The Ravager Chronicles: The Complete Series

by Sara Page

  “It matters not what I want,” Beast says straightening and clenching his gauntlets into fists. “It is your decision, my princess, and only you can make it.”

  Maybe Beast is just saying that because for some reason he has to say it. But I don’t want him to have any doubts, and I certainly don’t want Striker to get the wrong idea.

  “Okay, well I’ve already made it. I want you Beast, and only you.”

  Beast shakes his head and his voice scrapes at me as he says harshly, “No, Ameia, do not be so hasty to make your decision. When you deny a man his destiny, you doom him to a fate worse than death.”

  What the hell? Did Beast seriously just get angry because I said I wanted to be with him and not with Striker?

  He stomps off and there’s no doubt about it, he’s mad.

  I look over to Striker but he still stands in his spot, ten feet away from me, staring at me and unmoving. I don’t like him. We definitely don’t get along. He pushes every single one of my buttons and seems to enjoy it. I don’t know how many times I’ve wished he wasn’t here, especially because things would be so much easier if he wasn’t.

  But what Beast just said resonates with me, it strikes a chord inside me. I don’t like Striker, but I don’t wish any ill will upon him. I feel responsible for him now, especially because he’s here, dragged into this whole mess with my father and with Vrillum, and if I’m the one Calling him? Does he even have a choice about it?

  But even if it were to save him, to spare him from a fate worse than death as Beast said it, how could I ever choose to be with him?

  One Ravager is enough. Two… two is too much for Ameia.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What? Who are you? You can’t be in here!” The doctor from the last time I visited my father sputters as he comes running away from the machines lining the back walls of the treatment room just as we walk in. He cuts in front of Beast before Beast can make it to my father’s bed.

  Striker passes me as I run-walk to catch up with Beast. The two of them are much faster than I am, probably because I have to take three steps to their every one.

  Beast looks down at the doctor and I watch all the color drain from the man’s face. Then Beast simply steps around him, approaching my father’s side, confident that the doctor cannot stop him.

  The doctor sputters some more and spins, searching for help before his attention falls on me.

  “Princess Ameia! What is the meaning of this? These….these men cannot be in here.”

  “How is my father?” I ask as I hurry to catch up, purposely not answering the doctor’s question. “Has there been any improvement? Is he recovering?”

  “What do you think?” Beast asks Striker as Striker joins his side. They step up to my father’s medical bed, together beaming their red gazes down upon my father’s bandages. At least the bandages are clean, someone must have changed them recently because now there are no stains. And thankfully it appears my father is sleeping peacefully. I’d hate for him to awaken and to see Beast and Striker staring down at him. It would probably frighten him to death.

  The doctor follows on my heels as I join Beast by my father’s bed. I gaze down upon my father, his breathing is slow and shallow. His skin looks greyer today, not as red and angry as it did the last night. He looks as if he’s withering and shrinking, fading away right before my eyes.

  “Doctor?” I ask, knowing he’s beside me. Sensing him fidgeting and looking for someone to help him.

  Finally the doctor clears his throat before saying, “We have kept the King under heavy sedation. He is improving, but it is slow, steady progress.”

  I shake my head and clasp my hands together, needing something to squeeze. It does not look as if my father is improving to me.

  “What is all of this for?” Beast asks, lifting his talon-tipped fingers into the air and jutting them towards the fluorescent lines and tubes going into my father’s prone body.

  The doctor looks at me, seeking my nod of approval before he answers him. “Those are how we administer fluids and medications.”

  “It’s barbaric,” Striker grumbles.

  Beast nods his head as if he agrees with him. “And that?” Beast asks, pointing towards a beeping machine that hovers above my father’s bed.

  The doctor huffs as if he’s offended. “That machine is monitoring his vital signs.”

  “It is not repairing him?” Beast asks.

  “No,” the Doctor says slowly and his brows pull together. “It is a monitoring device. Princess, I must ask, what is the meaning of this?”

  Yesterday, I was so shocked by my father’s appearance, it was as if I felt physically ill looking upon him. It’s something that still sits uncomfortable inside me. But the sight of him so damaged, so changed, so different, I couldn’t handle it. I was in no way prepared.

  Today, however, as I gaze upon my father, I can feel nothing but despair and sadness. That is my father. That hurt, shriveling man who is suffering beyond anything I can imagine, that is my King. And I love him. And my heart hurts for him. And I would do anything, anything to make him better. Anything.

  “Doctor,” I say softly and tear my eyes away from the bed. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Doctor Whitman,” he answers uneasily.

  “Doctor Whitman,” I say and reach out, unclasping my hands so that I can grab his hands. His hands are cold and clammy in mine and it turns my stomach. And I know he doesn’t want me touching him, he’s probably scared shitless that I’m touching him, but I squeeze his clammy fingers anyway. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of my father.”

  I look at him, meeting his brown eyes and hope he can see in mine the depth of my gratitude.

  “You’re welcome, Princess,” the doctor stammers, surprised. Then he seems to swell up, his chest puffing out a bit, no doubt bolstered by my gratitude.

