Sacred Breath Series (Books 1-4)

by Nadia Scrieva

  “You have quite the imagination,” Zalcan said, with a snigger. “That’s never going to happen. Let me tell you what is going to happen—I’m going to pound you raw. Vachlan says you’re a great lay, so I’m here to try you.”

  “Try me?” she asked, stalling for time. “Am I an article of clothing, or a gourmet dish?”

  “You’re a woman—a scared helpless animal who exists only for my enjoyment.”

  Visola chuckled. “You really think you’re more masculine than I am, Ladybug?”

  “You doubt my masculinity?” he whispered as he reached down and began to undo his pants. “Let me demonstrate the extent of my manhood.”

  “Sure,” Visola said with a smile. “Put it in my mouth. My teeth aren’t that sharp, I promise.” She ran her tongue over her incisors, with a malicious look in her eyes.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t take orders from commoners. I will choose exactly where to put my…”

  “Listen, Hamnil—may I call you Hamnil?”

  “No. You must address me as Prince Zalc... ow!”

  Visola had used her shackled wrists to deliver a blow to his head. She cursed when it was not strong enough to knock him unconscious.

  “That hurt!” he squealed, as he fell away from her cot. He rolled up into a ball on the floor, clutching his head. He whined loudly. “You bitch!”

  Visola groaned. “I really doubt that anyone, in any part of the world would consider you masculine. That’s perfectly fine and you don’t have to prove anything to any…”

  “Vachlan said you were broken!”

  “He broke my heart once,” Visola said, with a melodramatic melancholy. She smiled at her attacker. “Want to hear about it? I’m in the mood for some girl-talk, and maybe if you have any ice cream or chocolate…”

  “I have a better idea,” the prince said, grabbing a nearby baton, and aiming it at Visola’s arm.

  Prickly icicles of electricity ran through Visola’s body for several seconds when the prince fired the weapon. When he removed it, after what had felt like an eternity, she was vastly weakened. The pulsing contractions of her muscles continued without her permission. Although she fought to regain control of her mobility, her body refused to follow instructions. She knew that her adversary had gained the upper hand. Her eyes rolled to look toward the room’s entryway, praying for Vachlan to return. Had he really abandoned her? Had he done this again?

  “Poor little redhead,” Zalcan said with a grin. “All paralyzed and nowhere to go. Want another taste?” He fired the weapon at her again, and again, until Visola was completely incapacitated and blinded. He prodded her with the baton, laughing gleefully. “Where are your smart remarks now? Would you like me to put this in your mouth? I wonder how much it will hurt if I shock your sassy tongue!”

  Visola could not even reply to tell him that she truly believed another one of those shocks would kill her. There was a great plummeting feeling in her chest, and she wondered if her heart was failing. As she struggled with the disruption of her body’s basic maneuvers, the cot squeaked under her. Zalcan had climbed back on top of her, and was returning to his initial intended undertaking.

  “It does take some of the fun out of things now that you are a lifeless doll,” he said to her with a frown as he slid her dress up around her waist. “Can you still scream? Please try. I really want to hear you scream as I do this.”

  Visola tried to fight her dizziness and move her frozen lips. Her tongue felt heavy and awkward, as if she were trying to push a boulder around in her mouth. Her thoughts went hopelessly to Vachlan. I can’t believe he left me here with this man. All because of a kiss? I thought he cared… he acted like he cared. Didn’t he? I swear it wasn’t my imagination. I should have learned by now not to ever try to interpret a man’s actions or his words. They are never good indicators of their thoughts or decisions, because men think much later, long after they have spoken or acted. Damn you, Vachlan! Visola felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness and despair that was only partly due to her paralysis. You always leave me when I need you the most.

  “You really are unable to speak!” Zalcan said with a smile. “I didn’t realize how powerful the electricity would be. You’re totally vulnerable now—it’s highly amusing. Vachlan has the best toys lying around, doesn’t he? Let’s see if the tiles match the tapestries!”

