by Mike Smith
She was helpless and could only watch as Alex said something in response, which only seemed to infuriate the man further, the reward being a kick in the chest, which caused Alex to double up in pain, gasping for breath.
She was much too far away to be able to intercede.
A fury, the likes of which she’d never felt before, took hold of her. It felt like a river of molten fire, running along her limbs and, if she’d been within an arm’s reach of the man, she would have torn him apart. A glimpse of something suddenly drew her attention. For perchance, her fusion pistol, that had been earlier wrenched from her grasp, now rested by her side just out of reach, but no more than a few feet away.
She didn’t hesitate and lunged for the weapon, sweeping it up off the floor. Twisting as she fell, Jessica angled the weapon in the direction of their attacker. It was not a moment too soon, as the man had raised his pistol, pointing it squarely at Alex’s forehead. Instinct overcame reason and, while she didn’t consciously remember firing the weapon, instead it seemed to respond to some more primitive, instinctive part of her. It was no methodical, well-timed shot that she usually prided herself on, instead it was a barrage of rage and fury that came from inside her, channelled through the weapon and directed at Alex’s assailant. The line of fire streamed out, pulsating, like a living breathing creature, reaching out to him and, for a brief instant they were connected. Soon the energy utterly consumed him and, with a silent scream torn from his lips, he fell to the floor and was still. He appeared asleep, were it not for the charred and still smoking wound, gouged clearly through his chest.
Not trusting her legs to support her weight, instead she half crawled and dragged herself along the floor until she reached Alex. Relieved, when she laid a hand upon his chest, to still feel the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. His face was a torn and bloody mess, and once again she had to supress the urge to do harm to the person who had inflicted such grievous injuries upon him. Resting his head in her lap, she tore a sleeve from her silk dress and used it to wipe away some of the blood. While the cut to his head had bled profusely it didn’t seem too deep and was already starting to clot. It was a miracle that he still lived, especially after facing a High-Lord, alone.
“I wouldn’t have given Stanton the satisfaction of killing me,” Alex replied to her unvoiced question. “Talking of which, where is he? I haven’t finished with him yet.”
“Gone,” Jessica replied simply. “I’ve no idea where.”
“He just left you behind?” Alex demanded, appalled.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Alex rasped, reaching up to run a bloodied and swollen knuckle along her cheek. “You don’t leave people behind, ever, especially not those that you love.”
Jessica had to look aside, not wishing to recognise the emotions that she saw reflected in his eyes, with what she had to say to him next. Instead she procrastinated, just delaying the inevitable, focusing on the corpse of the man next to them. “Who was he?” she asked with morbid curiosity.
“No idea, called himself Javier. I couldn’t care less about him. I was far more interested in who he worked for.”
“Who he worked for?” Jessica echoed, confused.
“The man who instructed him to kill both of us.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” this time it was Alex’s turn to gape. “Of course it matters.”
“No, it doesn’t, because before we were equal, but not now. Now you owe me. This time it was me that saved you.”
“You couldn’t have waited a few minutes longer, could you? He was just about to tell me who he was working for,” Alex muttered.
“You owe me, so this is what I name as my price—you stay away from both Stanton and I. You drop this blood feud against him and we never, ever, see or hear from you again.”
“You’re still marrying him?” Alex demanded aghast. “After all this?”
“Nothing has changed.”
“Of course it has, you came back, for me.”
“No,” Jessica lied easily. “I came back for Stanton. You, I only saved, to obtain this promise from.”
“This is what you want?”
“It’s what I need to do,” she replied evasively.
“Fine. I agree.”
“You do?” she looked taken aback, as if she’d never seriously considered that he would agree to the outrageous terms.
“Yes, but not because of this nonsense about you saving my life or any of your other, contrived, reasons.”
“Then why?” Jessica blinked in confusion, as Alex’s hand left her cheek, to rest at the nape of her neck, applying gentle pressure to urge her closer.
“Because I once read that, if you love someone, set them free,” Alex breathed, his eyes slowly closing, as his lips gently touched hers, their breath coalescing.
Jessica blinked, speechless, confused by his words and actions. Not knowing what to say, she chose to say nothing at all, but gently rested his head against the floor, before taking a step back, then another. Finally, she turned and fled back down the corridor, before the urge to stay with him overwhelmed her completely.
“If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours, forever,” Alex whispered watching her fleeing form, before she vanished entirely into the gloom. “By the High-Lords that hurts,” he cursed, sitting up and leaning against the wall for support. He pulled out the spent bullet that Javier had fired, still embedded into his armour. Glancing at it, noting the manufacturer, he shook his head in disbelief—Stanton Light Industries.
He tossed it aside.
A high-pitched whistling, off-key, that grated on Alex’s nerves, had him looking up in time to see Lord Granville turn the corner. Upon sighting Alex, Granville stumbled to a halt, eyeing him in surprise, before a broad grin materialised that threatened to split his face into two.
“Alex. Good to see that you’re still alive.”
“You’re not, really,” Alex demurred.
“Of course I am, what a terrible thing to say. Otherwise, how could I recount to you the way I managed to, single-handedly, defeat High-Lord Stanton’s flagship and the rest of his fleet?”
