by Anna Argent
He ducked behind a pillar and sent out a distress call.
The Loriahans weren’t the only ones who could come through that window.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Warrian could barely contain his panic upon seeing the damage done to Isa. The jeweled blade protruded grotesquely from her stomach, bobbing with every shallow breath she took. Blood soaked her wet gown, pooling beneath her pale body.
The urge to go to her screamed inside of him, but he didn’t dare give in until all threats to her were destroyed.
The Raide had done this to her, and for that alone, Warrian was going to kill it.
He whipped the garala into a narrow band and lunged for the Raide. It was faster than he remembered, and Warrian’s net scooped a section of stone pillar out where the Raide’s head had just been.
A noxious cloud of fumes rose up in his wake—some kind of toxin meant to kill or disable.
Warrian held his breath as he broke through the mist. His exposed skinned burned. His eyes felt like they were on fire. Tears streamed down his face.
Something heavy landed behind Warrian, but he didn’t stop to see what it was. He knew Talan and Radek would come, and if it wasn’t one of them, then they would deal with the additional threat. Warrian’s only target was the beast who’d hurt his Isa.
The Raide had looped around the imperial cannon to cling to the far side of its frame. Warrian lunged beneath it, using the rain to help him skid across the slick stone. Before he’d gained his feet, the Raide lifted his hand and the matte gray weapon he held.
A fiery bolt of orange light burst from the device, aimed right for Warrian’s head.
*****
Black, insectoid bodies poured in through the window, falling on the stone floor like giant, oily raindrops.
Isa had no idea where they’d come from, but it hardly mattered. On one side of her were the steep stone steps leading to the weapon, and on all other sides, the spidery monsters worked to cut their way toward her.
Radek and Talan held them off, cutting through them faster than she could register. But there were so many. Too many. There was no way they could hold them off for long.
She could only think of one thing to do.
Isa pulled the knife from her gut, gritting her teeth to keep from screaming. She’d endured pain far worse than this, but the physical damage was scary as hell.
Blood welled from her wound, making her wonder if pulling out the blade had been such a good idea. Too bad it was the only one she had. She wasn’t going to let Warrian and the others die—especially not when she knew they’d come here to save her.
The stone steps were slippery. She pulled herself up, one by one. Her arms shook, and her progress was slow, but she finally made it all the way to the top.
The weapon’s seat loomed over her, another huge step away. It seemed like an impossible journey—more like leaping across the Grand Canyon than hoisting herself up a couple of feet.
Each movement made her bleeding worsen. The front of her gown was red now, the fabric heavy with the added weight of her blood. The stone beneath her was slick.
It took three tries to lift herself into the seat, and each one hurt worse than the last, but she pushed on, demanding that her body obey.
One of the Cyturs saw her and tried to cut through. Warrian appeared from above, dropping down just in time to keep those spindly claw-like hands from grabbing her. His garala swung through the air, a sinuous blue rope of light. A second later, the Cytur’s scaly head fell, bouncing past her down the bloody steps.
Isa had no breath to thank him. He had no time to pause. The next enemy moved in. Through the growing crowd, she could see the Raide’s yellow head slinking toward the far wall. Warrian had abandoned him in order to come back to her side, but it didn’t matter how far the Raide ran. There was nowhere to go but out through the hole in the roof or through the thick door where she could hear warriors pounding in an effort to break through.
She wanted to ask him to boost her into the chair, but he was already busy cutting down the next enemy crawling up the weapon’s housing.
With a painful force of will, Isa shoved her trembling, bleeding body up the last few inches and into the machine. She flopped back onto the cushions and panted as the familiar hum began to grow beneath her.
Isa closed her eyes and focused on the machine. She tried to tell it what was at stake—that if it let these creatures take her away, there would be no one left to feed it power. She’d sensed before that the device housed some kind of intellect—a faint hint of sentience she didn’t understand. It had used her before to defend itself. She didn’t understand now why it wouldn’t do the same thing.
As she struggled to communicate with the giant hunk of metal, she realized now why it wasn’t fighting back.
It knew she was too weak to win the battle. It knew that its best hope for survival lay with those who invaded in overwhelming numbers. Whatever intelligence this weapon had, it was betting on the bad guys, knowing that siding with them would ensure its continued survival.
She felt a faint flutter of awareness ripple through her—frigid, clean logic…and something else. Something laced with a hint of childlike confusion and fear.
Isa didn’t understand how it was possible that a hunk of pretty metal could feel anything, but it did. There was no sense in wasting time trying to figure out why when her only chance of saving Warrian and the others on this island was to figure out how to get the machine to understand that it didn’t want to let the Raide have it.
They’ll use you to hurt people. Use you to destroy countless lives.
The seat beneath her shuddered.
They’ll kill me, and you’ll have no one to feed you. You’ll be alone again.
The trace of fear she’d felt earlier solidified, curling around her like a terrified child’s hug.
I’ll give you what you need. I won’t leave you alone.
Unless it killed her, which was a distinct possibility.
