Captive Desires

by Diane Whiteside

  Lights began to wink back on, one by one, starting with the most distant sectors.

  Praise be to all the gods, they’d somehow routed Azherbhai, the Imperial Terrapin—at least this time.

  A half dozen helmeted men, garbed in gold, rushed into the lobby.

  “Where’s the fire?” their leader demanded.

  “Well, that was a hell of a stunt to launch a movie.” Somebody chuckled weakly. “I almost thought that really was Azherbhai, Torhtremer’s ultimate villain.”

  If only it had been a trick. Alekhsiy swung around and dragged Danae into his arms, his heart pounding triple time. What would he do if—when—that brute returned?

  FOUR

  TORHTREMER, M.R. 13

  Corinne Carson shaded her eyes to look out over Bhaikhal’s great harbor. The vista was still fresh and beautiful no matter how often she watched it. She loved seeing the boats dart back and forth between the great ships or the sun sparkle on the white marble dance floor, shining high atop the central island.

  The temple there had been repaired since she and Mykhayl had fought Azherbhai, the Imperial Terrapin there seven years ago. No signs remained from when Mykhayl had killed the Dark Warrior. In fact, she and her husband frequently camped out there for a quiet night away from courtly protocol—or from their three growing sons.

  Another breeze snuck into the harbor, bringing the taste of bitter northern ice. A ship staggered slightly, caught unawares by the unfriendly air.

  Corinne hissed softly. So another enemy spy had tried to sneak in, had he?

  She lifted her hand and banished him, using a spell she’d grown far too familiar with over these last exhausting months—and one she’d used far too often recently.

  The ship returned to its accustomed course, followed by its brethren.

  Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and she leaned back against her beloved husband. He nuzzled his chin against the top of her head, his long red braids, brilliant with his beads of office, falling around them both.

  Anything was possible, if undertaken with him.

  “Where are the boys?” he asked, a not entirely idle question.

  “In my garden with Mazur.”

  “You trust a leopard to keep them out of mischief?”

  “Why not? Everyone else has thrown up their hands at least once. Even Yevgheniy—your primus pilus, your first spear, the most experienced noncom in Torhtremer, who can easily handle running the Dragon’s Hoard’s concubines for your officers and diplomats—won’t keep an eye on all three of them.”

  “Point made—and taken.”

  She chuckled and mimed licking her finger and marking up a point. Jokes were all too few these days.

  She turned to face Mykhayl, her silver and white dress drifting around her. It was her turn now to ask questions. “What of Khyber?”

  “He hasn’t landed yet?” He scowled. “I thought when he left on patrol this morning that he would return within minutes. He has spent too much time in the air since he dispatched Alekhsiy. Have you asked Svetlhana for news of Alekhsiy?”

  “She’s gone, too.”

  Mykhayl stared at her. “Can you talk to her?”

  “As Tigerheart to Imperial Tiger?” Corinne shrugged. “Not really. She’s a cat, even though she’s a thirty-foot tigress. Have you ever tried doing anything with a feline who didn’t want to?”

  “Can you summon her, should we need to go to war?” the High King demanded.

  “Yes, I expect so.”

  Mykhayl slammed his fist down on the balcony and started pacing. Corinne watched sympathetically, having long ago come to grips with her own frustration at Svetlhana’s independence. So what if she’d shattered a few vases against the wall to get there?

  “Is Khyber willing to talk to you at all?” Corinne asked quietly when her consort reached her side again.

  “Only to ask his damned questions, which are designed to make me find new patterns in impossible situations.” He leveled a disgruntled glare at her. “And before you ask, I am sure he’d come if I summoned him to war. So yes, we will have our two greatest weapons, should the Imperial Terrapin come once again in the flesh to Torhtremer.”

  “He can’t do anything unless he’s formally summoned,” she reminded him, trying to look on the bright side.