  “If anything changes, anything, please I ask that you send for me at once.” I squeeze the doctor’s hands again before releasing them. I have to resist the urge to wipe my damp palms off on my pants.

  The doctor nods. “Of course, princess.”

  “Thank you.” I force a smile at him. “I feel better knowing my father has you taking care of him. You may leave us.”

  The doctor nods, still smiling and takes a step back. I watch him return to the machines before I turn back to Beast.

  “Beast,” I say and his helmet swivels to look upon me. “Do you think your doctors on the Harpy’s Talon could help my father?”

  “Yes, Ameia,” Beast answers and I almost feel like crying in relief just knowing that yes, more help is possible.

  “What can be done? What do we need to do?”

  “I’ll need to return to the Harpy’s Talon,” Beast answers. “And fetch the doctor and the necessary equipment.”

  “You?” I ask, confused and hoping I misheard him. I don’t want Beast to leave me. I know it’s cowardly of me but just the thought of being separated from him fills me with nervous tension. I just need to be near him. I need him close. I need his presence.

  “What about Striker?” I peer around Beast and look to Striker who turns to regard us. “Striker, would you mind fetching the stuff from the Harpy’s Talon?”

  Before Striker can even answer Beast shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Ameia. It must be me. Striker cannot travel the wormholes I have opened. He could create his own, but it would take him twice as long to do so.”

  I look back down to my father. I would do anything, anything to help him. Even if that anything means being separated from Beast.

  “How long will it take you?” I ask Beast without looking back up at him. I watch the fluids pumping into my father while trying to ignore all the murky fluids being pumped out.

  “Only a few hours.”

  “You are certain your doctors will be able to help him?”

  “Yes, my princess. I know our doctors will be able to help your father. Our medical technology is much more advanced
than yours it seems.”

  I was hoping that, I was even suspecting it. According to both Beast and Striker, I took a shot to the chest from Striker’s blaster back on planet fuzzball. But when I awoke on a bed, naked and wearing only a sheet, there was nothing physically wrong with me. I didn’t even know I was ever shot. I felt no pain, and there was no wound, there was not even a trace that something happened to me. I had no clue even until Beast explained it to me.

  “I am certain we can help your father make a full and complete recovery.”

  A full and complete recovery. It feels as if Beast is offering the whole world to me.

  I smile and my eyes water with relief. I look up at Beast, and though it pains me to speak the words I say, “Then we should get you on your way.”

  * * *

  We separate when we exit the medical ward. I go through the doors and break through the golden line of guards while Beast and Striker once again use the shadows. They meet me just around the corner. From there we rush to the empty hangar where we left the transport vehicle.

  Thankfully the vehicle is still there, right where we left it. Maybe Vrillum left it hoping they would decide to go home.

  “Beast,” I say sadly as the landing ramp beeps down, extending to the floor.

  I want to hug him. I want to feel his skin before he goes but he’s covered from head to toe in his obsidian armor.

  He steps up to me, peering down at me and I just know he wishes he could touch me too. I tip my head back and tell him to, “Please be careful.”

  “I will, Ameia,” he reassures me and I think to hell with it.

  Stepping close, I press my palms against his obsidian armor. Even if it’s hard and so very cold, I can’t let him go without touching him somehow.

  “Listen to Striker,” Beast whispers and my head jerks back. “He will protect you.”

  What the hell?

  “He’s not going with you?”

  How can Beast even think of leaving Striker alone with me?

  “No, Ameia. We cannot abandon you here.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m safe here, this is my home.”

  Beast pulls away and looks over to Striker. Silently and just with their glares, I know they’re giving each other some kind of signal.

  “I will always worry about you.”

  “Then you should take him with you. You know how he feels. You know what he tried to do!”

  Shit, I’m getting all pissed and flustered, and I don’t want Beast to leave like this. But then what is he even thinking leaving me with Striker?

  “Striker will protect you,” Beast growls. “This is not up for debate. Ameia, I must go.”

  “Then go,” I say harshly, hating myself a little for yelling at him as I wrap my arms angrily around myself. “And take him with you.”

  “My princess,” Beast says sadly and shakes his head. “Will you ever do what you’re told?”

  I can’t even look at him as I answer him honestly. “No.”

  “Take care of her,” Beast says and turns, stomping up the landing ramp.

  I’m caught between sadness that he’s leaving and pissed off that he’s leaving me with Striker. I feel hot, angry tears stinging my eyes as I watch him go. Beast waves at me and I uncross my arms long enough to wave back at him.

  Please hurry back Beast. Then I suddenly realize, I don’t want to be here without you.

  Chapter Twelve

  Striker and I watch the transport vehicle depart. For the longest time Beast is just a streak of light in the indigo sky before he winks out. This is the first time we’ve been separated from each other.

  I try not to think about it too hard.

  “Where are you going?” Striker asks as I turn and walk from the hangar.

  I don’t answer him. I’m pissed that he’s here, playing babysitter. He should have left with Beast. I don’t want him with me. The first chance I get, I’m ditching him.

  He’ll only make things worse.

  I walk through the empty halls of the palace, wondering where the hell is my personal protection squad? What the hell is going on?

  It’s time to find out.

