by Abella Ward
He looked up then. She couldn’t see him from up there. The fire had almost reached her dress. His heart drummed madly in his chest as he punched the control panel hard. Nothing was working. She would die right in front of his eyes and he wouldn’t be able to do anything. Despair took over, and his jaw clenched. She was coughing and her eyes were shut as flames almost engulfed the cage now. And it happened. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. Vanished into thin air...
It had baffled him, and yet, he was somewhat relieved too, knowing that the Magi had great powers. Hers had not yet been awakened, but he had seen the stone at her neck glow a bright green right before she disappeared as the flames engulfed the cage. He knew then her magic had protected her.
***
Arana Blackwell woke up in a dim lit room. She lay on a flatbed with a single pillow under her head. She moved and tried sitting up. A wave of nausea hit her as a throbbing headache began to pound at her temples, and she collapsed back. Too weak to move again, she stared at the gray and white ceiling. Her mind still fuzzy, she wondered where she was. Another cell?
The door to her room silently slid open as a woman entered. She wore plain dark gray pants and shirt. Her dark green hair was tied neatly in a bun and her kind amber eyes were in striking contrast to her olive green skin.
“How are you feeling?” she asked gently.
“Weak, and I have this awful headache...” Arana replied, and her own voice seemed strange to her.
The woman came closer and placed a small device on her arm and applied the medicine. “This will help with a headache. You have been in shock. Your body needs rest,” she advised.
“Um... where am I? And how long have I been in here?” Arana asked her as her head cleared a bit.
It started with the voices in her head. And the then the deluge of memories flooded her mind... Images of fire, the golden cage, the crowd hooting, and that face... Arathor.
She closed her eyes as a chill crept up her spine at the memory.
“You are on Andromeda 13. And you have been in the sick bay for almost 24 hours now, since I got you in here. I found you unconscious on the floor of our lobby,” she said flatly. “I need a name, and you will have to fill out some details on a form, when you feel up to it.”
Andromeda 13... the space station. But how did she get here? The last moment she could remember, she was tied to the beam, about to be executed... and twenty-four hours meant Andromeda hours. She knew how long that was due to Lorcan would come here for his whoring expeditions. Twenty-four hours here meant three days on Tirron, so she must have been unconscious for three days. Taking a deep breath, she touched the stone pendant at her neck. It seemed a darker green now... Strange, she thought, not stranger than the phenomenon that baffled her. How did she end up here without a spaceship?
“I am Arana Blackwell from planet Tirron,” she began as the woman trapped in the info on the flat device she held. “And who are you?”
“Oh I’m Dr. Qizet, head of the Sick Bay here,” she said. “You’ll be fine in a few hours, and you can go back home then.”
“Um, Qizet, I know this is awkward, but please, can I work here as your assistant? I could help you with the patients that come in here...” she said anxiously. “I...I can’t go back home right now,”
“Why?” Are you a war refugee?” she asked as she slightly narrowed her eyes at her.
“No, no. It’s just that I don’t have a place to call home at the moment. I... I’ll rent out quarters here, but please, I need a job. Anything you want me to do as your assistant.” Arana pleaded with a look in those clear blue eyes that made Qizet wonder for a moment where she had seen her before... She looked so familiar. And she seemed desperate.
“Alright... I’ll give you the job when I know you are ready to leave the sick bay. But first, you will have to learn a few things to get you accustomed to our daily routine,” she said with a serious expression on her face. Then, she smiled.
Arana sighed relieved. “Thank you... thank you so much!” she smiled back.
***
“That fucking whore!” yelled Lorcan at his men. “I want her head!”
Arathor winced at his words as his jaw clenched. He was good at keeping his anger at bay after years of training and experience had taught him that it was foolish to react under such circumstances.
“You are all worthless worms. You couldn’t contain a mere whore.” Lorcan seethed with uncontrollable rage. “And you, old man. You know magic. Couldn’t you have stopped her?” He glared at the old spider who cringed at his words.
“My Lord, it was unexpected. I didn’t see it coming...” he squeaked.
“It was dark magic she used to escape the Cage, you useless old bastard,” he shouted as the old man’s already hunched back bent lower.
“Arathor!” he called. Arathor stood in the front row with his other men. “You are a dragon. Your kind knows magic,” he said, glaring at him with pure insanity in his eyes. “I want you to find her, kill her, and bring back her head to me. This will be your ticket to freedom,” he said in a sinister tone as he gestured toward his own neck indicating that the collar he wore would be taken off then.
Arathor’s spine tingled with a chill he had not known before. No, No, No... Please no... Not her...
“Yes, My lord,” he said, quietly, his face a mask. He couldn’t let him see the surge of emotion simmering beneath the surface...
“You have three months, not more than that. Find the bitch and bring her head to me! Oh, and you can take her before you kill the whore,” he said as he cackled with laughter. The rest of his men sniggered too while he took a swig of his wine.
And in that moment, Arathor wanted to pull out his Silver Shadow and slit his throat. This was Lorcan’s sister he was talking about. The man did not have a soul, he thought, disgusted, as he clenched his fists. But what choice did he have? This was the only way of getting off the planet. And it was also an excuse to find Arana. She was his woman, and he would find her and protect her... He knew she was his mate even though he had not claimed her.
