Michaela

by Tracy St. John

  It was all Korkla could do to not shove Clajak out of the way. The men hurried off the shuttle that had brought them to their home’s landing bay. Only minutes ago he’d learned Pwaldur and Clan Wagnox had taken Michaela and Jessica hostage. Those minutes, during which they’d flown at top speed, had been the longest of Korkla’s life.

  With Imperial Father Nobek Yuder at their sides, Clajak and Korkla sped towards a knot of half a dozen Royal Guards surrounding a space-worthy long-range transport. A quick glance at the vehicle revealed Nobek Marzklis wrestling with the transponder that made it possible to track its whereabouts. The traitor noted Clajak, Korkla, and Yuder’s approach with a feral hiss.

  Then Korkla saw Michaela, slung carelessly over Pwaldur’s shoulder. His heart nearly stopped to see his beloved mate tied and gagged and helpless.

  Korkla’s first instinct was to attack, though it would no doubt endanger Michaela for him to do so. He knew Raxstad and his partner Breft were somewhere close by, angling to launch a surprise assault on the traitors. That knowledge did not calm Korkla’s terrified need to get Michaela away from Pwaldur. That bastard had his hands on Korkla’s Matara. He held her, trying to take her away. Korkla’s Matara. His Michaela.

  Korkla wanted to kill Pwaldur.

  He was almost as horrified to see Dramok Wagnox holding Jessica by the throat with a blaster at her head. Much like Clajak felt like a younger brother to Korkla, Jessica had become like a sister. Seeing the pregnant empress endangered made Korkla want to scream.

  Yet it was Michaela his attention returned to. His beloved struggled weakly against Pwaldur, who now exchanged threatening glares with Clajak. Had she been hurt? Was it that or fear that kept her from fighting harder?

  Horror turned to blind fury when Pwaldur let Michaela drop to the ground, dumping her like a heap of garbage. She gave a pained cry behind her gag and lay squirming in pain on the ground.

  Korkla’s fists clenched and he growled a warning. His fangs came down, and he tensed, ready to hurl himself at Pwaldur.

  Yuder’s restraining hand on his shoulder kept Korkla from rushing at the bigger Dramok. “Easy,” the former emperor cautioned in a whisper, though there was a snarl behind his words too. “Wagnox has got to get that blaster off Jessica before we can move.”

  Somehow Korkla heard him through the roar of rage building in his skull. Only because Jessica’s life hung in the balance, did he stay back. That and the fact that Michaela was still moving.

  She’s alive. That’s what matters. I must keep my head to make sure she stays that way. It’s more important to get her to safety than to claim vengeance.

  He watched the unfolding drama, waiting for an opportunity to pull his Matara out of harm’s way. However, the situation seemed to be getting worse instead of better.

  From his belt, Pwaldur pulled out the most vicious-looking knife Korkla had ever seen. Long, curved, and serrated, it gleamed like a wicked grin in his hand. He pointed it at Clajak, who edged closer, readying to fight.

  The two men yelled back and forth at each other, screaming accusations. Decades of hatred spewed between Pwaldur and Clajak. Korkla followed it in bits and pieces, his being concentrated on getting Michaela out of the middle of it all.

  “...irresponsible playboy, child of peace-loving weaklings...”

  “...your greedy pursuit of power...”

  “...laid them on the altar to die next to you...”

  That got Korkla’s attention. He saw Clajak pale at Pwaldur’s words, saw him freeze in place. Yuder was also in shock, his purple eyes wide and insane rage filling them.

  Clajak’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The accident—”

  Marzklis joined in the conversation with a bark of hateful laughter. “That was no accident. It was some of my best work, I dare say.”

  The air left Korkla’s lungs. They spoke of the crash that had killed the former empress and crippled Zarl so many years ago.

  Yuder yelled, his fangs coming down as he realized it was these men who had harmed his clan so profoundly. Shouts continued, and Clajak readied to attack Pwaldur. Pwaldur invited it, waving the brutal knife before him.

  Korkla’s gaze riveted on Michaela. Blood was about to flow, and he was determined none of it would be hers. She had rolled so that she faced him. She looked right into the Dramok’s eyes. In that instance, he saw she was just as furious as the rest of them, too furious to be afraid.

