“I doubt that,” Bronse said dryly. “Okay. The bottom line is that everything to the south is hot with danger and enemies. We can’t risk it with an injured woman and a civilian. Northeast it is.”
“Aye, sir,” Lasher said smartly, putting an end to any further debates.
Bronse swept Ravenna back up against him, again sharing her weight with Ender. They linked arms beneath her bottom, fashioning a perch for her as they each pulled an arm across their shoulders. It drew her feet off the ground without putting any stress on her injured back other than the outstretching of her arms. The nerve block and topical were doing their job, though, and she didn’t seem to feel a thing.
As they began to trek toward the wilderness, Bronse contemplated Kith and things he had said and done that began to make him speculate. He had to accept that Ravenna was a very special creature. Now that he was positive that she was real, he had to accept that she had some odd abilities. Appearing to him in dreams, for one—although she had seemed just as surprised as he on several of those occasions. However, there had been no mistaking her ability to see future occurrences. Even if all the rest could be put down to good guesses and logical explanation, he couldn’t explain away her assurances that they would meet. He also couldn’t explain the feelings and senses that had guided him right to her, and his ability to sense the distinctive smell of her perfume. Especially when he’d sensed it only in dreams. How could he have noted such a thing when she’d been behind sealed and locked doors? And there had been that strange inner pull …
Now he had to wonder about Kith as well. How had this kid known so assuredly that he was injured? He’d managed to keep it hidden even from his pack of highly trained men. Did Kith have perceptions like those of his sister? Why was it that this kid was investing trust in someone he clearly didn’t like? Despite his personal clashes with Bronse, Kith seemed to have no doubts that Bronse would be the one to guide him and Ravenna out of trouble.
Chosen Ones.
Sold for their power.
Kith had said Ravenna would have been sold and raped in an attempt to gain her power. A backwater belief if ever he had heard one, but unsurprising in these primitive cultures. Yet even the most primitive beliefs had births attached to truths. It appeared that the truth here was that Ravenna did, indeed, have power. It wasn’t too far of a stretch to see how her siblings would also have gifts.
The problem was, Bronse’s crew wasn’t stupid. As things progressed, they’d be picking up on this information as well. How would they feel once they knew that Bronse had been making decisions based on “visions” of this woman? Even Lasher didn’t know, or hadn’t known, that Bronse’s anticipatory feelings had come from dreams and an outside source. By all rights, his crew should depose him of his authority immediately and pack him off to Psyche Services as soon as they docked to station. By the rules, they would have ample cause. He had certainly behaved far out of his norm during this entire mission. Even now he was leading his crew to step over bounds that were not to be crossed. Picking up civilians? Treating Rave would have been acceptable, but rescuing her and taking her brother? Even now Bronse was heading deeper into troubled waters because he was actually contemplating picking up a temple full of these Chosen Ones and giving them transport.
Just what did he think he was going to do with them? He couldn’t very well bring them onto a military installation.
Bronse stumbled in the sand and brush of the leading edge of the wilderness, making him aware that they were crossing the border. Catching himself sent a jerk of agony through his abused body, and he came to a halt as he fought the reflexive sound of pain welling up from his chest. Ender stopped, silently keeping his eyes skimming the terrain as he allowed his commander to collect himself. Without a word, they both started off in step again.
Ender didn’t bother to ask the commander if he was okay, if he needed to slow down or take a break. Bronse would do one or all of the above when and if it was necessary. However, if anyone asked Arms Master Rush “Ender” Blakely his opinion on the matter, he’d say that the nearest hell-acre would freeze over before that happened.
Ender did spare a glance for the disheveled female civilian, though, unable to help his curiosity over her and the commander’s behavior toward her. She was tall, dusky skinned, and pleasantly weighty for a female. Certainly not unattractive, and Rush could understand how Bronse could be quickly drawn by her. Her beauty was strong, and yet she seemed vulnerable in both appearance and physicality to many things, not the least of which had been her captors.
