A Warlord's Lady

by Nicola E. Sheridan

  Sabra choked a little at his words. Lord, once I would have done anything to hear him say that. She licked her lips, and Cain watched the path of her tongue like a starving man.

  ‘If that is true, why didn’t you tell me the truth about them?’ she asked softly. ‘Why didn’t you try to convince me?’

  Cain was silent, a hurt-filled silence it seemed, yet he was as unmovable as a mountain.

  ‘I tried,’ he said. ‘Sabra…’ he began, ‘I was foolish. All my life I’ve lived in the shadow of this prophecy. The women…’

  She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

  ‘The women were an embarrassment, are an embarrassment.’

  Really? Sabra offered him a disbelieving glare.

  ‘I am a warlord, one of many around the world, yet I have been more successful than most.’ He sighed. ‘Some things in the world of a warlord, are…umm’ He paused and rubbed his cheek and Sabra could hear the stubble scratch against his palm. ‘Backward, to say the least. Sometimes, in order to try and buy my protection, hill tribes, wealthy families, other warlords offer me…gifts.’

  ‘Gifts?’

  Cain’s shoulders tensed at the tone of her voice. ‘Yes, gifts. They try to buy me, buy me with their most attractive women, their money, their jewels, shares, land…’

  ‘And you accept these gifts?’ Sabra couldn’t keep the disgust from her voice.

  ‘Land, jewels, money, shares, yes I willingly accept. I need all the funds I can get to help my cause.’ He paused again. ‘The women? I have no choice but to keep them.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Sabra snapped. ‘Absolute rubbish. You could send them home, but I’ve seen the harem in which they live, that big compound just past the hill house. Don’t lie to me, Warlord! You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you keep those women and don’t do anything with them!’

  Sabra’s skin fluctuated wildly and she heard Cain’s sharp intake of breath in response.

  ‘I am a man of honour,’ Cain retorted stiffly, ‘and I do not take advantage…’ He petered off and fell silent.

  ‘A man of honour? Doesn’t take advantage?’ Sabra began where he left off. ‘A man who kidnaps a tourist in a bar, sleeps with her repeatedly, doesn’t let her leave, shoots her only friend…’ she hesitated, ‘in the head at point blank range, has no honour! Yet, despite it all, I actually started to fall for you — only to discover a whole harem of women offering themselves to you.’ Her voice held the anger she’d long tried to hide.

  Cain was silent, his eyes downcast.

  ‘Looks bad when you see it my way, doesn’t it, Warlord?’ she snapped.

  ***

  Cain lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her face was vermillion in colour and her grey eyes flashed with all sorts of colours, making her gaze hypnotic. He detested it when she called him ‘Warlord’, from her it was almost a derogatory term.

  ‘Do you have anything at all to say?’ she asked, wrenching the covers up on the bed to conceal herself further.

  ‘All I can say is that you’re wrong. I have rescued you from that dreadful hospital, from the government who wants you.’

  ‘So you have,’ she acknowledged. ‘To what end? To take me back to Laos and hide me in the jungle with all your other whores?’

  Such rage was in her voice that it trembled.

  ‘Sabra, they are not my whores.’

  ‘Then why have you kept them?’ she barked.

  ‘It would disrespect them to send them away. They would be shamed in their home towns, looked at as if they were rejects. If the government of the country they came from realised they had a connection with me, they would no longer be safe…just as you are no longer safe.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Sabra snapped.

  Cain looked away from her face and saw Hexa and Peony hovering uncertainly near the window. He looked at them imploringly for help, but they shrugged their tiny shoulders and zoomed out the window.

  No help there.

  Sabra was avoiding his eyes now so he stood swiftly. ‘Have a shower and freshen up,’ he urged, careful not to use any magic that she may misconstrue.

  She shrugged and wriggled from the bed, naked and fluctuating in colour madly. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Yet, he did as she wished, and gestured gently to the bathroom on her left. Without gracing him with a glance, Sabra bolted towards it and closed the door firmly behind her.