  Her gaze moved to Pwaldur, where it burned bright with hatred for her captor. Then she looked at Jessica, whose attention was all for the coming fight between Clajak and Pwaldur. The empress remained in Wagnox’s grip, the blaster still aimed at her skull.

  Michaela’s bound feet rose and fell, rose and fell, thumping against the floor. It got Jessica’s attention. Korkla saw how the two women stared at each other. Jessica gave Michaela a slight nod.

  Korkla’s heart stuttered in his terror. Michaela was not going lie there and wait for him to rescue her. She was going to act, and so was Jessica.

  “Come, Clajak. This farce has gone on long enough. Let’s finish it,” Pwaldur snarled.

  Jessica screamed as her Dramok mate sprang at the traitor. “Clajak, no!”

  At the same instant, Imdiko Stytyn shouted a warning. “Bevau!”

  “Kill her!” Marzklis screamed and launched himself from the transport, diving at the startled Jessica and Wagnox.

  At the same time, Nobek Bevau’s furious roar filled the bay. He smashed into Marzklis before the renegade could grab Jessica.

  The fight was on, but Korkla paid little heed to the combatants. He forgot everything but his need to get to Michaela, to save his Matara from the bloodshed.

  * * * *

  From her position on the floor, Michaela was aware that a tremendous fight had begun. Jessica had managed to escape Wagnox, and her friend crawled towards her.

  Michaela knew Jessica was in the gravest danger of them all. Pwaldur despised her. If they couldn’t have the empress, Clan Wagnox would kill her. Rather than let Jessica put herself in danger for Michaela’s sake, the dancer decided to join in the fight.

  It was easy to pick her target. Pwaldur had a knife and was ready to use it against the charging Clajak. Bound as she was, Michaela had only one offensive move in her arsenal. She used it.

  She rolled as fast as she could towards Pwaldur, whose back was turned to her. Michaela smashed hard into his calves. She felt him stumble against the blow, knocked off his feet by her move. Then the brute fell right on top of her, knocking all the air out of her lungs.

  For several seconds, Michaela had little idea of what was happening around her. A blaster shot went off nearby, making her ears ring. That was secondary to the fact she couldn’t breathe. Pwaldur’s immense body had flattened her to the floor. She found it impossible to draw air into her lungs with his full weight on her torso. She fought for oxygen, unable to think of anything but the brutal need for air.

  It only lasted perhaps two seconds, but it felt like forever. At last Pwaldur’s bulk moved off her, allowing Michaela to suck in precious breath. With her second gasp, the sounds of shouts, growls, and animal-like shrieks brought her back to her situation.

  Michaela looked up just in time to see Raxstad on top of a helpless Wagnox, tearing the Dramok’s throat out with his teeth. Her stomach rolled in response to the sight. Michaela squeezed her eyes shut. She knew her Nobek was a dangerous man, but she did not want to see him that way. She didn’t want to see any of her clan or friends bent on murder, as deserved as it was by Pwaldur and his associates.

  Michaela wanted the mayhem to end.

  She cried out when a pair of arms circled around her and yanked her up towards a hard body. Her eyes flew open, and she stared into Korkla’s face. His eyes were nearly black from his enlarged pupils, and his fangs were showing. Yet his growling voice spoke words of comfort.

  “It’s all right, my love. I’ve got you.”

  With Michaela in his arms, Korkla turned and ran in
a protective crouch. Michaela had a confused image of Clajak ripping at Pwaldur’s ruined face with fingers dripping blood. She saw more blood spraying in arcs from the battling Bevau and Marzklis. She kept her eyes averted from where she’d seen Raxstad though. She didn’t want to see her own hurting or being hurt.

  There was one mote of relief from the storm of battle. Korkla took Michaela to where Jessica struggled to sit up with the aid of Nobek Yuder. Michaela saw some small blood spatters on her friend, but it didn’t appear to be her own. Jessica clutched the horrid knife Pwaldur had threatened Clajak with. Gore stained the brutal blade.

  Korkla set Michaela down next to Jessica. He yanked at the gag in her mouth, pulling it free. Before Michaela could speak or thank him or check on Jessica to be sure she was all right, Korkla mouth covered hers in a fierce and desperate kiss.