Frankly, he was glad the commander had broken with protocol and taken her along for the ride. Ender had seen some gruesome methods of flagellation in the Tari wilderness where he had grown up, and he knew that this woman’s festering wounds could easily mean her death. No. Since no one had properly tended her, it would definitely mean her death, unless the Great Being touched her with a miracle. Even now, he knew that if it were not for medical technology helping her, she would be out cold from agony. He should know. He himself had the scars across his back to remind him of the feeling … and the infections.
So maybe he was a little personally involved in his need to help rescue the appealing woman, and maybe she and the boy were added dangers that the crew could have done without, but far be it from Ender or any of his companions to shy away from diminishing odds. The only one who seemed unhappy with the choice was Justice, but Rush knew that was because she just wanted to get her flight stick between her knees. They all had their security blankets when they were in danger. For Justice, it was yanking and banking. For himself, it was a gear vest full of ordnance. For Lasher? He turned to Bronse for steadying on the rare occasion of feeling insecure.
Ender hadn’t ever figured out what Bronse’s crutch was. He had once thought that leaders didn’t have crutches. He knew better now. Perhaps one day he would figure it out, although after four years under Bronse Chapel’s command, he highly doubted that he was going to be enlightened if he hadn’t been already.
Bronse didn’t call for a break in their increasingly difficult hike over rough terrain until sometime later, when Ravenna made a soft, almost imperceptible sound of pain.
“Halt!”
The crew did so instantly, and Kith rushed to his sister as she was set on a large boulder with a rough but flat surface. All of the surrounding rock, shale, and soil were black, but the vegetation was becoming greener, denser, and taller the deeper into the wilderness they went. Justice and Ender automatically began to circle and secure a perimeter as Lasher slung up his rifle and trekked back to his patient. He had the most field medical training of the quartet, so they always deferred to his judgment. Bronse was just thankful Masin had had the forethought to expand the standard first-aid kit. It was another anomaly that he would have to examine at a better time, he thought. They were all trained to avoid carrying even the smallest amount of undue extraneous weight. It simply didn’t make sense that Masin had suddenly made an exception.
Lasher pushed Kith out of his way, sending the kid back a few steps and unwittingly pissing off the little hothead, though his only intention had been efficiency. Lasher was used to dealing with soldiers who scattered on command and without question. Kith was a vision of outrage, although Masin’s attention was all for Ravenna.
“Pain?” he asked gently, looking into her eyes and seeing his answer even without her nod and the telltale gnawing of her bottom lip. Brave little thing, he thought with admiration. She had been bearing it longer than she had allowed them to think. He gently bent her head forward and checked the flashing node he’d attached to the back of her neck. It was glowing yellow, indicating that the neural medication was almost depleted.
He didn’t have a replacement. It wasn’t meant to last for such a long hike. He glanced up at Bronse, sending a clear message to his commander though he didn’t speak aloud.
“How far?” Bronse asked Kith, taking brief note of the kid’s tense lips and clenched fists.
; “Fifteen miles at least.”
Bronse didn’t have to swear out loud for his crew to hear it in their heads when his lavender eyes flashed angrily. But he kept silent, unwilling to broadcast his upset to the woman trying so valiantly to be stoic.
“Then we better make them fast ones,” Bronse said with firm determination. “Give her some topical. It should help. We’ll take it as far as we can. Then, if we have to, we’ll narc her.”
“No!” she protested quickly, forcing her body to straighten, as if to convince them of the impossible. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Let’s just go.”
Lasher ignored her and obeyed his commander, gently sweeping her hair into his hands and dropping it over her shoulder out of his way. He didn’t notice the fine tensing of Bronse’s body as his eyes fell covetously on Lasher’s hands in the soft mass of Ravenna’s dark hair. Masin inspected the back of the shirt she wore, and it took only an instant to see that the material gleamed with wetness. Very gently he peeled away the cloth from Rave’s back and off her arms. His teeth made a small gritting sound as they clenched. Laying the shirt aside, he glanced up at Bronse, and the commander instantly read the silent message and came around to look at Ravenna’s back.
