Torin held the merchant’s stare. “What happened then?”
The Raavelian fidgeted, the skin around his nose pinching, an expression of sick disgust flickering across his face. “They took her.”
The Sun Sword
Chapter Four
Kala remembered this feeling well—churning hate, cold fear, numb acknowledgement. She’d existed in this state her whole life. Until Torin had taken her from Earth, she’d known no other. Her stomach knotted but she shoved the physical reaction aside. It would not serve her any purpose in her current situation. She needed to focus.
“You’re a tasty little thing,” a raspy voice murmured in her left ear, sour hot breath licking at her flesh. A pointed claw pressed into the soft flesh under her chin, lifting and turning her head. She let her stare slide to the Ie’en, keeping her face emotionless. “Feisty, too.” The Ie’en smirked, his black gaze skimming down the length of her body. “This will be fun.”
Kala clenched her fists tighter but didn’t fight against him or the Andovian standing behind her, his fingers curled around her biceps, holding her still. She gave the Ie’en a steady look. “Fun? You must have a different definition of the word from the one I know,” she stated, pressing her feet more firmly to the steel floor. “Because quite frankly, anything involving you and me apart from me tearing your throat out is the furthest thing I can think of from fun.”
The Ie’en laughed, crooked teeth glinting in the small room’s dim light. Kala flicked a quick but thorough gaze over the confined space, inspecting everything within. To her left, behind the still pain-hunched Irithian, was a closed sliding door. On her right, one porthole showed the star-sprinkled blackness of deep space slowly sliding by. Various benches and surfaces jutted from the grimy walls, all clear of any objects. She refused to ponder the two chains hanging from the ceiling beside her head, both with unlocked shackles attached to their ends. But no matter how she much wished she could, there was no way to ignore the three idiots standing before her, one groaning lowly, one pressing his fat, hard dick to her backside, one leering into her face.
Her stomach knotted again, the familiar wave of hate and dread she thought she’d left behind growing stronger. What they intended to do to her was obvious. What she was going to do to stop them, not so much. Her gaze flicked to the shackled chains and her stomach tightened.
Think, Kala, think…
“I like a battle,” the Ie’en stated, scraping his claw down her neck, over her collarbone to the V of her crudely mended vest. He hooked its tip under the stitched snakeskin and gave the item of clothing a little tug, his smirk spreading to a grin at the miniscule hint of extra cleavage the act revealed. “But I think with you, I will enjoy the show just as much.” He turned his black gaze from Kala’s chest to the Andovian behind her. “You can go first, Fruoc.”
“Oi!” the Irithian protested. “Why does Fruoc get her first? I was the one who—”
“Let the scrunt slave you were chasing get away in the first place,” the Ie’en finished, giving the Irithian a dark look. A chilly finger of fear traced up Kala’s spine. Cruel intelligence shone in the Ie’en’s black eyes. He reveled in pain, bathed in domination. She’d seen the same callous intellect in the eyes of the most brutal males back on Earth. It defined them. Elevated them above the pack mentality of their kind. The Ie’en wasn’t just more intelligent than his two companions; he was more violent. Beating him in hand-to-hand combat wasn’t going to be easy. If she lost…
Then don’t lose.
Kala heard Torin’s stern instruction murmur in her head. A heavy pulse beat in her neck at the remembered strength of his voice and she drew his face into her mind. He would be disgusted to see her in such a subjugated position. After the countless hours of training, of preparing her for the Sun Sword and her supposed fate, here she was, captured by three male slavers barely an hour after being on her own. Hot shame flooded through her.
“Chain her.”
The Ie’en’s sneered order snapped Kala’s attention back to her three captors and she moved. Fast.
She threw herself backward, using the Andovian’s massive body and cruel hold on her arms as a counter-pivot. She struck out with her feet, punching her heels into the Ie’en’s gut, sending him tumbling over his own feet. He landed on his arse, but she didn’t stop to enjoy the stunned rage igniting in his eyes. Slamming her feet to the ground, she tossed the Andovian over her shoulder. He came down with a resonating thud, his squeal of pain drowned out by the Ie’en’s roar from the floor.