Arathor simply bowed and took his leave. His cloak swirled behind him as he walked out from the throne room to the control room. There, he searched the universal database for Arana’s current location. The search took a few hours, but he finally spotted her on Andromeda 13. She was in the sick bay there.
At first, when Arana had disappeared, Arathor knew magic was at work here. But he could never have guessed she had far more powerful magic within her that needed to be awakened. His doubts were now confirmed with her location. The woman had unconsciously managed to teleport herself to the station. Only a few Magi with immense power could teleport such long distances.
Leaving the control room, he made his way back to his chambers and set about packing his bags. It had been three days since Arana had vanished, and his days on Tirron had become nothing but torture. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. And taking on this challenge was the only way to see her again. So, he planned to leave immediately and waste not another moment.
An hour later, he revved the engines of the spaceship he was assigned to take and checked all the controls. The craft hovered a few feet above the ground and flew out of the docking area, and up into the sky. On leaving New Earth’s atmosphere, Arathor set the ship’s course toward Andromeda 13 as it went into warp drive.
Chapter 6
Arana checked the logs and tapped in more numbers as she checked the patient related details. It had been only a few weeks since she started working as the manager’s assistant, taking care of the paperwork, recording the data, and even helping some critical ones with healing. The sick bay’s manager, Dr. Qizet, was happy with her diligence and let her work for as long as she wanted. They had become good friends, too. She would report to her during her coffee breaks and they would randomly chat and relax. Arana found that Qizet had a kind heart.
Arana was fairly satisfied and almost settled into her new life – her life away from the castle
and the evil of her brother. But it was her night terrors that sometimes perturbed her. And the fact she couldn’t stop thinking about that traitor, Arathor. He would seep into her mind at night and she would find him irresistible even in her dreams: he would kiss her with a white-hot passion and even make love to her... The fact that her heart was still stuck with that man perturbed her so much that she would cry herself to sleep at night.
And there were many moments when she really wanted to talk to Qizet about him, but she couldn’t. What would she think? She felt it was wrong and pathetic. Why was she having a hard time moving on? She had only kissed the man, but he had branded her somehow... She wondered what would have happened if she had sex with him...
No, stop it, Arana, you will not go there, the voice in her head admonished. If she didn’t stop now, she would go insane. She hated herself for being so gullible. People moved on. But she was the one wallowing in his memory and wanting to see those beautiful eyes again... His intense gray eyes that pierced her very soul.
So, she started working long hours. Even after the manager had left, she would stay late at night working, trying to keep her mind busy. Tonight was one of those nights. She sat at the reception desk that night, idly fidgeting with her pendant as she went over the list of patients who had come in that morning. Her red hair tied in a bun, she wore the sick bay’s gray uniform. She took a sip of coffee and her face crinkled as the bitter liquid slid down her throat.
The doors to the lobby hissed open and someone entered. Arana was so engrossed in the screen she held in her hand that she didn’t notice the tall man who gazed down at her from across the desk. She looked up and did a double take as the coffee almost slipped from her fingers. A pair of intense, steely gray eyes stared down at her. And that stark silver-white hair...
Her heart skipped a beat as Arathor stood there, calmly watching her. With shaking hands, she placed the tab on the counter. “W-what are you doing here?” she asked as she tore her gaze away from his. He was in full human form. With his wings and horns gone, he seemed even more irresistible. Her eyes roved over his strong chiseled jaw, those sensually carved lips, the taut muscles that stretched beneath his shirt and his sheer youth made her want to reach out and touch him. He still wore that collar, she noticed. And the cloak of the Royal Chevalier of Tirron was draped across his shoulders.
“Hello, Arana...” he said in his deep, low voice that made her want to believe he was not a traitor, but a lover. And part of her, the part that wanted him, was relieved to see him there. “We need to talk,” he said when she didn’t reply.
Her mouth went dry and her stomach churned to knots, as her gaze caught the hilt of his sword that hung at his back. She forced herself to nod and got off from her perch on the stool. She needed to get away from him – as far as possible. Her heart thudded in her chest. “I’ll get the drinks,” she said, glaring at him as sudden anger welled inside her. She walked up to the far corner of the lobby and took out two glasses and placed them on the counter with shaky hands.
“Computer, dark wine please,” she wrung her hands while she waited for the wine bottle to materialize.
Arathor walked up to her and stood at her side, watching her. She wouldn’t look at him. And he saw the way her hands shook when she poured the wine into the glasses. She was terrified of him – as if he were some kind of monster.
She set the glass down. His chest constricted then, and without another word, he pulled her into his arms and pinned her back to the wall. She gasped and he silenced her scream with a kiss, claiming her mouth fiercely, devouring her, savoring her sweet taste. She tried desperately to push him away, but he pinned her arms above her head with one hand, as he cupped chin with the other... Finally, she yielded, moaning against his mouth.