  Never in her life had Visola wanted to hurt someone more than when Zalcan began pulling off her panties. He giggled when she was exposed, and commented in delight about how much he liked well-coordinated home furnishings. Visola thought about her husband wretchedly.

  “Now you get to feel how much of a man I am,” the prince said with a sneer, as he positioned himself over her. “The way I showed that little bitch Corallyn before I chopped her up.”

  Visola felt tears come to her eyes, and she emitted a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh. Vachlan had not killed Corallyn. Vachlan had not been the one who killed Corallyn! This revelation left her in such a bizarre combination of crying and laughing that she seemed hysterical. She had known it all along, deep down. She had known that her husband was good, and not capable of the things that he had been blamed for. He was puppet whose strings were being pulled by others. She felt vindicated to have Vachlan’s character somewhat restored in her mind. When she had believed that Vachlan had done wrong, she had believed herself a fool for loving him. Now, she knew that it was not true.

  “Vachlan,” she managed to whisper, although the word sounded like it was being filtered through molasses. Her tongue had still not regained full functionality, but her vision was returning. So he had not killed Corallyn, but he had allowed it to happen—just as he would not be the one to rape and kill her, but he would allow it to happen. He had abandoned her, but still she only felt love for him.

  “So you can speak?” Zalcan said with delight. He slapped Visola in the face. “Don’t say his name! Say mine, and I want you to scream it for me. Do it!”

  When he slapped her again, Visola felt the pressure of something against her gum. There it was—a final, forlorn idea. If she could move her tongue enough to get to the pill, she should be able to crush it with her teeth. She was going to lose this fight, but she did not have to stick around and watch.

  What she would have said if she had been in a wisecracking mood was, Hey Hamnil. How do you feel about necrophilia? He would have displayed confusion or surprise, and she would have responded, Well, you’re about to find out, before crushing and swallowing the pill. Then she would have felt at least a millisecond of smugness before she died, and he would have understood her meaning from context.

  However, Visola was not in a wisecracking mood; she was feeling rather miserable and broken. So when Zalcan nudged her knees apart with deranged excitement, and when she felt the sickening moisture of his dangling, offensive organ against her thigh, she made her decision. Visola quickly moved her tongue to dislodge the pill from the corner where she kept it, and she positioned it between her molars. Thank you, Sionna, she thought to herself as she gripped the rubber capsule. I hope you can feel when I’m gone—I know you’ll take care of everyone. You are worth fifty of me.

  She bit down tentatively on the thick casing of the pill, feeling it give way and testing its flexibility. The moment before Zalcan could defile her, she clenched her jaw and…

  Visola froze in surprise as something collided with Zalcan’s head, knocking him into the wall. She saw a massive arm reach out and grab Zalcan by the hair, hauling him away from her. She managed to turn her head just enough to see her husband swinging a spiked club with all of his force.

  “You little nancy bugger!” Vachlan bellowed. “I was only gone for five minutes, and you…”

  Stuttering with incoherent rage, Vachlan continued to bludgeon his employer in the head with his mace until Zalcan’s face was a ghastly, bloody mess. The Indian man’s body was soon as limp and lifeless as the ground upon which it lay. Zalcan had become one of his well-coordinated ro
om furnishings, for a bloodied corpse went well with a dank, abandoned mineshaft, at least in Visola’s opinion. She probably should have cringed at this gruesome sight, but instead she was filled with a wave of deep contentment. Vachlan had not abandoned her.

  “Spit it out,” Vachlan said, turning toward her and holding out his hand. He must have seen when her tongue had worked to remove the pill from the corner of her mouth. Visola hesitated, but Vachlan was already reaching into her mouth and extracting the pill.

  “That’s mine,” she complained.

  “You had this the whole time?” he asked angrily, brandishing the warm rubber capsule in front of her face. Its shape suddenly reminded Visola of a miniature football. Vachlan flung the pill across the room, into a pile of junk. “No wonder your sister kissed you on the mouth. She even gave you a lecture on how to use the damn thing right in front of me. How stupid could I be?”

