Sold to the Warlord (Astral Heat Book 2)
Page 8
Suddenly, Trent began to scream in true agony, an ear-piercing wail of pain. The stranger’s ring really did seem to be on fire, and the fire was moving across Trent’s body, swallowing up his clothes and then his skin, slowly burning down into his very bones. I wanted to look away-tried desperately to look away, but could not tear my eyes from them. Trent’s screaming and the fire seemed to go on and on until at last, there was nothing left of him but a pile of ash.
The stranger stood up slowly, nonchalantly brushing himself off.
I turned and ran. I shouldn’t have; my brain was shouting that I should have stayed, should have hidden, and should have waited until the stranger was safely away. But I could still smell burning flesh; still see Trent’s expression as the fire slowly climbed into his mouth.
And now, I was screaming, screaming as I ran blind through the forest. I shoved through trees and brush, and somewhere I lost my duffel. I didn’t dare go back. I pumped my legs as fast as they would go, desperately trying to find the path, to find my way back to help.
At last I saw it, the path, the line of cars, just ahead of me, just a little out of reach. I threw myself towards the gap in the trees, but instead of finding gravel, I instead collided with something solid. I stumbled backwards, landing hard on my back-and standing in front of me was the stranger.
I cried out, scrambling to my feet, trying to race away from him. Yet suddenly, he was in front of me again, even though it would have been impossible for him to move that fast.
“How did you-?” I shouted, and realizing how stupid I sounded, quickly tried to dart around him. I always considered myself quick on my feet, but apparently, he was quicker; his hand closed around my arm before I’d even gone a step.
“Let me go!” I tried to jerk myself from his iron grasp.
“If you don’t stop struggling, I will break your arm,” he replied calmly.
I glared at him with all of the hate and bravado I could muster. “Go ahead,” I growled, “I don’t expect anything less from a cold-blooded murderer like you.”
It could have been my imagination, but his expression seemed to grow slightly colder, as if his blue-gray eyes were icing over. Without warning, he seized my other arm, and whirling me around, clutched both of my wrists together.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, trying to keep the panic from my voice, “If you’re going to kill me, just do it!”
He didn’t answer; instead, I could feel something slick and heavy slowly wrapping itself around my hands. It coiled around my wrists like a snake, before beginning to wind around my waist, and down my legs.
“What is this?” I cried, trying to twist out of the ever-expanding rope. It wouldn’t let me move an inch. “Help! Please, someone, help!”
“Quiet!” the stranger commanded.
“Help-!” I felt his hand against my mouth, smothering my cries. I tried to snap at his fingers, to fight my way back out, but I was completely helpless against the strength of his grip. All the fight seemed to be leaving my body, and abruptly I realized that the world was slowly going dark at the edges.
I could feel his arms underneath me, picking me up off the forest, which was probably a good thing, as I was suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. I had just enough time to register how warm his arms felt, before everything around me went black.
2: THE CAPTIVE
I had to hand it to Trent. I couldn’t recall the last time I had slept in such a luxurious bed, and woken feeling so refreshed. It was as if my unfinished work projects were thousands of miles away. I lazily stretched, letting myself doze a few more minutes after waking, thrilling in the feel of the soft, silky sheets against my skin, breathing in the divine perfume of fresh laundry.
In the distance, I could smell pancakes and bacon cooking, the aroma drifting up even to here on the third floor of the cabin. The house was amazingly quiet, with just the gentle sound of bubbling water breaking the silence. The partying must have been extra hard last night, I assumed. Trent was probably-
Trent.
Awareness hit me like a spray of ice water. Trent! The woods, the stranger. Trent was-Trent was dead. And I was-
I threw aside the covers and sat bolt upright, panic jolting me fully awake. My mouth instantly dropped open. My friends loved to joke that it’d require some kind of gag to ever render me speechless, but in that moment, I was truly struck dumb. I was absolutely not in my bedroom in the cabin. In fact, though I couldn’t solidly say why, I wasn’t even certain I was on Earth.
I seemed to be in a massive cavern.
The bed on which I sat stood on a raised platform at one end; from there, the walls curved upwards into a dome ceiling some hundred feet above my head. Everywhere I looked, the walls glittered with some strange, ethereal light, and I realized there must have been thousands of small crystals embedded into the dark stone.
