Claimed Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 2)

by Cari Silverwood

  Which might be why her white hair looked a tangled wet mess.

  Even that looked sexy. He had it bad for this woman who hated him, this woman he detested most times she opened her mouth.

  Zarr gestured, beckoning him closer, into the space a few yards before the throne.

  It wasn’t until Sawyer was in that circle that he saw the throne clearly. It was indeed a mish mash of many things. Iron wheels and old weapons comprised the back – you wouldn’t want to lean on that. The lower frame was timber, and there was an abundance of cushions, with one armrest being a cylinder of gold cage-work that might’ve been an ex-waste paper basket. The other armrest was a carved snake monster with eyes and rounded teeth.

  Interesting and weird.

  “So!” Zarr smacked his hands onto his big thighs, making Ari jump. “Though we have other important things to discuss, you two amuse me. You want me to give you her. She wants me to let her be ransomed, and I think she’d like your head on a stick. She tells me the Mekkers sold you because you made trouble – fighting, assaulting a man of the law. I don’t know how much is true, but it sounds bad, Saw. I’m calling you Saw. It’s easier. My tongue was once mauled by an upset jagg.”

  “Saw is fine.” He inclined his head.

  So those pointy jagg teeth had uses.

  “You like to fight? I’m going to let you fight. Pick your weapon.” He reached over the side of his metal and junk throne and brought out a sword in a sheath.

  A sword.

  “This or your muscles. You wrestle or this. We can’t have you killing my men, so the sword is blunt, mostly.”

  A sword. He didn’t know swords, didn’t do swords, hadn’t really meant to fight one on one for the job or her. She tried hard to discredit him. Bitch, though a sexy bitch. This fight could get him hurt.

  Zarr hadn’t said she was part of the deal. Annoying her was evil, and she deserved it.

  “Is she part of the deal? Do I win her?”

  Wide-eyed, she stared. The familiar buzz built in the air. The men here should guard their testicles.

  “Is she, Zarr?”

  “Hmmm.” He stroked the fuzz on his chin. “You want to fight for her and for a job training my men?”

  Ari began, “You can’t, sir –”

  Zarr chopped his hand down.

  “I mean –” This time he glowered, and she stopped talking.

  “Well, I hadn’t meant to do a fight like this. I need time to train and get my fitness back.”

  “I’m not giving you time. If you’re so great at fighting, you can show us this.”

  And there was his small problem, rearing its head.

  He wished he had a lucky charm or better, a fairy godmother...a fairy godmother with a direct line to whatever gods existed here and a winning lottery ticket. He was going to need every bit of advantage he could dredge up.

  “Then I pick...wrestling.”

  “Since you boast of being so good, I thought it fair that two men go against you. Roka! Dayne!”

  Two. Fuck.

  The men sauntered from the crowd. Roka was almost as tall as he was, and Dayne looked wily and wiry.

  He was barely breathing his first free air, an asthmatic could beat him with one crippled hand, and they expected him to wrestle.

  Forget the lottery ticket; he wanted an assault rifle.

  Zarr knew this wasn’t fair. So. Be. It.

  A Scav arrived and freed him from the wrist and ankle manacles. There were sores beneath the metal. He aimed to keep those off forever. Never again. He stripped off his pants and newly found shirt, twisted them in his hands then tossed them aside casually. They’d think he liked wrestling in underwear. A discomforting buzz swept in then was gone, making his balls ache.

  A glance showed Ari standing with her face set, as if she feared showing emotion. Seeing him half naked upset her and had set off that strange power? Seconds ago, he’d happily have pinned her down and spread her legs. Now, mostly switched off.

  Annoyance surfaced. He hated being controlled.

  How was she ever getting a bed partner with that happening every time a man looked at her or touched her?

  He strode to her, shoved his hand into the hair at the back of her head and shook her. Then he said, softly but with menace. “Stop using my balls as your toys. Leave it be.”

  “I’m not... Don’t mean to.” Her mouth fell open.

