TALON (RIBUS 7 Book 4)

by Shae Mills

  Chelan dared to breathe. “I don’t understand.”

  “The Guild made such a fuss over Korba upon his birth that the mother deliberately failed to tell them of her subsequent pregnancy. All of her previous children, all of Imperial stock, had been whisked away for the Guild’s use. After finding out about Korba’s perceived potential, she chose to keep the final baby for herself. The Guild had not intended to use her anymore because of her age, so she left Iceanea, unhindered.”

  “The baby she carried was you?”

  Talon nodded. “I had been conceived before our father died. She relocated in Rigil. It did not take ROPE long to make the connection, and soon after my birth, my induction began, secretly.”

  Chelan suddenly felt terribly weak. She shuddered involuntarily and then looked back at him through burdened eyes. “How can I love him so much and hate you so hard?”

  Talon remained still. “I don’t know, little alien. But it hardly matters.” And he stood to leave.

  Chelan struggled to her feet and wobbled on unstable legs. Then she surrendered to her tortured thoughts. “I don’t believe you need me anymore.” She stared into his chest. “I know that you always wanted me to come to you for all that I needed.” Her gaze fluttered up to his, and she swayed, her body and mind feeling languid and strangely detached from reality. “Please, my Lord, I do not wish to exist any longer.”

  Talon felt every muscle tense. He looked down into the brown eyes of the ashen beauty whom he had finally broken. She had used his formal title, she had pleaded with him, and she had submitted to him. She had just granted him everything. With one hand, he reached for her slender neck. He watched as she closed her eyes against him, accepting her fate peacefully. His eyes traced down over her. Then he wavered, noticing for the first time the wound that traversed her neck and shoulder.

  Chelan tilted her head back, exposing her throat to his powerful grip. She did not care if he strangled her or cut her; she just wanted it to be swift. She relaxed, suddenly at ease with all that had happened, at ease with the knowledge that she would soon join Korba, Dar, Fremma, and her beautiful children in oblivion.

  But Talon did not squeeze the sacrificial neck he held.

  Chelan’s eyes flew open at the next sensation that took her, his lips warm and soft upon hers, his tender touch robbing her of breath. He lingered, but she did not respond. She was stunned.

  Slowly, almost reluctantly, he withdrew. He looked down at the red lips he had just tasted, his fingers tracing their curves. Then he peered into her wide eyes. “You will not die by my hand, little one.”

  Chelan’s chest began to heave, the intensity of the situation stripping her of her ability to think clearly. She had been prepared for death, welcoming the release from heartbreak and hopelessness that it would afford. But the familiar warmth in his voice and his gentle touch dumbfounded her.

  Talon’s fingers finally receded from her skin, and he turned, leaving her in her stupor. She staggered backward and lowered herself stiffly onto the bed. Then she raised a finger to her lips, her body quivering at the sudden turn of events.

  She struggled to clear her contaminated mind and body, and her thoughts were illuminated. She instantly cast his apparent gentleness into a bottomless pit where it belonged, concentrating only on his brutality. Maybe she could kill him after all. It was too late to save her beloved Warlords or her infant son, but she could avenge them. And suddenly, she felt rejuvenated.

  Chapter 9

  Chelan’s last weeks on the battleship went by uneventfully. She began working out again under Lakit’s keen eye, but she had not seen Talon since their bizarre encounter.

  This morning when she awoke, she squinted against a bright light. Rising up, she looked down and realized that for the first time in months, her doors were open. She pushed out of bed slowly, dressed in her uniform, and then crept toward the entry, wary of whatever awaited her. She peered out into the Command Center, her line of sight instantly floating upward. She hardly noticed Talon standing in the middle of the room as she inched forward, her eyes never leaving the giant display of Iceanea depicted on the main screen.

  She edged her way around the stairs toward him and then stopped, once again rendered awestruck by the celestial spectacle.

  Talon tracked her and then nodded. “Your home,” he said.