  Vachlan tossed his bloody mace aside. He reached down to pull Visola’s dress back over her hips. Once she was decent, he began unlocking her from her chains. He moved quickly, fueled by anger. When her wrists and ankles were free, he pulled her into his arms. He held her against him as protectively as a tiger would guard its young from a predator. Visola closed her eyes and rested against his chest, wondering how he knew that she needed to be held so badly just then. You didn’t abandon me. The love she felt in his embrace seemed to infuse her muscles and coax them out of paralysis. You came back for me. She wanted to thank him out loud, and tell him how thankful she was.

  “Nancy bugger?” she asked softly instead, with a light teasing tone in her voice.

  Vachlan smiled, and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, as if he understood what she really had meant to say. “Visola, my darling, how about a little gratitude for saving you from violation?”

  “No, I appreciate it, I really do—but couldn’t you have said something a little more heroic while saving me?” The truth was that she could not really imagine anything more heroic. She also could not have hoped for more conclusive proof of his allegiance.

  “As you well know, during the spontaneous and transient act of passionate murder, it is extremely challenging to think of the ideal words to say. You must forgive me if the first phrases which spring to mind aren’t trendy American insults.”

  Visola squinted an eye open to glance down at the man on the floor. She grimaced. “What do you think Emperor Zalcan is going to say about the modifications you made to his son’s face?”

  “I hope he’ll consider it an eloquent letter of resignation.” They smiled at each other. Vachlan laid Visola out on the cot, and began moving around the room. “I need to get you home,” he said. He indicated a large waterproof case to her. “I was gathering supplies while you slept.”

  “You can’t,” she told him, surprised with how thoughtful he was. He had been planning their escape, even if this situation with Zalcan had not happened. She felt anxiety seize her. “If you go anywhere near Adlivun, they’ll kill you.”

  “I need to take you somewhere safe.”

  Visola watched his lips move as they spoke those words. Her eyes narrowed as she searched her memory. She was almost sure she had heard him say that exact phrase once before. An overpowering feeling of déjà vu hung in the air; it was strange but comforting. She tried to shake off the intangible sensations and return to reality. Visola needed to compensate for weeks of silent anger.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you didn’t kill Corallyn?” she asked him furiously. “All this time I believed…”

  “What? She was just a child! What kind of a monster do you think I am?” he asked her. He seemed equally upset. “Are you insane, Visola? How could you believe I would do something like that?”

  “How could you believe that I would cheat on you!” she shot back, grabbing and throwing the nearest object she could find at him.

  He froze, and the pair of pliers hit him squarely in the chest. He stared at her, unblinking. “You didn’t…”

  “Of course not!”

  He crossed the room and returned to her—she had fallen off the cot in her effort to reach for something to throw at him. He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “God, Viso…”

  “Two hundred years. Two hundred years!” she shouted against his chest. “Don’t even touch me, you… you fucktard!”

  “I’m a… what?”

  She pushed him away halfheartedly so that she could punch him in the face wholeheartedly. Her already-broken fingers exploded in pain. “Shit,” she cursed, shaking her hand.

  “Relax,” he told her with a smile, rubbing his jaw. “Once you’re better, I promise you can abuse me all you like.”

  “Don’t ever forget that you said that,” she said sternly, pointing a bandaged finger at him. She waggled her finger menacingly. “Now what the hell are we going to do?”

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking her hand. “I’m going to get you to Adlivun.”

  The name of her home had never sounded sweeter to Visola. It was impossible. She shook her head. “Your men will come after us. We won’t get very far.”

  “We’ll fight.”

  “I’m useless. I’ll just hold you back,” she said, giving him a sad smile. “You have to escape without me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you. Not ever again.”

  “Romance—how lovely,” she said, rolling her eyes. “No time for that. Focus on getting out of here alive.”