  His tongue drew hers into his mouth. Michaela felt his fangs, still unhinged in the excitement. She kissed him back without fear. Her Dramok had her. She was safe.

  When at last their lips parted, Korkla moaned over and over. “My Matara. My Matara.” He seemed overcome with emotion. For Michaela’s part, she could not speak. Being stolen from him had been too near a thing.

  Michaela leaned against Korkla’s chest. As she did so, she surveyed the scene. Raxstad stood over the still living and seemingly uninjured Imdiko Stytyn, who sat on the floor sobbing into his hands. Breft was at his side.

  Michaela made herself not look at the torn remains of Dramok Wagnox, which lay near the small group. She concentrated on Raxstad instead. Her Nobek’s gaze was on her, his expression bestial with fury. Pumped up with adrenaline, Raxstad looked twice as huge as before. Gazing at him, Michaela thought Stytyn was a long way from being safe.

  More concerned for her clanmate than the traitor Imdiko, Michaela managed a shaky smile to show Raxstad she was all right. She saw his chest move as he took a deep, steadying breath. He nodded.

  Korkla busied himself untying Michaela’s bonds, murmuring soft words of comfort as he did so. Michaela looked towards Clajak and Pwaldur and wished she hadn’t.

  Pwaldur no longer moved, at least not under his own living power. Clajak systematically took apart the dead head councilman with his bare hands. The fight that continued between Bevau and Marzklis was no better. How either of the Nobeks managed to remain standing with the injuries they’d dealt one another, Michaela couldn’t imagine. Even as she watched, Bevau suddenly got the upper hand and cut Marzklis’ head off with a slice of his knife. The room echoed with the approving roars of others, including Jessica.

  Michaela closed her eyes to block out all the violence. As soon as Korkla finished freeing her, she buried her face against his chest. With all the animal cries of triumph, it sounded like a lion’s den.

  “It’s all right, my love,” Korkla murmured in her ear. “Except for Imdiko Stytyn, all the traitors are dead.”

  Michaela raised her gaze to look at him. The Dramok’s fangs had hinged, hiding them against the roof of his mouth where they could no longer be seen. His pupils had gone back to normal sized. Korkla looked incredibly civilized after all the violence.

  Michaela swallowed, her dry throat clicking. “When it comes to revenge, you guys don’t fuck around, do you?”

  There was a hint of cruel satisfaction in Korkla’s expression, though his tone was gentle. “No, my sweetness. We do not fuck around when it comes to our Mataras.”

  A heavy hand landed on Michaela’s shoulder. She jumped a little and jerked her gaze up to see Raxstad looming over them. He too looked much calmer now, and the animal cries had at last died down.

  The Nobek had even taken the time to clean the blood from his mouth. Michaela still hoped he didn’t expect her to kiss him anytime soon. Certainly not until he’d brushed and flossed and gargled for at least an hour.

  Raxstad stroked her curls. Like Korkla, his voice was tender with concern. “Are you all right, my Matara?”

  It all came back in a rush then: the long hours of captivity, the sense of utter helplessness, the beating Pwaldur had given Michaela from which her ass still ached, watching her best friend taken prisoner, and nearly being spirited away from the men she loved. Plus the loathsome feeling that remained from the traitors, Pwaldur especially, touching her body. She felt coated in greasy filth.

  Michaela fought to be strong, but her insides were quaking with reaction. She had two of her clanmates at her side, ready to protect her. It was not enough.

  “I want Govi. I want my Imdiko,” she said, unable to keep the trembling from her tone.

  Korkla lifted her in his arms. He walked straight to the in-house transport. The Dramok did not bother to check with Clajak, who with the recently-arrived Egilka helped a bloodied Bevau to a shuttle. Raxstad kept up with Korkla, apparently having no qualms about leaving Breft and the Royal Guards to deal with Stytyn or any of the mess their battle had left behind.

  Their primary concern was with Michaela. If she hadn’t been such a wreck, she thought she would have appreciated being their priority.

  With immediate danger reconciled, the feeling of being defiled grew. Other men had put their hands on her. Other men had touched her where only her clan should. Michaela tried to console herself that at least she hadn’t been raped, but the feeling of violation persisted. She clung hard to Korkla, feeling vile – almost diseased.