  Chelan ignored him,her attention still focused on the slowly rotating, ice-covered planet. Then she sat upon the top stair.

  Talon glanced back at her. “It won’t be long before we dock at the Palace.”

  Chelan’s eyes darted to him. “Palace?” she repeated.

  Talon smiled. “Yes, pretty much as you left it, I believe. Once Korba’s battleships fell, most of his forces abandoned Iceanea, and wisely so. Of course, over the coming years, we will have to ferret them out, eradicate all of his loyalists, but the bulk of the work is done.”

  Chelan felt overwhelmed, unsure of the feelings that swamped her. But she did not have time to dwell on any of them. “Come on,” he ordered. “We will go ahead in my fighter. No use waiting for this thing to waft down.” And he strode over to her and grabbed her hand.

  Chelan hustled to keep up, but the trip to the private hangar was short. Security abounded everywhere. Two guards grabbed her from Talon and stuffed her in the cockpit of a fighter, capping her roughly with a helmet. Then, within moments, the plane was airborne, hurtling down toward the giant, blue-white planet. Chelan hardly had time to adjust before the vessel feathered into the Imperial hangar.

  Chelan squeaked with fright as she was abruptly wrenched from the plane and ushered rapidly along a maze of corridors by several men. Finally, Talon turned to her and pointed to a large set of doors. Chelan hesitated. There had been such a commotion that she was disoriented and knew not where she stood. Finally, he touched her arm, urging her forward. The doors opened, and Chelan wilted. It was Korba’s Imperial Command Center, the one he had constructed in RIBUS 7’s likeness.

  She clasped her hand over her mouth as she turned to the right and walked hurriedly down the stairs and through the hidden doors. There she looked at the bed in which they had shared their last love, now almost three Earth years ago. She faltered but headed straight for it, hurling herself onto it and clutching the pillows to her face.

  Talon watched her for a time and then left her to her feelings and her memories. As the new Emperor, he had many tasks to attend to, and for the moment, she was not one of them.

  *****

  Chelan spent most of the rest of the day trying to deal with the loss of Korba and the deep-rooted guilt that plagued her over bearing Dar’s child. So much could have been different if she had allowed Korba’s child to be conceived. Now, she was alone again in another unfamiliar and alien world, but this loneliness had no resolution. She had once become a part of the Empire, the old Empire, but that was no more. In her new reality, she simply had no place, no future.

  But the loss of all her men aside, her greatest sorrow was the deprivation of her baby. Regardless of its sire, it was of her flesh and blood, carried within her for months, conceived out of love, nurtured reverently within, surrounded by hopes and dreams. But that had all been shattered. And along with that loss, her own spark had been extinguished. She knew she was forever changed, her former self eternally erased.

  *****

  Once again, lonely days turned into lonely weeks. Chelan’s depression worsened from being forced to live in Korba’s domain, his memories haunting her at every turn. Lakit stuck by her stalwartly, but his presence brought little more comfort to her than would a lamp post.

  The Command Center remained locked down, as closed to her as the entire outside world. Her obsession with her lost loved ones cast her instead toward the depths of hell. Thoughts of her baby tormented her, while visions of Dar swirled about her, threatening to choke the very life from her. Had he known that Talon had killed their child? Of course, he had. What greater pain could Talon inflict upon the Warlord other than abduc
ting his woman.

  And if all that was not bad enough, dealing with the pain that must have consumed Korba in the end left her unable to function. What poisonous information was heaped upon his war-torn soul from Talon’s hands? Just what was revealed to him in his most vulnerable moments? And how compromised had he become because of it all? Imagining the agony that would have slammed into him tore her apart inside, leaving her lacerated and weak. All she wanted to do was to lie down and bleed out mercifully.

  With little to do, Chelan continued her downward spiral. The thoughts of dispatching Talon that had maintained her earlier dispersed. Nothing seemed worthwhile. And what made everything worse was Talon’s absence. Without him to fight, without the source of all her misery and torment to combat, she had absolutely no reason to exist. And for that matter, she knew not why she still lived. She was nothing in the new Empire except possibly an exotic pet whose owner could not quite decide how to dispose of it.