  “I have a plan,” he said. “We’re both going to make it. There are guards stationed everywhere in Zimovia Strait, except to the west, across the mountains and ice.”

  “Mountains and ice?”

  “It’s the only direction from which we couldn’t be attacked, so I didn’t station guards there. Maybe I was subconsciously leaving an escape route.”

  “This might surprise you, but I have a broken knee. Can’t do mountains.”

  “It’s fine—I can carry you. Maybe I was subconsciously starving you to make you lighter.”

  Visola saw the twinkle in his eye. She pouted. “Hey! You thought I was fat?”

  “It doesn’t matter now—I’ve fixed the problem,” he said with a drawl, putting his hands on her bony ribcage. He moved his face close to hers and spoke in a comically sultry voice. “You know how much I like my women anorexic and dying.”

  She smiled at his sexy sarcasm. “Well then, let’s get going—wait! I have a plan too. Let’s leave a note. You will have to write it for me.”

  Vachlan began looking around for a piece of paper before grabbing a fancy pen that was lying nearby. He dipped it into the blood pooling in Zalcan’s eye socket, and lifted the pen, poised and ready to write.

  She stared at the paper, still curious to see if he would write in the same fancy handwriting of Corallyn’s ransom note. She remembered his handwriting, but so much time had passed that she could not be sure. “Prisoner escaped. Gone after her,” Visola began narrating. When Vachlan penned the words, she was relieved to see that his handwriting was a messy, manly scrawl. It was not elegant calligraphy. She knew who had written the note. “Will return shortly,” she continued narrating. “Load all men up into ships and await my return to command an attack on Adlivun.”

  Chapter 26: Conversations on Ice

  “What does she look like?” Vachlan asked sleepily.

  They had escaped from Zimovia, and traveled west for as long as possible before pitching their tent. Visola remained quiet for some time before responding. “I see her every time I look at you.”

  “With your red hair, I hope?”

  “Yes. Well, she used to have red hair when she was a girl.”

  “Isn’t she still a girl? A teenager at most.”

  “She is a very old woman. Her life is almost over. She has two grown sons.”

  “What? Wait—this is too much information. Our daughter lived on land? I’m a grandfather?”

  “Please, Vachlan. I wished for so long that you would return,
and you didn’t. Now that we’re here, and this is happening… it just all seems so unreal, and far too late.”

  “Viso…”

  “Please. No more questions tonight. It’s too bittersweet. I need to rest.”

  Visola was curled up in her corner of the tiny space. She stared at Vachlan’s back as she played with a small knife. Her leg was probably well enough to walk on for a few miles, but she did not think he deserved to know this. No, he would have to keep on carrying her until they reached a city.

  “Are you thinking about killing me?” Vachlan asked gruffly. He yawned and stretched, having just awoken.

  “Yep,” Visola said in a chipper tone as she toyed with spinning the dagger between them. Occasionally it would point west at him, and occasionally it would point east toward her. Occasionally it would point north or south at neither of them. Continuously, when it stopped, she would consider what it meant with respect to fate, and whether fate was guiding her to take action, or to just continue being useless. A voice teased her internally. You have never gone beneath the truth. You cannot navigate the endless fathoms of forgiveness. She was reminded of the fact that she had felt somewhat comfortable and safe when Vachlan had been her clear-cut, straightforward enemy, and now that he was showing her tenderness she was becoming increasingly confused.

  “So why don’t you just do it?”

  “Need you to carry me around. Can’t move on my own—leg smashed.”

  “Then once I get you home?”

  “Sticking you in an oven and cooking you up with some salt and pepper. Having a scrumptious feast—eating your testicles first.”

  “You can’t cook, Viso.”

  “That’s true,” she said. She sighed, reaching up and began to trace patterns in the fabric of the tent. “To be perfectly honest, what I’m actually considering is divorce.”

  He sat up abruptly, his head hitting the small tent and making it shake. “That’s impossible. There’s no such thing for sea-dwellers.”