“Get her!”
The Irithian sprang at her, a level-one neutralizer in his fist, his expression both shocked and uncertain. His split-second hesitation served Kala well. She swung her right foot across her body, smashing her instep against his wrist. The neutralizer clattered from his grasp and he turned his head, following its path with his stare.
Kala spun, ramming her heel into his temple with a back kick. A loud, wet crack filled the room and he went down—limp—bright green blood trickling from his nose and ear, white pus oozing from the ruptured mess of his eyeball.
“You’ve fucking killed him, you cunt!” the Andovian screeched behind her.
Kala snapped her head around just in time to see him leap at her. His claws swiped at her face, a wild insane grin turning his mouth into a toothy maw. She ducked, her heart thumping. Her palm itched for the feel of her training sword, its weight, its deadly blade. She’d be out of here already if she had it in her—
The Andovian came at her again. She struck out, slamming her right fist into his jaw, her left into his cheek. Bone shattered against her knuckles. The Andovian let out a high-pitched squeal. Kala shifted her balance, ready to kick him in the neck, and the Ie’en snapped up behind her and wrapped his arm under her chin.
The pressure hit her head instantly. The Ie’en flexed his muscles, the crook of his elbow jamming her head back, the hard steel of his biceps and forearm cutting the flow of blood to her brain. “Ten seconds, cunt, and you’ll be unconscious. After that I could do anything I want to you and you wouldn’t know.”
Kala sank her nails into his arm, the pressure in her head growing. Blackness fogged the edges of her sight. Her lips began to tingle.
“But I don’t want you unconscious,” he went on, his breath painting her ear with hot moisture. “I want to see your eyes when I shove my dick into your cunt.”
He jerked her back, hauling her feet from the floor, changing the position of his arm around her neck. Blood surged back through her veins, the sensation like acid pouring through her neck. She thrashed in the Ie’en’s hold, her breath trapped in her constricted throat. Fuck, he was choking her.
The Andovian lumbered before her, blood seeping from the wound below his eye, his nose, the insane grin stretching his lips once more. Kala bucked, black splotches of oxygen-deprived pain blooming in her vision.
No. No. Oh, fuck, no!
Cold disgust rolled through her gut, sick panic gripping her chest. She knew what was going to happen next. Christ, how had she let it come to this?
No. Not again. Not again. Not this. Oh, God, no, not again.
She lashed out with her feet, her head fuzzy. Fogged.
“Now, I’m going to hold you just like this,” the Ie’en murmured against her ear, his elbow around her neck squeezing tighter as he snaked his other hand over her hip, her belly, under the waistline of her trousers. His claw-tipped fingers pushed between her legs, at the folds of her sex. “And my colleague here is going to enjoy himself with this tight little cunt of yours.” He released the choking pressure on her neck a little, coiling his arm tightly again before Kala could finish sucking in a breath. “And then,” he went on, pulling her closer to his body with his delving fingers, “after he’s had his fun, I’m going to fasten those shackles around your wrists and ankles and fuck you until there’s no more come left in my dick.” He pressed his lips to her cheek, holding her with his strangulating arm. “Do you understand?”
Kala
stared at the grinning Andovian before her, the black splotches swarming over her sight, the Ie’en’s fingers burrowing deeper between her legs. Her mind felt foggy, her limbs heavy. Cold fatality curled and flexed in the pit of her belly. This was happening. This was happening. All she needed was five seconds of freedom and her sword. All she needed was…all she needed was…
Torin.
Kala’s head swam. Her heart stilled. She stared at the Andovian through the black splotches, unable to turn her head, unwilling to close her eyes.
Oh, God, no. Not this. Not this. Please, no.
The Andovian lurched closer to her, his hands fumbling with the release of his trousers, his eyes locked on hers. He grinned wider. “This is going to hurt, scrunt.”
“Fuck you,” Kala slurred, her brain shutting down.
“Yes,” the Ie’en whispered. “That’s the idea, isn’t it?” He shoved his fingers harder into her sex, closing his arm tighter around her neck as the Andovian yanked his trousers open.