After a while, he pulled away and gazed into those blue depths as she tried catching her breath. “I will not hurt you, Arana...” he released her hands but still held her there with his body, gazing at her, taking in her intoxicating scent he so loved. A myriad of emotions flitted across those beautiful eyes... fear, anger, hatred, pain... and then tears flooded her eyes as she slapped him hard across his face.
And he didn’t even flinch. “What was that for?” he feigned innocence.
“You betrayed me!” she said as tears choked her and streamed down her face.
“How?” His gaze seared her soul.
“I was helping you escape, and when my plan failed, you chose to work for the king,” she glared at him.
“I did not have a choice,” he began.
“You always have a choice, Arathor.”
“He would have killed me. I was tired of playing that useless game of his. He offered me freedom if I completed a few tasks for him. I have been an assassin before. It’s my job,” he said matter-of-factly.
“To kill people?” she said disgustedly. “You could choose other jobs.”
“I don’t know anything else... It’s what I have been trained to do since I was a kid. My duty has always been to serve and protect my king.”
“Lorcan is not your king,” Arana said shaking her head. “And killing is not your duty, Arathor. You can choose not to do it.”
“I spare women and children.”
“You can spare men too,” she said, beginning to feel tired. “What do you want, Arathor?”
Without replying, he let her go and grabbed one of the wine glasses. Taking a swig, he walked toward one of the nearby sofas and slumped down.
“How do I get rid of this collar?” he asked, ignoring her question. He sat back on the sofa with one arm around the back, and one leg over his knee. His other hand held his glass. And for a moment, Arana kept staring at him. It was hard for her to focus when he was around. Arathor couldn’t bring himself to tell her she was right.
Arana picked her own glass up and took a few sips, wishing to calm her erratic heart. The dark wine silkily slid down her throat, warming her. She stared into her glass, his silence confirming her doubts that he was here to kill her.
“You expect me to help you now?” she said dryly. He had some gall to ask her that. Who did he think he was? Some God who could demand anything he wanted of her? “I don’t know how to break the spell, and even if I did, I would not help you,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Why?” he asked her in that calm, cold voice of his, as his gaze roved over her body and slim curves. She blushed and he didn’t miss it. He actually liked it – the way she responded to him when he looked at her like that. “You wanted to help me before?”
“That was different. I can’t trust you now,” she said moving to put her glass on the counter. She walked back toward her desk, overtly conscious of his gaze on her... She had to remind herself he was the predator.
“Look... I-it’s been a long day and I have to go,” she quickly picked up her bag and hurriedly walked out before he could reply. He didn’t follow her as she quickly made her way toward the elevators that would take her to her living quarters. Once the doors slid shut, she let out a deep breath... as tears again threatened to spill over. She could alert the authorities at the station, but the rules were different here. She was still a new resident and she did not have access to the highest security level there. So, alerting them was pointless. She would have to be very careful around him now.
“Computer, lock the door with level-1 security lock,” she commanded once she was inside her quarters. The doors locked and she changed into her nightclothes and slipped into bed. She needed to sleep and stop thinking about him, she told herself firmly, but her mind kept drifting toward those gray eyes...
***
Arathor quietly watched her receding back as she scurried out like a frightened squirrel and the doors to the sickbay slid shut. The door opened again as some nurse came in. He got up and started to leave as he didn’t want anybody getting suspicious. He walked back to his temporary chambers, brooding. “Computer, dark wine please,” he said as soon as the door closed. A headache was beginning to pound at hi
s temples and he felt a heavy burden on his chest.
The wine materialized in the corner panel. He walked over and took the glass filled with the dark purple wine. It was the finest they had on this station. He took a swig and sat down on the nearby sofa.
She was right... He did have a choice. The image of the woman begging him flashed across his mind. The emissary’s wife, the fear in her eyes and the sound of the baby crying in her arms as he killed her husband, nagged at him.
He took another swig, draining his glass. Getting up, he took off his cloak and shirt and pulled down his pants, revealing sheer taut muscle as he stepped into the shower. He turned on the ice-cold water. The cold water was like a hundred sharp knives stabbing him on his back... The pain was almost unbearable, but he stood there for a long time. He needed to cleanse himself of all the blood that stained his soul. His soul was already torn, slowly ripped apart by each kill he had made over the years. It could not be healed. His only redemption was through pain.
She was right... He could have chosen not to kill the emissary. He could have let them escape and then told the King any story back home. Home – it seemed a lifetime ago. Since he was taken, his people must have gotten the news that he was dead. Killed. That’s what usually happens to spies and assassins if captured by the enemy.
It was strange how this human woman made him feel the guilt. He was never bothered by killing before. And he didn’t touch women and children... So why did he feel filthy like a monster now? What was the witch doing to him? He grabbed the wall in front of him as the pain became unbearable... and he still stood there. His body was beginning to burn... To a fire-breather, the cold was like slow death.
It was a long time after he stepped out. He suddenly felt more tired than ever. His body still throbbing with the impact of the ice-cold water, the collar further sapped his strength, sensing his weakness. It was mostly the guilt that gnawed at him. For the first time in his two hundred and seventy years, he was seeing himself in a different way. And he didn’t like what he saw.