  Opportunity there and he reached back into his memory of her being sexy and leaned in to kiss her full on the mouth for at least...ten seconds. Then he let her go. That she wobbled and almost fell, that her chest heaved, and that for all of a second she’d seemed to close her eyes and enjoy the kiss, it satisfied him. He could affect her too, and he was dead sure he’d felt a deep quiver of arousal down low where he needed it.

  The crowd noise had climbed as people laughed and shouted derisive words. He gave them the finger. Didn’t matter about different worlds and gestures, his meaning penetrated, and they laughed louder.

  “We don’t call that fighting,” Zarr drawled.

  “Me neither.”

  He saluted the man and strolled back to where he’d been, did a jog on the spot then a few stretches. The Scavs looked bewildered at his little display.

  “What are you doing?” Zarr had sprawled to the side, chin in hand, with his legs spread long to the front.

  “Warming up. It’s a human thing. To get all limber, flexible.” He jogged again, with a fast up-and-down leg motion then he rolled his neck, did some shadow boxing. He was making plans. His brain was telling him he couldn’t win this. His bones wouldn’t let him give in. He’d grind these two down.

  They weren’t to hurt each other. Wait, those weren’t Zarr’s words. He’d said that he, Sawyer, was not to hurt his men. This could be a one-sided massacre. Maybe it was meant to be. He was the evening fun.

  Damn. His stomach cramped. None of that. Focus.

  “No more warming. Fight!”

  Time to remember how to kill.

  Chapter 5

  He’d kissed her, and her mouth still remembered.

  The taste, the feel, the rough pressure. He’d startled her – his hand in her hair, his face so close, his breath and tongue in her mouth. No man had ever touched her like that.

  Between her legs remembered the kiss too.

  He had such a presence, had filled the space before her. Momentous, that word encapsulated Saw. He’d sucked her into his intimate world for what, a few seconds? The air had been cold and empty when he’d walked away.

  Getting aroused shouldn’t happen from such an unwanted event.

  Her mouth awry, with regrets dwindling as to some impossible union between them – she didn’t want that, truly – Aribelle studied his meandering advance on his opposition.

  She felt sorry for the man. He was lean compared to the trained Scav warriors heading for him. That was the fault of slavery. When he’d first been bought...the roll and cut of his muscles when he’d stalked from the Mekker’s crate-cage to Uncle’s slave truck awed her, scared her too. She remembered him, and she just did not do that – remember slaves.

  Slave males were usually an anonymous mob.

  Men in general were both pretty and dangerous. They were animals, as well as all kinds of mysterious.

  Hating something that fascinated one was surely normal?

  It was her normal anyway. She twisted and went to sit on the wooden step of the throne then changed her mind and decided to stand. Sitting made her nervous when so many were watching. Breaking into a run took an extra few seconds if she was sitting. Being paranoid served her well.

  “You made this happen, girl. Now you can watch him die.” Such dry words from Zarr.

  Die?

  She peeked and found him smiling enigmatically. This leader was often smiling and happy, but she sensed a casual sadism – he’d stab someone for fun.

  Roka and Dayne were circling Sawyer...Saw. They’d stripped off their shirts but left their pants on, wh
ereas Saw was in the slave undershorts.

  Die, Osta said. Had she done this? Her brow tightened. Her temples throbbed. Getting Sawyer to stop interfering in her life was what she’d wanted, not his death. He wasn’t a good man. He stood over her and growled threats. He kissed without asking... If he died, it would be no loss.

  Ari fastened her teeth on her bottom lip.

  She would be sorry. She’d hate herself. Too late, though.

  Far too late.

  The men circled some more, one ran in – Roka – but Saw ducked away, backing up quickly. His feet deftly moved across the hard gray floor. This was like a dance.

  The crowd roared then subsided. A few shouted orders to the combatants: to get in and fight. None of the three men responded, their concentration sharp as glass.

  A chair was thrown into the circle, then a crate. Laughing, a man retrieved the chair.

  The sword Zarr had offered lay to her right, and she wondered why Saw had preferred wrestling to a blade. Perhaps he thought his death would’ve been quicker. The other two might have had sharp weapons when his would have been blunt. Perhaps he wasn’t skilled with swords? The world he’d come from was an unknown to her. Even here, swords weren’t used often.