No. No. No, no no nononono
Blackness swarmed through Kala’s head. She bucked once, the last of her oxygen spent, and felt the Andovian reach for her trousers. “Ready?”
“Yes,” a deep, low voice growled. “Are you?”
Torin saw the Ie’en’s black stare snap to him the second he spoke. Saw the slaver’s thick, muscled arm jerk tightly under Kala’s chin. Saw Kala’s green-gold eyes roll back into her head and the cold calm that had enveloped him as he’d walked through Ati’aina tracking the three slavers who took her, cracked.
Syunna, Kala. Forgive me.
He stepped deeper into the small room—obviously a disused pay-as-you-go sex cubicle—the soft hiss of the door closing behind him like the breath of a night adder.
It was a good sound. A righteous sound. The sound of imminent death.
Their death.
The Andovian spun away from Kala, blood-orange eyes snapping wide, the shock of seeing someone join their little soirée jolting him from his depraved intent. “Who the—”
“Kill the fucker!” the Ie’en spat, jerking Kala’s limp body closer to his.
A detached fire ignited in Torin’s soul.
By the Sun Sword’s truth, he would make them suffer.
The Andovian leapt forward, his face distorting into a snarling mask, an illegal gutting blade suddenly in his hand.
Torin watched him come. And struck out.
He smashed his right heel into the Andovian’s nose, his neck, his chest. The slaver reeled backward and Torin followed, pulling the knife from the Andovian’s fist without slowing his stride. He swung his arm in a graceful curve, the short hooked blade slicing through the Andovian’s jerkin into the soft flab of his belly with ease. Like a hot knife through jellied fat.
The Andovian squealed. He slapped his hands to the steaming ropes of gizzards spewing from his body, his eyes bulging. “No!”
Torin didn’t pause. He moved like liquid, rote mechanics and elemental instincts guiding his hand upward in a tight arc, slicing the blade through the Andovian’s throat and face in a deep, diagonal cut. The slaver squealed again, half his chin and jaw shearing off to dangle from his head on a glistening knot of sinew. Hot blood erupted from the cleaved wound, splattering Torin’s face and chest and arm. And still he didn’t stop. With another fluid arc, he brought the blade down and around, slicing its hooked length into the side of the Andovian’s gushing neck, severing his head from his body.
Three cuts. Five seconds.
The Andovian slumped to the floor, the final, frantic beats of his heart pumping the last of his blood from his lifeless body, painting Torin’s legs and boots with putrid ichor.
A sharp hiss turned Torin’s head and he saw the Ie’en stumble backward, pulling Kala’s limp body with him, his left hand still shoved between her thighs. “Holy fuck!”
Cold fury rolled through the detached fire burning in Torin’s soul. “Let her go.”
The Ie’en bared his teeth, an act Torin assumed was meant to be a show of threatening power. “Come any closer, fucker, and I’ll fucking rip the cunt’s throat open right now.” His black eyes bulged. “Before you can save her, she’ll be dead.” His grip on Kala’s neck coiled tighter and he stumbled back another step, heading for the closed door behind him. “Are you fast enough to stop me? Are you?”
Torin stared at the slaver. Serene bloodlust flowed over him. Through him. Turning the nothingness of his rage to an inferno. He gave the Ie’en a slow smile, welcoming the ravenous red haze. “Yes,” he stated. “I am.”
***
Kala scrunched her eyes, black pain throbbing though her head. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t listen. Cold. She was cold.
Why was she cold?
She fought to open her eyes, to lift her head from the cold beneath but the thick black pain fought against her.
Get up, damn it.
Her silent scream sent waves of anger through the agony in her head and she pressed her palms flat to the floor—the floor? Why are you on the floor?—forcing movement into her arms.
Something warm and sticky lapped at her fingers and she drew in a shaky breath. The stench of blood and bile and piss filled her nostrils, poured into her body and she tried to open her eyes again. Blood? Whose blood? Whose piss? Why was she on the—
A scream tore through the air. High and deafening. Filled with absolute agony and terror—so wretched Kala’s body and psyche jerked into action.
Her eyes snapped open, adrenaline surging through her veins. She blinked at the glistening liquid pooling around her, at the headless corpse of the Andovian beside her and the pit of her belly churned.