  *****

  Chelan sat in the large Command chair and stared aimlessly at the inert panels before her. She sensed a presence but had no energy or desire with which to deal with Lakit.

  “Good day, little one,” came the deep voice.

  Chelan swiveled around and looked up at Talon, her eyes seemingly needing time to focus on him. “It has been a while,” was all she could muster for conversation.

  The Commander studied her momentarily and then spoke. “The Palace is now secure, and you are free to wander within its confines. My people have been briefed on you, and you are denied access to nothing except weapons and control systems.”

  Chelan blinked several times, wondering if she had heard correctly.

  “I understand that you were excellent at air photo recon,” Talon continued. “We have several missions ongoing right now in areas of low sensitivity. You may work with one of the teams or work from here if you wish.”

  Chelan eyed him suspiciously, but he ignored her scrutiny.

  “Also,” he said, “Lakit has informed me of your downward trend. If you chose to do so, you may gut your quarters and refurbish them as you see fit. I have a team of designers and workmen on call for you if you wish to use them. Maybe that will help.”

  Then she watched as he headed back toward the doors.

  “And since I regard you with some degree of trust,” he said over his shoulder, “you are hereby released from Lakit’s frequent observation. He will be returning full time to his medical practice, but you may page him if necessary.” Talon turned and then looked at her with an intensity that riveted her to her chair.

  His eyes coursed over her ebony-clad body. “And, little one, I have not been unaware of the feminine attributes which you have regained and refined since your pregnancy, nor would my men be immune to your bewitching sensuality. But they are off-limits to you, completely and indefinitely. I don’t need any trouble from you or from them.” And he strode out.

  Chelan finally took a breath. She raised her brows. “What was that all about?” she asked out loud in astonishment, and she stared at the closed doors. Then, without a moment’s more hesitation, she was on her feet to test out his words.

  She approached the main entry with trepidation, but the doors parted obediently for her. She stepped out past the guards and then stopped, glancing at each of the six unfamiliar shrouds. They did not speak, nor did they move. She chewed at her lip as she started down the corridor, half expecting to be hauled up short, but they did not react, nor did they follow her. Obviously, they were there to guard the Command Center and had no interest in her, which suited her just fine.

  Suddenly, she knew where she was headed. With her heart banging in her ears, she hustled down the corridor and then slipped through another set of giant doors. Before her was a cavernous room, completely bare except for a few chairs and what looked from the doorway like a trunk hastily discarded in the far corner.

  Chelan tried to clear the cobwebs from her mind as she looked around. This was to have been Dar’s new quarters. But the Warlord had chosen never to return to Iceanea after the Ticeenean regime had fallen. The room had never been furnished, and its starkness stood in silent testament to all he had sacrificed to make her his.

  Chelan walked to the center of the room and sat down upon the floor. There she cradled her head in her hands. She had never sorted through whether forsaking Korba for the blonde Commander had been right or not, but now it was all irrelevant. She would give everything just to be in the company of any of them, and that included her long-dead guardian, her gentle lover, Fremma. She lingered in a different time and space as memories came and went, all of them hopelessly adrift on a sea of perpetual sadness.

  Finally, Chelan stood and took one last look about her surroundings, her eyes lighting on the trunk. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she approached it. She stared at it for a long time. Then she gave it a gentle kick. A plume of dust rose and filled the air. Chelan maneuvered the trunk off its side, her curiosity suddenly roused.

  She looked at the palm lock and smirked. What were the chances? Then, almost absently, she stripped off her glove and offered her hand. She jerked back, startled by the snap as the lock sprang open to her touch. She clutched at her chest. It was something from her own past, and her heart raced.