  As Saw dashed past Roka, a flash of movement made her gasp. He leaped high, and though Roka turned and tried to punch, something in Saw’s hand looped over the other man’s neck. When Saw landed in a crouch, his arms wrenching downward, Roka crashed to the ground, falling, his neck caught, his body thumping into the crate that’d been thrown earlier.

  The crate splintered into many pieces and something speared into Roka. His neck at an angle, blood spurting from a wound in his side; he flailed at Saw and screamed. The scream terminated into a gurgle. Saw had yanked again on the cloth caught about the other man’s throat, applying what must be mortal pressure.

  Another few seconds and Roka would surely be dead, but Dayne was charging in.

  Saw leaped away, hands now empty and up, ready to fend off blows.

  “Physician!” someone shouted.

  While they dragged Roka away to be tended, the other men paced warily.

  Light flared as a sconce was adjusted.

  The cloth left behind, the one that’d been a noose for Roka, was Saw’s pants.

  “Clever!” Dayne said. “You won’t do that again.”

  Saw smiled. “True.” His chest was heaving, as if the small exertion had winded him.

  She’d never been a spectator to fights like this. Men doing violence to each other was distasteful. Surely, he shouldn’t be tired yet?

  “Or would you?” Dayne laughed. “I don’t trust your word.”

  “Me neither.”

  The crowd was getting unruly and noisy. “Fiiiight!”

  “Get into it!”

  “Take him down, Dayne!”

  They circled, danced some more. The lights caressed their muscles, shining off the sweat.

  As Saw approached where she sat, she saw blood curling down his face and neck from a wound on his head. Roka must have connected.

  Ari found she’d balled her hands into her pants, gathering cloth. Worried? Gods, yes. She wanted Saw to win, and that irked her even as she realized it.

  The men came together in a flurry of kicks and blows. Some of the kicks reached head height. They circled and fought again. When Saw disengaged, Dayne followed and attacked. Several times Saw was the one to retreat, and Dayne gave him little space or time. No reprieve. A high blow connected. Saw staggered then went backward, panting enough that she could hear it over the crowd. His arms were up but even a novice like herself could see Dayne was wearing him down.

  “Your warrior is not doing well,” Zarr observed.

  Hers?

  Whatever fighting prowess he might possess, his lack of endurance was weighing against Saw.

  While Saw kept backing, trying to recover, Dayne closed the distance. Predator and prey. The sweat shined on Saw’s back. The lights from above the throne painted him in nuances of blue.

  Dayne connected a fist blow, and the grunt from Saw made her duck in sympathy. Another blow sounded then a series crunched in.

  “Go down.” That was Dayne. “Go down and I’ll spare you.”

  Only silence from Saw. She looked up in time to hear him mutter some insult in another language.

  “There will be no mercy here, today,” Zarr announced loudly.

  They didn’t eat losers. They just killed them. She’d heard that. Knew it. Her fault.

  “Guess...” Saw gulped in air. “We get to play some more.”

  “Play?” Dayne chuckled. “You laugh at death?”

  “Better than fucking whimpering at it.” Saw spat, and the moisture reflected red as it passed across a shaft of light.

  She turned her head. The sword. The hilt glinted...

  Ari reached, picked it up, and threw. The weapon tumbled and slid to a halt beside Saw’s bare feet. Without hesitation he leaned over and scooped it up, slid it from the sheath.

  “Hey, hey. Not fair.” Dayne sloped back, wariness in his eyes.

  “I’m told it’s blunt.” Saw waved the sword then turned it, shifted his grip, as if feeling its weight and balance.

  “A sword for Dayne!” bellowed Zarr from above. “A sword!”

  “I can tell you don’t know how to use it.”

  Saw was now opposite Ari, and he grinned at Dayne’s words. “You stick it in and twist and blood comes out. Correct?”

  A sword in a sheath was tossed to Dayne, who snatched it from the air and slid the blade free. Light slipped lusciously along this new specimen of steel while Saw’s looked dull and possibly rusty.