  As the muted sounds of the shower sang around the apartment, Cain sank back down on the bed. It smelled a little smoky, a little like magic, but mostly of Sabra. He inhaled deeply, battling with a frustrating sense of failure.

  ‘I’ve made a big mess of this,’ he said to no one in particular. He wanted to speak to the thriae, but their departure indicated this was something he would have to do himself.

  Instead, he picked up his phone and made a call.

  It took only a few rings before the phone was answered and Christy’s voice crooned through the airwaves.

  ‘Boss?’ she answered without preamble.

  ‘How is Jürgen?’ he asked.

  There was a hesitation. ‘He’s fine,’ she finally replied. ‘I think.’

  ‘Take him from the cell. I want him to find Maggie South for me.’

  Christy was silent again.

  ‘Christy? That’s an order.’

  ‘Yes, Boss,’ she replied haltingly. ‘But…’

  ‘No buts, get him out of there. I want you and your crew to go with him and find Maggie South. Bring her to me. I’m in the Geraldton hideout.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’re under attack.’

  Cain was still, but his heart hammered. ‘What? Now?’

  ‘No, it looks like the Laotian Government has colluded with Thailand and Burma and are sending a fair-sized assault team our way.’

  ‘To the jungle? To our compound? How?’ Anger swelled in his chest. His compound had been safe in that jungle since the days of his father. Forty years — and now it was about to be attacked?

  I have to protect them.

  Most of his supporters were scattered around the world, offering support and assistance when asked, but in his compound those who physically needed his protection were ensconced — the gifted women, his elderly supporters, and those benevolent magical beings who needed to be safeguarded. The jungle compound was his stronghold, and now it was to be compromised while he was here trying to argue with Sabra about the prophecy his mother had died for? The prophecy she couldn’t or wouldn’t even try to understand?

  The anger within him flamed brighter. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he growled angrily. ‘Why am I hearing this now? Why didn’t the scouts say something earlier?’

  ‘Boss, the scout literally just finished briefing me. You must be psychic.’

  ‘I’m not fucking psychic,’ Cain snapped. ‘Get Jürgen out of the cells and plan the logistics of defence. He may have failed to protect his old Führer but, damn him, he’ll protect what’s mine.’

  ‘Will you be coming back now ?’ Christy asked. ‘The scouts said there is a force of about 200, and they’ve got a magician working for them. They’re intermittently cloaked with magic and difficult to locate. Part of the thriae swarm is planning on attacking them if they get past the Nam Khan River.’

  Cain cringed. ‘The swarm must stay away from this fight. A magician could take down the thriae with one simple spell. No, I forbid them to join the fight. It is not worth losing them. Send out the snipers, set them by the Nam Khan and wait.’

  ‘But, boss,’ Christy said, ‘what about you?’

  ‘Keep me posted. If things turn bad, I’ll return. I’ve got some business I need to sort out here first.’

  ‘With that chameleon?’

  Cain couldn’t mistake the cynicism. ‘Do not question me,’ he growled in warning. The truth was, while he was here he needed to find out why the mafia and the government were trying so hard to remove her genetic material. He’d realised Sa
bra must have been special to garner the interest of the Magical Mafia, but the government, too? Was it to do with the prophecy? Did they believe it too? Or was it something else? He had to know.

  Christy fell silent.

  ‘Get Jürgen out, get Harlow to heal him if need be, and telephone me as soon as there is a plan. I will also call in some favours from a few supporters to boost numbers at the compound.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Cain hung up the phone, threw it down on the bed and growled softly under his breath. He needed to find out everything Sabra knew about the government. There was no doubt in his mind that this attack on his compound was related. He wanted Sabra to know the truth behind their relationship and believe it, too. At the moment, she neither believed nor trusted him and he regretted deeply not being honest with her from the beginning.

  He listened and heard the shower running; momentarily he considered going in there but decided against it. She was hostile enough, without him marching into her toilette and upsetting her further. He made a number of phone calls to boost numbers at the compound. When this was done, he switched on the large plasma television that hung on the wall and turned to the 24 hour news channel. He was glad he’d thought to have cable television put in his properties.