  She crouched down, threw back the lid and looked into its depths. Instantly, her eyes filled as her hands touched the gleaming white fabric. She stood and allowed the beautiful gown Dar had once given her to unfold. She clutched it to her face, powerful emotions wrenching mercilessly at her heart. She floundered, so many feelings flooding her at once that she felt as though she were drowning. Finally settling herself, she bundled the gown up to place it back within the chest.

  Then she stopped and squinted at the inky blackness at the bottom of the trunk. She reached in again, the Imperial fabric beckoning to her fingers. She clutched it and drew it out. Her jaw dropped. It was her own uniform and shroud. Chelan shook her head. How could that be? Fremma had never returned from his mission, yet the clothes she had worn to Earth were here. She slumped to her knees, her brows furrowed. Something was not right.

  She sucked in a deep breath. Somehow, someone from the old Empire had returned her belongings to the Palace. It had to be someone with access to RIBUS 7, and the items would have been collected when it was realized that the ship would fail in its mission. Then her eyes went wide. It had to be someone with access to the new Empire! She lurched to her feet. She understood that she could not hope to solve the riddle right now, but she also knew it was imperative to leave the uniform hidden.

  Chelan had begun returning the garments to the trunk when she felt something hard. Frantically, she unraveled the shroud, and her knives clattered to the floor. “Yes!” she uttered with jubilation. She grabbed them up, feeling them nestle into her palms like well-worn gloves. Then she smiled her first smile in months. She was armed.

  Chelan hurriedly bundled the knives back into the shroud and returned everything to the trunk. Then she hesitated and looked at the gown once again. She could not part with it, and she shoved it in the crook of her arm before she sealed the trunk and propped it back up as it had been. She glanced up to where she knew security scanners could be and just hoped that all she had done had gone undetected. Then she hustled back to the Command Center.

  She sailed past the guards and in through the doors, confident that Talon would not be back so soon. The Command Center would have been scrupulously swept and cleared by security well before Talon’s first arrival months ago. Everything would have been removed, all remnants of the old regime destroyed. As a result, Talon would not know where she had retrieved the gown from, but she did not care. It was from Dar. It was hers. And Talon be damned. She would come up with a story later if need be.

  Chelan skipped into Korba’s quarters and to the en suite. There she shed her uniform and donned the beautiful dress. It hugged her curves affectionately, dropping from her hips in straight lines to the floor. The sides were split to her upper thighs in
a seductive manner, never revealing too much. The round neck dipped low over her cleavage, and the back opened nearly to her waist. She slid her hands down the silky fabric, loving the way it coated her supple body.

  She stepped out into the bedroom and padded over to the large bed. Her hands trailed up over her breasts and to her neck. She closed her eyes, images of past love-play teasing through her mind. Thoughts of Fremma’s teachings, of Dar’s touch, and of her first time with Korba all intermingled, setting her body on fire. She wanted to feel her men inside her again, and she bit her lip in an act of self-restraint.

  Talon leaned against the door frame, his breath stilled by the alien beauty coated in white. He watched as she raised her hands and ran her long, tapered fingers through her silken mane. The golden brown strands cascaded down her slender back and over her curvaceous bottom.

  He continued to stare, unwilling and indeed unable to move. She bent forward and slithered onto the bed, rolling slowly to her back, her long legs exposed by the slits in her gown. Her hands smoothed down over her heaving breasts, stopping momentarily to toy with her own hard nipples. Then her palms rubbed along her taut abdomen, and she arched in ecstasy to some unknown fantasy.

  Talon gave his head a shake. Then he held his breath as her fingers slid under the shimmering fabric, seeking her own creamy warmth. She moaned, and Talon stumbled back through the doors, his jaw clenched as tightly as his muscles in response to nearly uncontrollable desire. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes, but he was unable to shake the image of the sexual being he had just witnessed. Against his will, he realized that it was his hands that should be coursing over her. He wanted his hands to touch her breasts, her hips, her legs. He wanted his fingers to traverse her depths, to tease her, to tantalize her. And most of all, he wanted to taste her, all of her.