Their movement had torn open every last lash. The welts were bleeding freely.
“Bandages?” he asked, the muscle ticking in his jaw the only giveaway as to his feelings on seeing the woman’s ravaged skin.
“Unwise. What goes on must come off.”
Kith watched the commander with surprise as the violence of Chapel’s emotion struck him like a relentless riptide. Why would this stranger feel so strongly about his sister’s pain, he wondered. Kith had been puzzled by it from the outset, but it came stronger and stronger, it seemed, with every passing mile. Why would this strange warrior care so much for a woman he no doubt considered little better than a savage? All of the men, in fact, displayed a great level of concern for her well-being. Men in Kith’s world gave very little consideration to females. It was different in the temple, of course, because the women tended to be more powerful than the men; but in the village, women were meant for breeding, sex, and household management. One woman was as good as another, and emotions were rarely a factor. Living in a wilderness village was a hard existence, and there was little time for soft emotions. It made Kith wonder what kind of world these men came from. What kind of world used women as soldiers? What was truly startling was that the woman soldier seemed the least inclined of them all to care for the pain of another. It confused Kith because all the women he knew were extraordinarily compelled to be nurturing. This anomaly mystified him.
“Ravenna,” Bronse whispered as he leaned over her shoulder from behind to speak softly to her. It was an instant intimacy, one that flew in the faces of the onlookers around them, narrowing the world to just the two of them. Her pain, his concern. Her gratitude, his empathy. “The choice is yours,” he said quietly, his fingertips tenderly sliding over her silky hair, wishing it could soothe her somehow. “You are bleeding. We can bandage you to stop the bleeding, but it will mean a great deal of pain later on when the bandages have to come off. I cannot guarantee that our medic will be able to use any more pain medication by the time we get to him. Even as advanced as our medicaments are, too much can cause harm.”
“And if we don’t bandage them?”
“Blood loss. The shirt will stick to your skin. Dirt and debris might further the infection.”
“Bandages then. Ophelia will take care of the rest. We just need to get there.”
Bronse didn’t waste her energy or fortitude with arguments. He accepted her choice and nodded to Lasher to proceed. But even as he began to unfurl reams of sterile cloth and hold it over her back, Lasher hesitated.
“Bronse, I need … I won’t get the pressure I need to staunch the bleeding unless I wrap her full around.”
“Ender, Justice, Kith … take a walk,” Bronse ordered instantly without looking up at them. “Kith, help them find fresh water and edible plants. We could use something to eat, and I’d rather save rations if there are natural resources close by.”
“Hey, she’s my sister,” Kith argued, not liking the idea of leaving her alone with them.
“And I’m sure she’d rather not be stripped in front of her younger brother,” Bronse retorted.
“Oh, and strangers are okay?” Kith snapped.
“Kith.” Ravenna spoke up gently before Bronse could escalate the argument. “Please do as he asks. I’ll be fine. Stop arguing. Learn to trust what you feel.”
Kith flushed, lowering his face as his ears turned pink. She was right. His empathy would tell him if they meant her harm, and it was obvious that they didn’t. Bronse had anticipated Ravenna’s feelings about being stripped in front of him, and it bothered Kith that, after so short an acquaintance, this stranger could know her better than he did.
Everything about these soldiers, especially their leader, disoriented Kith. He knew they honestly wished to help them survive, but he felt an elemental fear every time he looked at or into Bronse. Something about this man alarmed him. Kith was bewildered not just by the strangeness of Chapel’s feelings toward Ravenna, but her equally strange impulses toward him. Being an empath all of his life had taught Kith a great deal about listening to the feelings from within. Within himself and within others. Emotions shifted fast and often, and for an empath, the targets emitting them shifted just as fast. Kith had learned that he was inherently able to sift through all of that and focus on what was important. It was a skill that he had consciously refined as he had grown and mastered himself. Kith believed that it was safe to say he’d fallen into a very comfortable state of being, where things ebbed and flowed around him in a specific way that he was used to.