  “But his first task would be to destroy our sons, who are all potential Dragonhearts.” Terror blazed for an instant in Mykhayl’s golden eyes.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Alekhsiy must destroy the potential catalyst and the sorcerer who can unlock the void’s gate. Can you send a message to him?”

  “He’s only been gone for a few weeks, darling. Time may pass faster or slower for him across the void, as you know.” She hugged him a little tighter, trying to blank out her own fears along with his. “Just you wait and see—he’ll crush them both into dust.”

  GRIFFINCON FRIDAY MORNING

  Danae squeezed into a dark corner outside the registration area to let another torrent of newcomers pour past. Alekhsiy eyed them warily, his head swiveling to observe all comers. There was one good thing to be said for his blatant caution: Registration had immediately believed he was doing a LARP and hadn’t bothered to ask for his quote-unquote real name.

  She’d been coming to GriffinCon and other cons since she was born or, technically, while she was still in the womb. She knew all about no windows, low ceilings, and crowds dotted with eye-popping outfits. Even so, her skin was still crawling after breakfast’s abrupt ending. At least she never listed her fanfic handle on her own badge, the better to protect her anonymity. Silly precaution, really, since she wasn’t a big celebrity here for her dancing and she hadn’t written enough stories to have a large following. But old habits of maintaining her privacy died hard, so she’d always kept her life as an author very separate from that as a dancer. Plus, she didn’t want any dance producers to be embarrassed by anything she wrote.

  She pulled her spare lanyard out for Alekhsiy’s badge.

  “I didn’t know Azherbhai could travel between worlds,” she muttered under her breath.

  “He can’t.” Alekhsiy moved a little closer and lowered his voice to match hers, even though nobody else was close. “It takes dragon’s blood or perchance . . .”

  He stopped, his fist knotted around his sword’s hilt.

  “Or?” she prompted. She clipped Alekhsiy’s badge onto the lanyard. At least he had one of the smaller on-site badges, not a gaudy and easy to read one from pre-registration, like hers.

  His throat worked silently for a moment before he answered her. “Legend says sorcerers knew how to do so with the merest scrap of dragon’s blood, so long as they had a great amount of chi to draw upon.”

  “Well, there’s no sorcerer here.” She put her hand on his arm and infused her voice with every bit of comfort she could.

  “No, none of those men at all.” A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  “But that beast controlled the audiovisual system. That means . . .”

  Really bad shit. A more elegant fanfic term escaped her.

  She looked up at Alekhsiy. Nothing Corinne Carson had ever written covered this situation.

  “The Imperial Terrapin can project his power to this world, but not his physical self.” He squeezed her shoulder. “He can’t hurt us.”

  “He took over some big-ass electronics. For a first try, it was pretty damn impressive!”

  “We will manage.” His voice deepened, sounding notes of command and complete reliability. It became that of the great general who alone had led Torhtremer’s army at Tajzyk’s Gorge for all those long minutes while Mykhayl had worked to summon the Imperial Dragon.

  Somehow she believed him.

  “Yeah, okay.” She smiled a little shakily up at him. “Well, let me give you your badge so the local dudes don’t get you in trouble. It’s my spare, the one my dad always used; basically just a very hi
gh-quality chain.”

  Coming down from an adrenaline rush must be why she was rattling on, especially why she’d mentioned her family to a stranger. She mentally kicked herself, hard.

  “My thanks.” The deep, melodic voice caressed her for an instant before he bowed his head.

  She reached way up and carefully placed it around his neck. Her fingers somehow curved to pull him closer. But—in a crowd?

  She stepped back far too quickly and too much and bumped into somebody shorter and softer.

  “Hello!” a girl chirped.

  Danae spun around. Alekhsiy pulled her back against himself.

  Two bright-eyed examples of Spartan queens smiled at them, all glowing teeth, fake black tresses, and white dresses carefully cut and taped to display the maximum amount of tits.

  “Hello,” they chorused and wiggled to display their best assets. They ran their eyes down Alekhsiy again, greedily. “Can we please have our picture taken with you? I’m sure she”—one of them barely bothered to cast an edged glance at Danae—“won’t mind taking it.”

