tucked tight against his side until she could stand steady.
Ilaria looked and saw a woman with bronze skin, wearing the same golden armor as Satesh, cradling a menacing weapon in both hands like it was a beloved child.
“Come on, we don’t have all day,” she barked in the way of welcome, watching them with narrow, suspicious eyes as Aley cautiously approached.
“We were told there was a craft—”
The woman lifted her foot and hit something with the heel of her boot, which made the small craft perched precariously on the corner of the roof shimmer into view.
“Get on board, we’ll be leaving soon.”
Aley looked down to her for direction, and Ilaria tried to send him a pulse of reassurance with her hand on his chest. He was worried, but willing to follow wherever she led.
When the woman saw how Aley picked Ilaria up gingerly to carry her forward, a pinched look crossed her sharp features, touching on Ilaria’s bruised face and the larger blemish blooming on her hip.
“Are you injured?”
Ilaria said, “No,”
At the same time, Aley said, “Yes.”
Up went the unnamed woman’s brows, but she said nothing else as Aley stepped into the open hatch of the craft where several other slaves sat, wide-eyed with fearful hope.
“Wait,” Ilaria murmured to Aley, turning to look at the woman when he paused, “We left Satesh to face five of the Mystresses, he may need help.”
The armed guard gave a sardonic smirk, “Find a seat, keep the center aisle clear. Satesh will call for aid if he needs it.”
Satesh~
Mystresses were strong when they had pain and fear to feed on and slaves too weak to fight back. They relied on their one strength, on their reputations, on their drones, and did little to train themselves as warriors.
Satesh had nothing to give them but the deadly kiss of his blade, and so they fell like dry stalks of grass.
Blood, hot and black spilled over his hands, and Satesh would have given anything at that moment to feel the burn of satisfaction as he watched the last flicker of life fade from Margen’s eyes.
She dropped to her knees, her hands uselessly clutching at her organs as they slid from inside her, making wet, obscene noises as they splattered on the stone floor.
She looked around at the dead and dismembered remains of those loyal to her, and at him in disbelief.
“You should have given them back to me,” he told her coldly, and then it was over.
Shahin and Sorosh had been avenged, their murderer was dead, and soon this entire fortress would be reduced to rubble.
The other smaller cities on Myst were next. Satesh was giving them no time to recover or choose a new queen.
His shard coiled around his arm once more and he turned on his heel, leaving the carnage in his wake. Rahannah waited for him on the roof, barely batting an eye over the gore covering him.
“It’s done then?” she asked, stepping aside to let him pass.
“It’s only beginning.”
He moved through the cargo area of the shuttle, ignoring the gasps of fear and the way the slaves pressed back against one another to ensure none of them touched him.
They were traumatized, malnourished, some of them badly injured. Satesh had no idea how to rehabilitate a bunch of slaves, but he had been unwilling to leave a single one behind.
Especially the purple-eyed female cradled across the Issite’s lap. Ilaria’s face was no longer half bruised, her head resting on Aley’s chest, looking as though she was sleeping peacefully.
Aley seemed mildly surprised to see Satesh unscathed but did nothing other than give a vague nod of acknowledgment.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aley~
It had been three days since they had been shown to the small, private cabin on board the Mayhem, and so far, —after having been given medical exams and clean clothes—all Ilaria had done was sleep.
Aley had allowed himself to merge deeply with her energy, seeking out any deeper injuries Margen might have inflicted on Ilaria, but nothing in her bio-rhythm was out of sync.
Her eyes steadily moved behind her lids, dreaming it seemed, but nothing he did could wake her, and he was uncertain how much longer she could go without food or water.
The healer in him advised a trip to the advanced infirmary, where a much deeper scan could be taken. But without Ilaira’s intuition, Aley was cautious of allowing anyone to examine her.
Aley knew nothing of their hosts, the Dhjana, other than what he’d been told by the young male attendants in charge of seeing to their new passengers’ comfort.
The Mayhem was the largest ship in a fleet of twenty-five, built to house the majority of what sounded like family units.
The convoy of ships was made up of only one clan, with one hundred more out there in the universe.
The Dhjana were mercenaries and merchants, so when Aley asked the boy who brought their meals, Ashkan, why the Dhjana had come to obliterate a palace full of Mystresses, the boy’s usually cheerful smiles had darkened to a somber grimace.
“The younger brothers of our Exarch were captured on another planet far from here and sold into slavery. By the time they were traced to Myst, the bitch queen had already murdered them. The Exarch decreed before Margen's death he would destroy all that was precious to her.”
Aley was sorry for the deaths but glad their grave misfortune meant his and
Ilaria’s liberation, however brief it might be.
“Are we to be evaluated and sold again then?”
Ashkan’s reaction was honest. His eyes flew wide and his features twisted with affront,
“My clan trades in many things, and though I do not know what my Exarch has planned for you and the others he liberated, I can assure you, you will not be sold again. We have never dealt in peddling flesh. For now, you are our honored guests.”
Aley had never been anyone’s guest and was uncertain how to behave, which made Ilaria’s slumber as convenient as it was concerning.
He had a reason to sit by her side and watch over her, remaining safe in their cozy cabin, and though their future was uncertain, being able to have absolute privacy, choice as to how he would spend his time was a luxury he hadn’t had in far too long.
He slept curled around Ilaria without fear he would be called away or punished for touching her without permission. Aley admitted he merely wanted to keep Ilaria to himself for as long as possible, but three days of uninterrupted sleep was too much.
She didn’t even grumble when he pulled her into his lap to arrange her arms around his shoulders before picking her up.
He set Ilaria on the padded medical table at the direction of the laughably young healer, and moments later Satesh came striding in demanding to know what was wrong with Ilaria.
The male who faced him with deep lines of grief etched around his vibrant eyes, and a snarl of anger in his voice was not the same male who had liberated them from Myst.
He vibrated with a dichotomy of restless energy and bone-deep exhaustion, making his bio-rhythm sing out a sound of deeply rooted distress.
His glowing amber eyes stroked over Ilaria’s prone form, visibly caressing her even as he looked for signs of injury. Aley knew he should have been angry on her behalf that a stranger was gawking with such familiarity, perhaps experience a harsh stab of jealousy that another male was clearly showing interest in Ilaria.
It had happened before when another one of the fortress slaves had allowed their gazes to linger, but oddly, this time he was only curious.
“She fell asleep in the shuttle and has not awoken since. I have tried to wake her, but without success.”