God, what the—
It all came back to her. In a flood of images and sensations. The little girl, the fight, the slavers, the Ie’en, his cruel fingers, the voice…
The scream came again, louder, higher, gurgling with liquid. She shoved herself upright, jerking her stare from the dead slaver to the wretched sound.
And her heart stopped.
Torin stood in the centre of the room, his massive body dripping blood and gore, his eyes blazing cold fire from an expressionless mask. His left hand knotted in a hank of the Ie’en’s hair, holding him off the floor, his right hand buried wrist-deep in the screaming slaver’s blood-gushing chest. “By the Sun Sword’s truth.” She heard him murmur the words, his voice like frozen gravel. “And for the One Who Burns.”
His shoulder bunched, his nostrils flared and with one forceful, fluid jerk of his arm, he tore the Ie’en’s heart from his body.
Kala slapped her hand to her mouth, stopping the gasp of horror before it could leave her throat. She stared at Torin, motionless, the dead Andovian’s blood crusting on her flesh, the stink of piss and death stinging her nose. The Sol warrior stood as still as she, the Ie’en’s heart in his hand, his eyes locked on the dead slaver’s slack face.
He didn’t move. He stood that way for endless seconds, as if a statue sculptured of some vengeful god. Kala watched him, her heart hammering, her mouth dry. She’d never seen him like this. It was terrifying. It was amazing. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to run from him—as far as she could.
What did she do?
She pulled breath after silent breath, staring at him. Her chest squeezed. For him. For her. God, what did she do?
His stare shifted, sliding to the heart in his fist. She saw his knuckles whiten, his forearm tense. Nothing happened for a split second and then the Ie’en’s heart bulged and ruptured between Torin’s fingers. “For the One Who Burns.” He dropped the crushed organ to the floor, pain etching each whispered word. His eyes closed and with a low growl, he released his grip on the slaver’s matted hair.
The corpse fell to the blood-soaked floor with a wet thud.
Kala swallowed, her stare locked on Torin’s profile.
He studied the lifeless mess at his feet, his jaw clenched, his shoulders bunched. Icy energy radiated from him in chilling waves, made all the
more ominous by the soft sound of the Ie’en’s blood dripping from his right hand—a repetitive beat that seemed to crack the oppressive silence of the room and tear at Kala’s nerves.
She didn’t move.
“We have to go,” he suddenly said, still staring at the Ie’en’s body, the torment in his voice gone. Shoulders straightening, he turned his head and looked at her, his eyes expressionless. “There is someone who must see you.”
Kala’s stomach twisted. She swallowed, studying Torin where he stood, uncertain how to react. “Who?”
He stepped toward her, an unreadable light flickering in his eyes. “There are things that need to be said, Kala.” His voice sounded flat, devoid of any life. “Things that need to be done, but we don’t have the time now.” He turned his head away, casting a long look at the carnage around them, his face still carved from granite. “I am sorry, but we have to go.”
He turned and crossed the small room, stepping over the Ie’en’s corpse as he headed to the closed door. Without looking over his shoulder to see if she followed, he activated the opening mechanism and stepped out into the corridor.
A cold fist reached into Kala’s chest and squeezed her heart. She closed her eyes for a quick moment before climbing to her feet. She’d been violated. Attacked. She was still foggy from the slavers’ assault on her and it all meant little compared to the ache threatening to overwhelm her at the sight of Torin’s tense back.
What did you expect him to do, Kala? Come to you? Take you in his arms?
She closed her eyes again and shook her head. No. But she wished he had.
There are things that need to be said, things that need to be done.
His emotionless words echoed in her mind and she ground her teeth. His behavior unnerved her. Confused her. He should be yelling at her by now. Berating her for her failure. Demanding she drop to the floor and give him one hundred pushups as punishment for her inadequacies. Why wasn’t he admonishing her for getting caught? For being beaten? Was he doubting her? Damning her? Swallowing the thick lump in her still-sore throat, her head throbbing, her body aching, she stepped over the dead Ie’en and followed her mentor.
The Sun Sword Page 7