  Danae gritted her teeth.

  Alekhsiy had been infinitely polite to children, especially those dressed for the tae kwon do tournament. Watching imitation comic superheroes attempt to look impressive next to him would be fodder for years of jokes. His barely concealed shock at stormtroopers’ plastic armor and the more bizarre attempts at anime outfits had left her giggling.

  But this was different. These bitches didn’t want to capture him on a few pixels; they obviously wanted to haul him back to their bedroom.

  Alekhsiy hesitated.

  Danae glanced up at him.

  “Of course, if my lady is in the picture as well.” He bowed.

  Their jaws dropped. “Well . . .” They looked at each other. “If you’re sure.”

  “Excuse me?” A very creditable Jarred Varrain, Celeste Carson’s cyborg hero, looked hopefully at their knot in the foot traffic, his black leather armor gleaming across his muscles.

  “Could you help us, please?” Danae leaped for the chance of chaperonage. “These Spartans want a picture with the two of us.”

  “Oh, sure.” He shifted his conference bag, clearly ready to accept a camera.

  One of the bitches started to snarl but quickly wiped it away. “Thank you.”

  The other leaped for Alekhsiy’s free arm. Boob-rubbing hussy. This photo op couldn’t be over too soon for Danae.

  Years of working with pros had taught her how to pull it off, though. She donned her merc warrior persona, which was at least fierce enough to ensure only one bitch had her hands on Alekhsiy.

  Why was she being so prickly? She’d never given that much of a damn before about what a short-term fling did next.

  “Very good,” Varrain said approvingly. Several other people gathered around and handed him their cameras.

  The greedy sluts departed, balked of their prey. Varrain slapped Alekhsiy on the back and thanked him for being such a good sport. “I’m sure I got some awesome pix. You can catch them on the Con website.”

  He strolled off, whistling.

  “Will that bother your chi?” Danae asked softly.

  “Not the photo-taking itself because people offer me their approval by doing so.” Alekhsiy stepped onto the escalator like an old pro, nimbly dodging an orange and purple Renaissance soldier who hadn’t yet mastered the combination of rapier and moving stairs.

  “But?” Danae prompted.

  “I was warned that physical images of me, whether pictures or words, wouldn’t linger.”

  “Ooh, magic.” She shivered at the mention.

  He grunted, his expression abstracted and harsh. They stepped off at the next level.

  “Where are you going next?” he asked.

  “Larissa is helping to lead the costumers’ intro to GriffinCon. She wants me there as an example of a hall costume.”

  “Hall costume?”

  “Something that’s more or less easy to put together and very comfortable to wear. Judges roam the Con during the day. If they see something they like, they’ll just hand out an award on the spot. It’s much less formal than the masquerade.”

  She hesitated, studying his face. “Do you want to come?” she ventured.

  “Thrice-damned busybodies, they’d probably fire off enough questions to occupy an army of Zemlayan fire ants! Isn’t that what everyone else has done here?” A passing couple looked at him oddly and he lowered his voice. “I know I must accustom myself to scrutiny but I do not require an extra opportunity to have my undergarments publicly dissected.”

  Danae bit the inside of her cheek and nodded, as solemnly as possible. She could hardly disagree with him.

  “I will join my comrades early, then learn how this tournament is to be conducted.”

  “Sounds good.” She kept her voice clipped, trying to sound equally martial. “I’ll meet you at McKinnon’s smithy booth in time for the first Torhtremer panel.”

  Alekhsiy stepped onto the landing outside the bazaar and pulled the heavy gray curtains shut behind him. His fingers twitched with the need to return to Danae, his heart’s lady, whose passion fired his blood. But he’d dallied too long with her already: He had to fulfill his quest.

  This storage room was filled with chests and boxes, all la beled for the dealers hawking their wares in the pandemonium behind him. Large, ugly lights lurked in the ceiling. As pragmatic as a dungeon’s arsenal of weapons, they’d only appear when and if needed.