“I really wish you wouldn’t.”
“Where’s that girl? You know the pretty looking one, who couldn’t take her eyes off you.”
“Gone. She’s left to marry Stanton instead.”
“Really?” Granville’s eyes brightened. “Do you think I might wrangle an invite to the wedding?”
“Considering you’re about to recount how, you, personally, destroyed Stanton’s Fleet—not likely.”
Epilogue
The marriage of High-Lord Stanton to Lady Cecilia Hadley, youngest daughter of High-Lord Hadley, was the wedding event of the year. The joyful occasion was only slightly marred by the death of her elder sister—Lady Jessica, several weeks earlier. High-Lord Hadley passed away soon thereafter, from all reports of a broken heart at the loss of his beloved daughter, leaving High-Lord Stanton the undisputed head of the combined dynasty.
I spent the day wishing a thousand curses upon him.
—From the journal of Lord Alexander Greystone.
Jessica cursed as she walked across the perfectly manicured lawn, her twelve foot long wedding dress train, following behind her. It was likely to be ruined by the grass stains, but she didn’t care one bit. She had wanted none of this. But, like everything else, her objections had been completely overruled by her husband-to-be, along with his refusal to permit her to carry her fusion pistol.
Alex would never have been so imperious.
The thought stopped her dead in the middle of the lawn. She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead and shook her head in disbelief. She had to stop this habit of constantly comparing the two—as inevitably Stanton, she also had to stop calling him that, always came off worse.
“Why did you insist that I accompany you?” she demanded, turning upon the poor s
ervant, who had up until now been leading her away from the Palladian mansion, but had come to an abrupt stop, when he noticed that she was no longer following him.
“We didn’t know what else to do, my Lady,” the man stuttered, obviously petrified. “It won’t move, and well, the ceremony is scheduled to start in under an hour. If High-Lord Stanton notices…”
Jessica had absolutely no idea what the man was babbling on about, but quickly realised that it wasn’t her that he was terrified of—but her husband-to-be. The knowledge sent a jolt of unease through her and again she questioned the wisdom of her decision, but like always, the thought of the repercussions to her younger sister and father drove all other considerations from her mind. She was about to enquire regarding what ‘it’ was, when she heard a familiar growl and looked down in astonished delight.
It was obvious that at one point the cute, pink, bow-tie had been tied around Lucifer’s neck, but that time had long since passed as it was now grasped firmly between a pair of saliva dripping jaws, neatly torn to shreds. With a proud expression, Lucifer bounded in her direction, with his prize still held firmly in his mouth.
The poor servant standing next to her panicked, scrabbling for the pistol in his holster. He barely got it free, before he crumpled to the ground in pain, the weapon dropping from his numb hand, as Jessica released her grip on his shoulder.
Lucifer meanwhile dropped his slobber covered prize at her feet.
“Well done! Good dog,” praised Jessica, giving him a vigorous rub which, purring with pleasure, he rolled over onto his back, to offer his soft underbelly for her to stroke, which she did, gladly. “But what are you doing here?” she asked, confused.
“It’s a gift for you, my Lady,” the servant replied. Stumbling to his feet, he hurriedly took several steps backwards when Lucifer fixed his gaze upon him and growled menacingly.
“A gift?” she said.
“A wedding present,” the servant clarified. “The man that dropped him off was very insistent that we should summon you, personally. He advised against anyone else approaching it.”
“A man? Who?” Jessica demanded, her heart leaping into her throat.
“A rich, titled Lord, my Lady. For he couldn’t have been anything else. He walked up to the house as if he owned it, knocked on the door and presented his card. He enquired if High-Lord Stanton was accepting visitors and was most disappointed to be informed that he was not. He departed soon after.”
Jessica had to cover her mouth, to stifle a laugh. “Quickly, his card, do you still have it?”
“Yes, my Lady,” the man replied, surprised, but quickly offered up the card. It read simply:
Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Grey (retired),
Services available for hire.
Jessica couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud, remembering the promise that he’d agreed to. Never to be seen, or heard from, ever again. Obviously she’d overlooked written correspondence in that oath.
She would have to keep a close eye on the mail from now on.
*****
The rest of the day passed in a blur. She mumbled through her vows and before she knew it she was no longer Lady Jessica Hadley, but Lady Stanton, latest acquisition of High-Lord Stanton.
It was not the day that she dreaded however, but the night, for she was now his to do with as he saw fit. Still, she was not some young, naive girl, in the first blushes of youth. She had known something of desire already; the passionate, tender longing for Alex’s touch, the white-hot, dizzying arousal that he had stoked into desire with his overwhelming presence. She had wanted him without wanting to. And so, she had at least hoped, the wedding night would not be a terrible thing.
But, she felt so very alone, cold and bereft as she waited for him—High-Lord Stanton, her husband. Even the idea seemed strange to her, somehow amiss, as if she’d made a wrong turn somewhere in her life, turning left when instead she should have turned right. It hardly helped matters that his suite of rooms was freezing cold, all except for this one. The room she currently stood in was dominated by a huge fireplace that roared excessively, as if fuelled by the flames of hell. Nothing at all like the one in Alex’s cosy study, where she had fallen asleep in his arms.