  Dextrous as a snake, Dayne advanced. Flicker flicker as the light gorged on the silver of his weapon and spat it out in gobbets of bright.

  She couldn’t take this. She sat, lowered her head, and clamped her hands over it.

  “Let’s party!” Saw yelled. “Last man standing is a pussy!”

  Whatever that meant.

  “Done!” Dayne laughed. “I like you!”

  “Must be my singing voice.”

  Now she knew they were both crazy.

  At that, the room exploded with a splattery boom. Even through closed eyelids she saw it. She looked up. More light flared beyond the entrance – from outside but blazing into the room for several seconds before extinguishing.

  A man rushed in, caught in the fading brilliance. “We have a mech outside! A big one, unknown type. Everyone to their stations!”

  Saw staggered, lowering the sword. “Bloody convenient. Who the hell brings a mechanized robot to a sword fight?”

  “This was just getting interesting.” Zarr’s boots pattered on the throne’s steps as he descended.

  “Let me come,” Saw rasped as Zarr passed him. Blood or sweat dripped from the tip of his sword, making dark splashes on the floor. Dayne wandered up to his shoulder and clasped it, as if the two of them hadn’t been about to kill each other.

  “You?” Zarr slowed. Men and women, who were hefting, holstering, and loading weapons, collected around their leader. The serious-sounding clicks and whirrs, the small blips of readiness lights, made Ari want to shrink into the gloom.

  “I might have tactical ideas.”

  “What are these tactics? Foreign word.” He frowned. “But...you fight dirty. I like that. You can come.”

  “Thanks.” Instead of immediately following Zarr, he retrieved his pants and shirt and yanked them on, then strode to Ari.

  “What do you want?” She swallowed, levering herself off the seat and standing. Should she say it? “I’m sorr –”

  His bloody fingers slipped around her wrist. “You’re coming too.”

  “What? No!”

  “Yes. Whenever I leave you alone, you betray me to someone.”

  Pure exaggeration.

  He pulled her along as he walked.

  At first, she dragged her heels while uttering a string of curses, hoping the tired man
would give in and leave her.

  But Zarr was glowering, and the room was a milling, shouting mass of people waving weapons and running for the entry. She had no choice, no one to appeal to.

  She gave in and followed. Perhaps it was because he ignored her in every way and simply towed her after him that her body betrayed her. Frissons of warmth were teasing into her where his hand encompassed her wrist.

  Chapter 6

  Not bad, Saw thought.

  The Scavs seemed a disorganized mob but they hit the row of vehicles parked either side of the ramp with little hesitation. People were hanging off the sides or climbing in, even as the cars and trucks drove up and out. Where the gray sky showed ahead, each vehicle was briefly silhouetted, before disappearing as it reached the road and accelerated. Some of these creations were wheeled. A few had tank treads with guns attached to framework roofs, and one had a small battery of rockets at the back.

  Rockets.

  He wouldn’t call those missiles. They were fat and shiny metal cylinders lined up in rows of four, with pointy ends and stabilizing fins, and from the glimpses he’d had, they were set off by individual triggers – slightly better than using a match to light them. Archaic. This whole world was a mix of the blatantly impossible things, like the swathe landships, and the minor ramshackle tech elsewhere.

  A catastrophe had happened here after a war between the Mekkers and the rest. It seemed as if the war had never quite ended and had instead fizzled out.

  Much of what these warriors carried seemed personalized. Long guns had pretty colors on their surfaces – decals or painted-on symbols even? He’d have to see them in daylight. No one offered him a weapon, though he still had the rusty sword in its sheath. Drawing it while sitting near Zarr might prompt one of his men to spear him. And yes, some had spears. Prettily painted spears.

  The faint blue glow from a ceiling dome let him study the guns.

  Maybe he should inform them that tough guys didn’t put flowers on their weapons?

  A hairy brute was seated in the back with him, on the opposite bench that ran down the side. He glared when Saw looked up from studying the moon and stars on the man’s purple, overly large, long gun. The growl was audible.