  He took a brief glance out the window, checking to see if the thriae had returned before he sat down and watched.

  There was a story on a rogue banshee assaulting several members of the Australian Parliament during a protest about Magical Rights. The situation was getting worse. The news was filled with riots, protests and arrests of magical beings.

  Cain watched and shook his head; it was live footage. The reporter was screaming into the camera above the ruckus surrounding her.

  ‘Fianna Moran, a banshee from Gungahlin, Canberra, has allegedly attacked five members of the lower house, only moments ago. Ambulances are treating the wounded who have escaped. The parliamentarians were taken by surprise when Moran broke her way into the chamber and began attacking. The reasons behind the attack are still unknown. Moran still has hostages in the parliament and is currently under siege by Canberra’s elite Magical Pursuit Team — Wait! Oh my goodness!’

  The reporter’s eyes widened and the camera turned towards an explosion of activity to the left. A woman, tall and willowy with wild white hair, streaked from the open door. People dressed in special black Magical Pursuit Team uniforms stormed after her. As she reached the steps, she stumbled, her black dress caught by the toe of a pursuer. Down she went.

  The scene was gripping and terrible. The banshee wrestled with the man and, although much smaller, she put up a good fight. Then the sky around them began to darken. Two Pursuit Team Harpies dove down from their aerial positions. With bodies like large birds and the head and chest of a woman, they were frightful creatures. With their sharp talons and strong legs, they gripped Moran and hauled her up into the sky. Chaos ensued as humans and magical beings alike rioted around the parliament building. Some protestors screamed for the banshee’s release while the police pointed guns up into the sky. The camera was jumping all around, and it was becoming difficult to see what was going on. Suddenly it focussed on the two Harpies and the struggling banshee in their claws. Held in the strong talons of the Harpies, blood was visible raining down from the punctures in the banshee’s shoulders. Their large black wings beat steadily holding high above the rioting crowd. The chaos was split when the banshee let out a heart-rending scream.

  The sound was so loud and awful that Cain scambled for the volume control of the TV. As he did, he glanced up and saw the Harpies on the screen flinch in midair. Without arms they could not cover their ears and instinctively relaxed their talons. The banshee began to fall. She fell like a dying black butterfly and landed near the shaking cameraman with a bloody and meaty ‘thunk’.

  The crowd went ballistic. The police drew out their batons and began beating the crowd back so they could reach the banshee. The news reporter squawked a warning to the cameraman but suddenly the TV went blank and the studio anchorman appeared within a second.

  ‘Umm.’ The anchorman’s eyes were wide and darted to the left constantly. ‘There seems to be…’ he paused, ‘a situation down at Parliament House. Our technicians will try to get Clara Kirk back shortly.’ He fiddled with the obligatory papers on his desk before looking up at the camera. ‘Back onto other news, there has been no sighting of the Warlord, Cain Dath, since he destroyed an operating theatre in Fremantle Hospital yesterday causing considerable panic.’

  Cain peered at the screen and saw himself, disguised as he was, moving about the corridors of the hospital on grainy CCTV.

  Cain turned the volume controller back up.

  ‘Government agencies have been expecting Cain to arrive in Perth for some time, to retrieve his ex-concubine, Rockingham resident and author of the best selling Memoirs of a Warlord’s Love Slave, Sabra Westwood.’ There was a pause, and the television zoomed close up to the little figure on the TV. ‘Here, Dath is seen disguised as a doctor, interrupting Ms Westwood’s lifesaving surgery and re-kidnapping her.’ Cain watched the screen intently. The image shuddered as he walked over to Dr Elliot. ‘Police are unsure what happened next, as the camera footage was damaged by fire, but when the flames were extinguished, Westwood was gone with the Warlord. His magical ions have been traced at the site, and a Magical Investigations Team are on the hunt. Any people with information, or suspected sightings of the Warlord or Ms Westwood should phone Crime Stoppers immediately.’ The number flashed up in red on the screen.