She stood staring into the flames, mesmerised, noting the remnants of a broken glass in the fire pit—a reminder of her husband’s volatile temper. Standing in front of the raging fire, hands out in front of her, she had expected to be dissolved by the heat, but it was not to be. Instead she shivered, as she watched Stanton sit down in the chair by the fire and order her to disrobe. She quickly discovered that whatever desire she had once felt for him was quite overpowered by her newly-found loathing of him.
And he did not care.
She stiffened when he told her to take the dress off. It had been a long day of celebrating, and the strain of smiling falsely and laughing with faux delight had worn her thin, tired and hollow. She wanted only to fall into her own bed, not this bed in the opulent rooms that Stanton possessed—and sleep for the rest of her life. Or at least until the sun rose the next morning. She stared blankly at her new husband, who gave her a crooked smile as lecherous as any drunken Lord watching the dancers on Osiris.
“Go on, take it off,” he encouraged, and leaned over to pour himself a glass of brandy from the decanter on the nearby table. “Let’s see what I’ve bought and paid for.”
Jessica shook her head slightly, so horrified she could barely make her tongue obey her. “I cannot,” she managed to choke out at last. “I need my maid.”
“No maid,” he denied her brusquely. “You’re the maid tonight.”
“Me!”
“Oh yes.” Stanton smiled dangerously. “Take off your clothes…and then you can tend to me.”
Jessica didn’t know what he meant by that, but she had a few ideas, and none of them were good. Still, no matter how mad his request there were still some practicalities in the way. Like, how on Osiris she was expected to get out of this dress on her own. “My Lord, the buttons…they are on the back. I cannot reach them on my own.”
Stanton’s smile grew slightly more fixed. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her for a moment. Jessica’s blood was like ice; her heart was thumping in her chest. When he spoke, his single word was dripping with venom.
“Try.”
She flushed with shame and embarrassment. There was simply no dignified way to get at the buttons that went from waist to neck; she would have to twist and contort herself to try and get at them, and even then she wouldn’t be able to un-fasten every one. He was deliberately shaming her, she realised. He was going to make her pay, every single day, for not shooting Alex, when she had the perfect opportunity.
But his face was dangerous, that strange smile somehow the harbinger of a slightly unhinged mind, reminding her of Alex’s warning—to stay away from Stanton, he was dangerous. Blinking back tears of rage and hurt, she lifted her arms above her head and reached back behind her neck, pulling at the delicate buttons that her maid had so carefully done up that morning.
She had gotten through three pearl buttons before she heard him gasp, and heard the rip of cloth. She hazarded a glance from beneath dropped eyelids and saw that his face had changed: his jaw was slackened, his eyes were intense, his breath was coming fast and hard. She squeezed her eyes shut again and went on, tugging as the buttons started to fall out of her reach, leaning backwards to reach further, horribly conscious that her breasts and hips were being thrust forwards, and worse, that strange sounds and soft panting was coming from her husband. She didn’t know what was happening, and she was too self-conscious to look. She only knew one thing with certainty.
She wished she was dead.
Finally, after wrenching a few pearls right from their stiches, Jessica found that she had to lean forward and lower her arms to reach the buttons below the small of her back. She tilted from the waist, still keeping her eyes tightly shut, and reached back. She felt her breasts spill forward, nearly fallin
g out of the low bodice of the wedding-gown, and then bare seconds later she felt Stanton’s monstrous huge hands upon them, pulling her breasts from the dress, squeezing them, biting on them, so hard that her nipples pulled and hurt, and she could not help it. She screamed and struck at his head, trying to push him away.
He was hurting her.
For most of her life she’d been mortified by her strength, which labelled her as some sort of freak. But it had taken Alex to show her that it was what she did with her abilities that was important, and she didn’t hesitate to use them this time. Reaching out to grasp Stanton by the hair and jerk him away—
He slapped her so hard she fell to the floor, and Jessica lay there on the carpet before the fire, her dress hanging from her back, her breasts spilling from a torn bodice, with her hand on her hot stinging cheek, staring at the man she had married. She had not been struck since she was a little child, and never so hard. The shock was nearly as great as the pain. “What?” she gasped, looking at Stanton’s face with frightened eyes. “How?”
His lips curled in a feral grin and he took a step forward so that he was standing over her, legs on either side of her waist. His pants were undone, and the flap was falling open. “Bitch,” he said pleasantly. “Don’t ever deny me my rights, for I am superior to you in every way—stronger, faster, smarter and you are mine to do with as I please. Now for your first lesson...”
Jessica, hand on her cheek, could only stare. Her head was spinning; she felt dizzy with confusion. And then she closed her eyes as he was easing down his pants… with her eyes closed, if tears were running down her cheeks, he didn’t care and wasn’t in the least bit gentle. He flung up her skirt and her slip, he tore at her underwear, and then, while she seized up every muscle in terror, he tormented her. He flicked at her, he chafed at her, he even—she squeezed her eyes shut.