Until now.
When Bronse and Ravenna came close to each other, it was as though the miasma of emotions that always swam around Kith was swept back by a torrential rain of feelings that were demanding someone’s—anyone’s—attention. It left Kith raw with intensity and confusion, and he could not understand why, or why he should feel so desperately worried about leaving this hard warrior alone with his sister. She was everything opposite to what he was. Too gentle and too naïve in certain respects to be trusted in the hands of a man who bit off orders and decisions about people’s lives based on some logical formula that he seemed to have stored in his head.
But Kith had never countermanded Rave’s wishes, and he would not start now. She was the eldest in the family and by far the wisest. With his tense hands closed into fists, he turned and led the other two soldiers toward the sound of water.
Bronse slowly walked around the boulder that Rave was seated on and unhurriedly crouched down in front of her until they were eye to eye.
“Hey,” he greeted with a smile that was enigmatic but warmed his periwinkle eyes.
“You keep saying that,” she told him, her smile far more tremulous. She blinked and tried to turn her face away when the gleam of tears filled her topaz eyes.
“Hey, hey now,” he soothed sympathetically, reaching to cup her cheek and turn her face back to look at him. “It will be okay. I promise you. I will keep you safe.”
“I know,” she said with absolute faith in her gentle voice. “Please. Let’s just hurry.”
He nodded. He reached forward to touch her shoulders, which were swelled and red from the secondary infection, and caught what remained of the small sleeves of her gown in his fingers. Gingerly, keeping his eyes on hers, he inched the tattered material down her arms. She slid her wrists and forearms free when the material fell to her waist. Shyly, she raised awkward arms to cover her bared breasts. Her cheeks flushed, and she couldn’t keep his gaze.
“Ravenna, I need you to hold your hair and raise your arms,” Lasher instructed, “if you can. Bronse, if you take the roll when I pass it forward, it will keep me from having to reach around her and bumping into her raw skin.”
“Okay,” Bronse said with far more efficient neutralit
y than he actually felt. It infuriated him that she was so injured and so in need of him, and yet all he could do was think about how damn attractive she was, how smooth and soft her skin looked. She seemed fragile, and he saw her trembling. Why did he want so badly to sweep her into his arms and kiss her into comfort, gently and with care? He would serve her better helping Lasher bind her, not smearing her with … with useless physical affections.
Ravenna wrapped the tousled sheaf of her hair twice around her wrist before grasping it in her fingers. The rising sun shimmered through the mussed mass, giving it golden lights as well as deeper amber ones. Again a surging need to touch it washed through Bronse. To touch it, to touch her, any kind of contact, his mind and body cried desperately. Why? Damn it all, why was he so plagued by this need? Disgusted with himself for his mental fancies, Bronse strove for competence as Ravenna raised her arms and the secured hair over her head and Lasher began to pass the sterile fabric to him. Bronse made it through three revolutions of winding fabric before he actually allowed himself to look at her breasts as he laid the fabric over the swells of feminine flesh.
The vicious curse exploded out of him before he even knew it was forming.
His eyes widened with outrage and unspeakable fury when he saw the mean fingerprints bruised onto her precious skin. Both breasts were marred with these bruises, as well as angry scratches flared with inflammation because the nails on the ends of the offending fingers had been sharp and dirty. She had been callously manhandled, and the evidence of it was stamped into her skin for him to see.
“By all that is cursed and holy,” he swore vehemently, reaching out to brush his knuckles over the blue and black marks near her areola. “Is there much pain?” he asked hoarsely.
He wanted to ask who had done it. Oh, he knew it was the guards, but he would elicit a description if he could and go back to hunt the specific bastards for himself, and damn the danger. Still, he knew he could not. He would have to satisfy himself knowing he had gotten her away from them, that she’d be safe with him from now on.
Three Worlds 01 - Seduce Me In Dreams Page 12