  Striker isn’t far behind me. I can sense him behind me, following me like a menacing shadow. Causing all the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I can feel the ground vibrating with his heavy steps, yet terrifyingly he doesn’t make a sound.

  I rush the last few steps to my room and throw open my bedroom door before slamming it behind me. I lock the door, my fingers fumbling but it’s all a waste of energy. He simply appears, red glowing eyes first, on the other side.

  “Trying to lose me, princess?” he asks and I just know beneath that ugly helmet of his he’s smirking.

  I snort and step around him. Maybe if I just pretend he doesn’t exist he’ll get the hint and leave me alone.

  He doesn’t get the hint though. Striker hovers over me as I throw open my closet and try to figure out what to wear. I tear through all my dresses and gowns. They all seem too young, too immature. Too little girl. I need to give the impression that I’m a grown woman capable of being in control when I approach the council. The only dress that comes anywhere close to what I want is the gown I commissioned for my coronation.

  It feels as if that was so long ago.

  Sighing, I grab the gown and the matching tiara that would have been replaced by a Queen’s crown if everything had gone as it was supposed to.

  “Ameia,” Striker asks more firmly now. “What are you doing? Planning on going somewhere?”

  He blocks my way as I try to walk out of the closet.

  “I want a shower and a change of clothes,” I frown at him. My frown only grows deeper as he begins to remove his gauntlets.

  “What are you doing?” I can’t help but ask because he’s still blocking me and not giving me any room to move around him.

  The gauntlets fall to the floor and then he rips off his helmet. “If you’re wishing to bathe, I’ll be happy to help you.”

  His ugly helmet thuds to the floor.

  “You will not!” I shriek. He’s mad, utterly mad if he thinks I’ll bathe with him.

  He shakes his head, fluffing out his black hair and asks, “Why not? Beast ordered me to take care of you.”

  “I’m quite capable of cleaning myself, and I don’t want or need your help,” I tell him. Seriously? I have to even explain this to him? “Now if you would please move…”

  Striker frowns at me, his dark brows pulling together. “It is custom…”

  “I don’t care!” I immediately cut him off. “I don’t even want to know.” I don’t. I don’t want to know what weird, creepy explanation he has in his head.

  Striker sighs, disappointed. “Very well.” And then steps to the side, giving me just enough room to squeeze past him.

  “Just… try to stay out of trouble,” I tell him as I rush towards the bathroom. “And don’t you dare come in here. Even if you think I’m dying!”

  I slam the bathroom door and lock it. It’s the thought that counts.

  Then I wait, holding my breath while straining my ears, making sure he’s not going to decide to come in while I’ve got my pants down. When I hear the floorboards creaking as he moves around my bedroom, I decide if I want a shower I might as well do it now.

  My shower was meant to be short and quick because I don’t really need a long one, even if it’s been a couple of days. The Ravager suits may be snug and ugly, but there’s some kind of advance functioning in the material they’re made of that regulates bodily functions. You don’t sweat. You don’t even need to use the facilities to relieve yourself. The material they’re made of somehow takes care of it all for you. Technically, I’m still clean before I even step under the water.

  It just feels good to wash my hair though. And even though I wanted to take a quick shower, afraid that Striker will pop his head in for a peep show, I take my time washing myself. There’s just no replacing good old-fashion
ed soap and water. I feel soft and clean. And I smell pretty too.

  Wrapping a big fluffy robe around my body, I then wrap an equally fluffy towel around my hair. If I pretend hard enough, if I will myself to forget there’s an unwanted Ravager on the other side of the door, it feels entirely too normal going through the drawers of my vanity and getting ready for the day.

  I do up my face. For once, I’m actually enjoying myself as I apply my makeup. Then I take the time to dry and set my hair. I twist my curls and pin them to the back of my head. Then it takes me a couple of extra minutes to get the tiara situated, pinned so it doesn’t fall off.

  Next comes my dress. After drying myself, I put on my panties and a brassiere. A brassiere! Finally some support. Then I squeeze myself into the gown. The gown is purple, shimmery, and extremely formfitting at the top but flaring into a gauzy skirt down at the bottom. I chose it because at the time, while I was planning my eighteenth birthday and coronation, I wanted to appear more mature.

  The gown is simple. The sleeves are off the shoulders, the neckline shows just a hint of cleavage, and when I’m perfectly standing still it covers me completely down to my toes. It’s when I walk that the splits part. There’s two long slits, one beginning at each hip, and they part the fabric, showing the complete lengths of my legs when I walk or turn. It’s a daring dress, but I’m in the mood for daring.

  Perhaps this isn’t the best dress to wear around Striker now that I think about it… But I’ll be damned if I put that ugly Ravager suit back on.

  I’ll pull open the bathroom door and for a moment I’m confused. Striker has shed all of his obsidian armor and he’s standing with his back to me, facing my armoire. My heart races in my chest. He looks so much like Beast. Is Beast back already?

  I step out, just about to ask when my brain kicks in and tells me, no look closer, that’s not Beast. His hair is just a bit longer. His body is just a bit slimmer, somehow sharper. And he’s somehow darker as if he radiates malevolent energy.

  “Is this your mother?” he asks without turning to me.