  Evan had promised nobody would come in here unless they needed additional supplies, which was highly unlikely this early in the Con. Even so, Alekhsiy found a secluded corner and dropped to his knee behind a mountain of crates.

  He knew Turner would be the Imperial Terrapin’s next ally, thanks to the serpent ring’s warning prick at the villain’s approach in the Dealers’ Room. But he still needed to learn the second half of his quest—where to find the sorcerer who could open the gate into Torhtremer for that foul poison.

  “Show me he who can take the next Dark Warrior into Torhtremer.”

  He blew on the silver tiger ring.

  His breath frosted across it and shimmered away. Neither light grew nor heat burned against his skin.

  “Accursed jewelry, I am only a few feet away from where you came to life before!” he roared and slapped the stone paving underneath him. “Why won’t you show me the way?”

  A small box rattled above him, until it almost teetered on the verge of falling.

  He gentled his tone, cursing all imperial beasts and their arrogant ways. They’d lived for centuries. Couldn’t they give men a few gifts, instead of making them stumble and fall when so many lives were at stake? Of course, thirty-foot tigresses had even more vagaries than dragons.

  “Beautiful Svetlhana, thou art even more radiant than an Imperial Tiger could hope to be.” He dragged the sweet words out from a very dry throat, hoping she’d hear them somehow and make the damn ring’s magic start to work. “Please hearken to your admirer on this far world. Know that we both share the same goal, which is to save Torhtremer from another war with the Imperial Terrapin.”

  He cracked open an eye. Had the ring warmed a trifle?

  “Thou hast infused thy magic and the great White Sorcerers’ magic into this ring. Of thy grace”—what there was of it, anyway, given her notorious liking for games—“I beg of you, please light it now, that I might know where to find the man who holds the key to the gate. He is a traitor, both to his own world and mine, who must be crushed immediately.”

  The silver immediately turned ice-cold, searing his finger faster than frostbite.

  “Ouch!” He tried to yank it off. It went instantly inert, more lifeless than scrap iron beside his father’s smithy.

  He glared at it. “By all the gods, now what should I do?”

  If anything, the tiny silver tiger on his finger sneered at him.

  He flung a very rude gesture back at it. Then he leaned his head back against a fore
ign crate, carrying who knew what hell-born oddity, and brooded.

  Perhaps he should watch the Imperial Terrapin’s potential ally. After all, that triple-cursed bastard son of Chaos would have to unite with the sorcerer somehow before he could go to Torhtremer.

  Danae elbowed her way through the crowd, gripping Alekhsiy’s hand tightly. He’d been oddly quiet since they’d reunited but that might be because there were so many people around—especially here. The multitude trying to get into this session was incredible. It made getting through the doors an exercise in tactics as much as patience.

  She spotted another opening and shot forward, towing Alekhsiy behind her. Big or not, conspicuous as all hell or not, he was staying with her. He muttered an apology to yet another female trying to strike up a conversation with him and squeezed through the gap, to land with a thud against Danae’s back.

  His arm wrapped around her waist. “Shall we look for a seat near here?”

  “No, the back rows fill up fast, especially for a really crowded session like this one. Plus, it’ll be SRO in minutes.”

  “SRO?”

  “Standing Room Only. It means there are usually more empty seats in the front.”

  He shuddered and eased her forward.

  “Do you see Nora or Larissa?” She bounced on her toes.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Damn.” She checked her cell phone again, wishing Larissa was faster at texting.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Larissa should have sent me a message, saying where they’re sitting, but she hasn’t yet. Maybe they went to a different session after all. You know this will be the first time I’ve seen Turner since he canceled sponsorship of the dance show on PBS.”

  “That seems rather—impolite.” Alekhsiy’s arm tensed.

  “Two weeks before airtime after a year of planning?” She snorted, her fingers still curving into weapons of destruction at the memory. “And arrogant and—well, you name it. Said he found better ways to showcase his new product.”