  Cain ran his hands through his hair. He should take Sabra back to Laos, but with an attack on the compound likely to be imminent, he was reluctant to do so. He knew it was improbable that he would be traced to his Geraldton apartment — the massive expanses of bush and farmland between the city of Perth and Geraldton usually dispersed any trace of magical ions — which was why he generally kept apartments and houses in rural areas rather than the major cities. They’d be safe for a time, how long he wasn’t sure.

  Cain sighed and thrust his hand down into his pocket to withdraw the little blue box. He turned it over in his hands and stared at it. Would she accept him this time? He had his doubts, but he had told her the truth, and if she had fallen for him in Laos, perhaps she would again.

  ***

  In the shower, Sabra washed gently between her legs, the slickness that oozed from between them was Cain’s work. The vague flittering memories sent sparks of heat through her. He said he loved her, hadn’t he, or had she just imagined it?

  It didn’t matter anyway. It’s all just to get my genetics, she reminded herself and shook her head ruefully. She took her time and washed her hair, allowing the chromatophore cells to shift and change with abandon.

  Prophecy. She scoffed inwardly. How could he honestly expect her to believe that.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Sabra?’ Cain called through the door.

  Her heart catapulted into her throat.

  ‘Yes?’ she called.

  ‘There are clothes on the bed for you,’ he called out.

  If it’s a rainbow coloured wrap… she mused. ‘Thanks,’ she called and rinsed her hair. The hot water spilled over her shoulders and she shivered despite the warmth.

  She exited the shower and wrapped herself in a plush white towel, and opened the door to the bedroom.

  Cain had changed his clothes too, and magicked himself clean. He looked as neat as a pin, but infinitely more sexy.

  He smiled at her and gestured to the clothes on the bed. It was then she noticed the ring box. The tears stung her eyes. He was bringing out the big guns today, that’s for sure.

  ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she said, hating how weak and breathy she sounded. ‘I can’t take this ring, I told you that before.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘I love you.’

  So I wasn’t just imagining it. The words made her heart burn and her eyes sting with more tears.

&
nbsp; ‘You can’t love me, you just want my eggs like the rest of them.’ Her tone was bitter.

  He shook his head and his dark hair fell over his brow. ‘No, I want you. What can I do to make you believe me?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sabra breathed, ‘you can’t do anything.’

  He regarded her silently, and she cinched the towel tighter around herself.

  Cain finally frowned. ‘Tell me, why would you think I only want your eggs?’ he asked, and his cheeks darkened as if the subject of eggs and fertility embarrassed him, like it would a 12 year old boy.

  ‘You kidnapped me, Warlord. You killed my friend, you kept me in captivity. You only ever wanted to have sex with me, not talk, not get to know me. I think you were just trying to impregnate me…so you could get my child and my genetics.’

  ‘I would love for you to bear my child, Sabra,’ Cain said softly. ‘I won’t deny that.’

  His words were rewarded by another spasm of emotion. ‘See? I was right.’ Sabra’s chin jutted.

  ‘No, I didn’t kidnap you for your genetics. You are my prophesied wife. I have searched for years to find the woman who with one look could capture my heart. It was you. My solemn grey-eyed rainbow. The moment I caught your eye in Vientiane, I was yours. I thought that if you felt remotely the same way I did, it wouldn’t be kidnapping at all. Didn’t you feel it? ’

  Sabra stared at him; he seemed to be holding his breath. Had she felt he was hers back in that bar in Vientiane? Kind of. She’d certainly felt it when she’d seen those other women offering themselves to him. She’d felt its wrongness. Yet she ignored the thought and shook her head. ‘No, I felt lust. I was…horny, lonely.’

  ‘I know what you felt,’ Cain interrupted. ‘I’ve read your book, many times and it may have been lust, but it was something else, too.’

  Sabra’s colour deepened and her throat dried. ‘You’ve read it…many times?’ she squeaked.

  Cain shrugged. ‘I have been lonely without you. For 18 months that book was the closest I could get.’

  He held her gaze.

  ‘Sexual attraction doesn’t make a prophesied marriage,’ Sabra finally replied when she found her tongue.