  In the transport, Korkla paused in consoling her long enough to order Raxstad, “Tell Govi to get home immediately. This is a family emergency.” Then he went back to speaking in what would have been a soothing tone had there not been a note of desperation in his voice. “Michaela, Michaela, you’re safe. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you again.”

  Govi’s bright voice issued from Raxstad’s com. “Hello, my Nobek. Tell me it’s good news.”

  Raxstad didn’t waste words. “You’re needed at home. The traitors tried to kidnap Michaela.”

  Terror filled the Imdiko’s tone. “Is she harmed?”

  “I don’t think so, not physically. Emotionally, she’s not well.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Raxstad clicked the com off and attached it to his belt. He started to reach for Michaela. His gaze went to his bloodied hands, and he snatched them back. Apparently remembering all he’d done back in the shuttle bay, he scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his arm.

  Michaela’s sobs doubled, thinking of all the horror she’d seen, of the intrusion of unwanted touches. She felt filthier by the moment. Raxstad’s bloody hands were pure compared to those of the men that had been killed.

  Korkla’s expression grew more worried by the second. “Easy, my love. Everything is going to be all right.”

  The transport door opened. Moments later, Korkla carried Michaela into their home’s greeting room. He started towards one of the loungers, wanting to sit down.

  Michaela did not want to sully the beautiful room with the dirtiness that clung to her. She struggled to keep Korkla from sitting down with her.

  “I need the bath. I need to wash,” she insisted.

  Korkla had a hard time holding onto her. “Michaela, calm down,” he begged.

  “They touched me! I have to wash it off!”

  Korkla and Raxstad froze. Their eyes went wide. Raxstad’s fangs appeared.

  In a near shout, Korkla said, “Did those gurlucks rape you? Did they fucking rape you?”

  Michaela couldn’t stop crying. “Just their hands, but I’m so dirty. Get them off me, Korkla! I can still feel their hands!” She rubbed desperately at her body, as if she could ward off the groping she continued to feel.

  Korkla must have run, because they were abruptly in the washroom. Raxstad was there an instant later. Growls rumbled continuously from his throat.

  Michaela barely noticed the Nobek’s fury. She shoved free of Korkla, landing on her hands and feet. Michaela scrambled like a terrified animal to the pool-sized basin of steaming water. She didn’t even bother to take off her clothes. She couldn’t bear to
see the filth that coated her skin. She wanted the heat of the water to carry it away as if it had never been.

  Michaela submerged in the basin, letting the water cover her head. She came up, took a breath, and dived down again. Yet she could feel the dunking wasn’t working. It didn’t make her clean. She needed more.

  Michaela went to the controls. Her skin already flushed from the heat of the water she submerged in, but she needed it to be hot. She would boil her skin off if need be, anything to be clean again. The stain needed to be burned away. She set the bath controls to make the water hot, to exchange what she’d already sullied it with for fresh, trying to make it override safety protocols so she could get the grunge from her flesh.

  “Stop it, Michaela,” Korkla ordered, shoving her away from the controls and putting the temperature at a safe level once more. He’d entered the water fully clothed. “You’ll cook us all if you’re not careful.”

  Michaela was too desperate to attend him. She grabbed an exfoliation stone, a round, grainy hunk of rock she’d found wonderful to make her skin smooth. Raxstad hovered nearby, keeping an eye on her as he used another of the stones to furiously scrub the blood from his hands. He used it on his mouth as well, using force that rubbed his skin raw. It was as if he would rip the flesh off himself in his anger.

  “I’m getting it all off me, little dancer,” he said. “I’m getting it all off so you won’t mind me touching you.”

  Michaela paid little attention to his words. It was more important to get the foulness of Pwaldur and Clan Wagnox’s touch off her. It had gotten into her pores, inundating her with the filth of the men.

  Korkla grabbed at the scouring stone, trying to take it from her. “Michaela, stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”

  She resisted, scrubbing harder than ever. “Get them off me. I can still feel their hands all over me! Make them go away!”

  Raxstad left off his own efforts to help restrain her. “It’s all right, little love. You can stop now.”

  “No! I’m dirty and nasty. They made me putrid.”

  She put the stone under her skirt and inside her panties, violently attacking the flesh Pwaldur had desired so much, not caring how it hurt. Raxstad pinned her arms to her sides as Korkla pried loose her grip on the stone.