I’ll find others who can feed you. Just do what I ask. Please.
The air around her trembled. She felt a huge, sucking sensation, like a tornado had formed inside her head. A second later, pain streaked through her, stealing her breath away.
As she hovered inside the agony, stretched so tight she knew her bones would snap, she felt the briefest flutter of thought pass through her mind. It wasn’t her thought. It wasn’t anything resembling humanity at all. It was far more intricate and detailed. Methodical. Logical. Everything had a place. Proper operation and functioning were shining imperatives that were never to be abandoned.
Hunger wove through each vibration. The need for survival thrummed around her so powerfully she didn’t know how she’d missed it before.
The machine needed—wanted—help. It was willing to fight, but it was starving to death after so many years of laying abandoned and alone with no one to fuel it.
What do you need? she asked it, hoping the thing could understand her.
Essence. The word shimmered through her mind.
Warrian had used that word before. It’s what they called DNA. Maybe that’s what the machine meant.
I won’t give you a child.
Essence, it repeated, this time with more force.
More people?
Yes.
There are no more people like me.
Bring me essence!
She was willing to give it all the essence it wanted, but she still didn’t understand what it meant. It wasn’t like she carried samples of other people’s DNA around with her.
Except for Warrian’s. He’d come inside her only hours ago. Remnants of his semen still had to be inside of her. Even if he had killed his sperm with the garala, his DNA would still be present, wouldn’t it? Even dead sperm held DNA.
As the question crossed the hazy edges of her mind, the pitch of the weapon changed.
Heat exploded out from her abdomen where she’d been stabbed, so intense she was sure it had t
o have left blisters in its wake. Her flesh felt like it was being welded back together from the inside out.
The entire world went away. Nothing existed beyond the agony shaping her body. She couldn’t think, couldn’t scream. All she could do was accept what the machine was doing to her. She knew when it was done there would be nothing left, but she didn’t fight it. So long as it was willing to take out those who were trying to hurt Warrian, she didn’t care. She relaxed and let it take what it wanted.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Warrian couldn’t keep all the Cyturs away from Isa. There were too many of them. For every one he struck down, two more took its place.
His body was covered in thin, stinging cuts. The toxin coating the Cyturs scales prevented blood from clotting and burned like fire. Even the rain pouring down on them did nothing to ease the biting pain.
He checked behind him again to make sure no enemies were sneaking up from the far side of the machine. The space there was limited, but two had already wormed their way up, almost to where Isa sat.
The move cost him another scorching cut along his back, but he shoved the pain aside and funneled more of his dwindling reserves into lighting the garala.
Two more Cyturs fell. Four more poured from the window above. It seemed like the thing had been open for hours. Days. He knew it had been only a short time, but with so much danger surrounding Isa, each beat of his heart felt like an eternity.
Beneath his feet, the floor hummed with a growing accumulation of power. The weapon was getting ready to fire again. As close as Warrian was, there was a good chance he’d get hit by the blowback.
The cannon moved, pointing down into the chamber.
“Get down,” he heard Isa whisper. Had he not been so attuned to her voice, he never would have heard her over the rain, wind and gnashing sounds of combat.
The weapon shuddered and paused, as if pulling in a deep breath.
“Get down!” he bellowed as he jumped off the steps, flattening himself among severed body parts and bloody rainwater.
He didn’t know if Talan and Radek heard him or not. Before he even had time to repeat himself, the weapon fired, slinging a wide beam of blue light to slice through the room.
Dozens of Cyturs were chopped in half, their hissing screams cut short.
The weapon went silent and still. Every Cytur in the room was dead or dying.
A tapestry along the northern wall had been cut cleanly in half, revealing a narrow doorway and a startled Raide standing behind it.
He was the one who’d hurt Isa.
Warrian surged to his feet, charging. The Raide backed up, out of sight. Warrian followed, squeezing through the opening in the wall until he spilled into a small room. He barely took note of the controls and Imonite tech covering one wall. The bodies of the councilmen on the floor were less important to him than a single fallen leaf. His entire focus was on the man who’d stabbed Isa.
The Raide reached for something on his belt. Warrian lashed out with is garala, slashing the hand off at the wrist, right through his armor. The Raide clutched his arm and screamed, but Warrian didn’t care. He charged forward, his weapon sparking with the anger sailing through him.
A rope of blue lightning stretched between his hands. Warrian aimed the rope for the Raide’s neck. It brought its remaining hand up to hold Warrian at bay, but the defensive act merely cost him his other hand. Right before his head was severed.
The Raide’s body twitched as it fell over. Blood spurted out, arching across the white robes of the councilmen.
Warrian didn’t bother to check to see if they were alive. He simply didn’t care. All he cared about was Isa.
Talan and Radek were finishing off the few Cyturs who were unlucky enough to have survived the blast. Warrian felt a flash of relief that his friends were well, but that was all the attention he had to spare.
As he neared the machine, the sparks of the garala changed color, shifting to a healing green. He ripped the bloody hem of Isa’s gown open, only to find that the bleeding had stopped. Confused, he used a clean patch of her skirt to wipe away the blood on her stomach. Beneath was whole, healthy skin.
Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. Her voice had a far off, dreamy quality, like she was unsure if what she saw was real. “You’re alive.”
“I am,” he assured her.
The pounding on the doors turned into a crash as imperial guards finally broke through.
Warrian ignored them all and pulled Isa’s body onto his lap. As he settled back against the blue cushions, the weapon began to hum.
“I need to get you out of here. You can’t do anymore today.”
“That’s not me,” she said. “That’s you. You can power the weapon now too.”
“What?”
“It wanted more DNA to feed it. I gave it yours. Tell the weapon what to do and it will obey.”
As the meaning of her words became clear, Warrian felt his body melt away and his vision was thrust out over the island. He didn’t understand how this was possible, but there was no time to question it now. There were too many enemies within his sight—within his reach.
A heady sense of satisfaction settled in as he found his first target and fired.
Chapter Forty
It took two days for Isa and Warrian to recover from the battle. They’d spent those two days eating and sleeping and making love with slow, lazy abandon. The Raide had been driven out of Loriahan territory, but there were still enemies lurking about, garbed in white robes with blue sashes.
The council.
Isa knew it was only a matter of time before their gratitude was gone and they once again became raging assholes.
On the morning of the third day, those assholes came knocking at her door.
Warrian rolled out of bed in a graceful move that mocked every sore muscle in Isa’s body. She groaned and covered her head with a pillow. “Make them go away.”
“I’ve already done that for two mornings. I doubt my ability to threaten them into leaving us alone for a third.”
With a huff of frustration, she crawled out of bed and draped a robe over her shoulders. “Fine. Let them in. They’re going to get what they deserve, bothering me before I’ve had coffee.”
Warrian had sent men to fetch some for her—from Earth—and that was just one of the million reasons she loved him.
Now if only she could find the courage to tell him.
Pretor strode in like he owned the place, the rest of the council at his chubby heels. He inclined his head at her. “Your Imperial Majyr.”
“Asshole,” she greeted him in return.
He flushed red with irritation, which tickled her.
“We’ve allowed you several days of rest. It’s time to return to your duties.”
“Are we being attacked?”
“No.”
“Then what do you want me to do? I was stabbed, you know. I should get a few days off.”
Pretor eyed Warrian like he was dog shit on the sidewalk. “Perhaps you would rest better alone, Your Imperial Majyr.”
“I sent you a note asking for an official written pardon for Warrian. Have you finished that yet?”
“No, Your Imperial Majyr. We have no such thing.”
“Then make one. I’m not letting him out of my sight while there are idiots out there who want him put to death for keeping me safe.”
The idiot twisted his mouth in disgust. “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majyr. His crimes are not forgiven simply because he saved your life.”
“Will you do it to save your own life?” she asked.
“Are you threatening me, Your Imperial Majyr?”
“So what if I am? You’re a dick. Everyone hates you. No one’s going to leap to your defense. You really should consider that before you speak.”
The men behind Pretor nodded, agreeing with her assessment.
His face turned purple and his words came out strangled with fury. “Anyone else would be killed for speaking
to me as you have.”
“Good thing I’m not anyone else, huh?”
“Your position is only good for as long as you can power the weapon.”
Isa grinned, relishing the look she knew would cross Pretor’s face next. “Warrian can power it now too.”
The man went still. Then pale. “You lie.”
“Whoa,” she said, holding up her hands. “Surely you bassackward people have some law against calling your empress a liar.”
The men behind Pretor nodded faster.
Warrian’s deep voice rose up from behind her, deep and silky smooth. “We do, Your Imperial Majyr.”
Isa’s grin widened to a full-blown smile. “Really? What is it?”
“Public flogging.”
“Nice. I can just see it now,” said Isa. “You, out there in front of all the little people, screaming and jiggling for their amusement. I think we should charge admission. Build the imperial coffers.”
Pretor went to the nearest chair and sank into it, shaking, pale and sweating. “You can’t do that, Your Imperial Majyr.”
“Sure I can. Unless, of course, you want to look into creating that pardon for me.”
“Yes,” he hurried to say. “Yes, I think something can be arranged. If he can power the weapon, then clearly he is of noble blood.”
“How does that help?” she asked.
“Because if he is of noble blood, then… relations… with you are not a crime.”
“Sounds like a good start,” she said. “But you make sure that whatever you draft is iron clad, no loopholes, not takes backsies.”
He frowned in confusion for a second before nodding eagerly. “Absolutely unbreakable, Your Imperial Majyr. If Warrian can operate the weapon, then all is forgiven, including that which his father did.”
She glanced at Warrian, who seemed disinclined to speak. “He never needed forgiveness for that. What his father did wasn’t his fault. Warrian’s honor was pristine from the moment he was born. I’ve been in some tight spots with him and seen him in action—the kind of action that bares a man’s heart, displaying all his flaws. I’ve never met a more honorable man than Warrian in my life.”