A closer examination of the ceiling revealed a giant mass of jagged glass right at the apex of the dome that spread light throughout the entire cave, like a natural-forming chandelier.
The ground was even more impressive. Instead of a pebble-strewn floor, soft, emerald-green grass covered every inch from the corner of the raised platform to the walls. I cautiously poked a mound with my toe; I could feel velvety dirt just below the grass blades.
Just a few feet beyond my bed ran a small, clear brook, gaily tripping over stones as it flowed from a waist-high waterfall just beside me. The whole place smelled lush and full of life. I had never seen a cave this beautiful.
I violently shook my head to clear it. Who cared how beautiful it was; where was I? And where was the stranger? Had he brought me here?
As if in response to my silent question, a section of the wall suddenly quivered, and gave way. I leaped back with a yelp, but the wall quickly rebuilt itself behind the figure who stepped into my cavern. Although he wore a linen-like shawl that covered all of his face but his eyes, I recognized the intense gaze immediately.
The stranger.
My first thought was that he was dressed like an adventurer- tall, supple leather boots that hugged his well-shaped calves, brown trousers with holsters strapped to both of his hips, and a form-fitting white linen shirt that seemed to grow more transparent the longer I looked at it.
His sculpted, bare arms and hands were covered with grime; without so much as a glance at me, he casually walked up to the brook and, kneeling down, began to splash water onto himself, slowly cleaning away the layering of dirt.
As soil gave way to skin, I saw that he seemed to emit a faint glow, as if a small bit of fire ran just beneath the surface, mixing with his blood. Perhaps that’s why his arms were so warm, I thought, and then quickly shoved the memory away.
“Where am I?” I made my best attempt to keep my voice steady, but even to me, it sounded pathetic and weak. I cleared my throat, and tried again, “Tell me where I am, right now!”
He stood up, nonchalantly drying his hands on his pants. His silence made me want to scream, but I swallowed down my frustration. I had to be brave, and clever, for there was no doubt I was in the gravest danger.
“If you’re not going to kill me, then please, at least tell me where I am.”
“Kill you?” the stranger repeated, unconcernedly, “If I was going to kill you, I would have already done so.”
“That isn’t as comforting as you think,” I crossed my arms, “So, then, will you please tell me where I am?”
The stranger reached up, and pulled the linen shawl from his head. He was just as unnervingly attractive as he’d been; even more so, now that ample light allowed me to see all of his features fully.
His linen shirt was undone just enough that I could make out the indentation at the base of his throat, and the line of his collarbone tapering off into broad, well-muscled shoulders…
I quickly jerked myself back into focus. “Uh-what did you say?”
“I asked, what is your name,” he replied with a small smile that was a little too knowing.
“Oh, is this going to be a game? You’ll only answer my questions if I answer yours?”
“No. I won’t answer any questions I don’t want to.”
I snorted derisively, “Buddy, who do you think you are?”
He fixed me with the full force of his captivating eyes. “You may refer to me as Commander Zenon,” he answered in his melodic voice. He bowed courteously, “And I am the captain of this vessel.”
“We’re on a ship?” I asked, looking around me in awe.
“We are, currently docked at a refueling station on Dionus I conquered about an hour ago.”
I threw him a suspicious glare, “Conquered an hour ago? What are you trying to pull here? And I’ve never heard of anything called Dionus.”
“You wouldn’t have, would you,” he replied with callous contempt, “But I am getting ahead of myself. I believe the courteous thing among humans is to return an introduction.”
I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment, considering, but finally answered, “I’m Morgan; Morgan Uaine. That man you killed in the woods was my boss. His name was Trent, and he was an innocent man.”
“I know perfectly well who he was,” Commander Zenon said, his voice no longer quite as polite as before. He abruptly turned away, and with a sweeping gesture of his arm, turned an entire section of the wall transparent, as if it was some kind of holographic window. Beyond, for as far as I could see, there was nothing but endless, rolling hills of sand.
“This,” he indicated the sea of dunes, “is Dionus, my home world.”
“World?” I repeated in a daze.
“And you, Morgan Uaine, are my captive.”
“Captive?” my voice rose in panic.
He turned back to face me. His expression was completely calm, untroubled by my distress; the arrogant prick was ruthless. My panic quickly morphed to anger. I wanted nothing more than to throw something at his perfect face.
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