Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance

by Hensley,Alta

  I looked over my shoulder in shock. “You can’t be serious! You expect me to just allow this?” The snow stung my bare knees, and the light breeze wafted over my damp sex. I was completely exposed to his view, as well as his touch. I knew I would have a fighting chance to resist this spanking if I chose to, but something from deep within held me in position.

  He answered with a firm swat to my naked flesh, and then three more before I even knew what was happening. I tried to collapse to my stomach to avoid the spanking. He pulled me back up and said, “You just earned yourself more of a punishment. Stay in position.”

  I turned my head to stare into his eyes before he swatted me a few more times. The biting sting of his hand caused me to gasp for breath. “Rigby, please! This has gone far enough!”

  “No, my foolish warrior. You will learn that you are not to question my command, my orders, or my concern for your well-being.”

  Concern for my well-being? It had been quite some time since anyone had cared about me in any way—if ever.

  The spanking continued, and I did everything I could to remain in place. The palms of my hands, my knees, and my ass screamed for mercy. My wounded leg was the least of my discomfort at this time.

  Rigby’s palm continued to pepper my backside. Each slap to my exposed bottom brought an alarming desire I couldn’t contain. His dominance milked the wetness from my deepest core. I pressed my legs together, desperately hoping he wouldn’t see the moisture dripping down my inner thigh. My body rocked forward with each searing swat, causing my nipples to rub against the fabric of my tunic. My body buzzed with life, even as my ass blazed with heat.

  “Rigby! Rigby, I said stop! That hurts!”

  “You are a woman, Tudor. A beautiful, exquisite woman.” He paused spanking me for a moment, a dead silence in the air. “I admire your strength. I respect your ability to fight. But you are still a woman.”

  I looked over my shoulder with daggers in my eyes. “So what if I am a woman?” I spat. “Does that mean I should submit, as you say? Never!”

  Rigby continued to spank at a quick rate. “Yes, my warrior. Yes!” His hand slapped one cheek and then the next. He covered every inch of skin until tears streamed down my face. He paused the punishment again. “There is nothing wrong with submission, Tudor. A strong warrior, and an even stronger woman, would understand that.”

  Finally, he stopped the assault, stood up fully, and assisted me to a standing position. I quickly adjusted my clothing and stared at the ground. Looking at him now would cause such embarrassment. The act had humiliated me. Not because of the discipline, but because of how it lit my body with a passion I never knew existed.

  He tilted my chin with his finger so I had to look into his eyes. “When I give an order, I will trust you will obey it.”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

  “I will not hesitate to discipline you again in whatever manner I deem fit.”

  I nodded, causing Rigby to drop his hand from my chin.

  “You may be able to fight, but you are still an unclaimed woman. You do not belong to a man and, therefore, are vulnerable for the taking. Your safety is my concern.”

  I collapsed back on the ridge, strength and the will to fight leaving me suddenly. “Then what am I to do? If I remain a soldier, unclaimed, I must be guarded as someone of weakness. What can I do, Rigby?”

  I waited, staring expectantly at him. Seeing that he had my full attention, Rigby continued. “Do you wish to be claimed?”

  “I wish to fight.”

  “I see. So you wish to die?”

  “I wish to live… fully.”

  Rigby paused, finally sitting down alongside me in the snow. Leaning forward, he moved closer to my body, just enough to help ward off the wind that had begun to lift more snow crystals into the air. I lay back, resting against the ridge. The stars were dim now, the light of the moon and the swirling snow flurries nearly eclipsing all the stars, even the wandering ones.

  He sighed before speaking with his eyes fixed on the snow mounds ahead. “I’ve watched you from afar for the last few months, and my respect for you has only increased while being your commander. But I also watch you in battle with a terror I have never known. I fear your death, and I fear losing you.” He took a deep breath and added, “I have feelings for you. I see you as more than just a soldier under my command.”

  I twisted, staring at Rigby in disbelief, light from the moon casting haunting shadows around us. I had been taught that adoration was rarely found among the ones who died by blade. Doing so could lead to your own death. You fought for your own life and only concerned yourself with surviving the battle.

  Rigby continued. “I don’t know if there is a Penna way of doing things, and I don’t want to insult you. But I would like to make you mine. I want you, Tudor.”

  I spoke, my voice shaking, and his close proximity did nothing to dispel the pounding within my chest. “I am no longer a Penna. My family is dead.” I paused and tried to find the right words, but the awkwardness of the conversation made my insides quiver. “What do you mean by ‘mine’?”

  “The Cyan believe in claiming a woman first, and then ultimately finalizing that claim by uniting in marriage. Do the Penna marry?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not anymore. That belief is considered archaic.”

  Rigby laughed. “Archaic to commit for life?”

  I smiled, grateful that the awkward air seemed to be lifting a little. “Yes, extremely archaic. The Penna believe in science, and black and white facts. Emotions do not belong anywhere in the equation. Love is not something that adds value to progression. The only reason a man and woman unite is for the purpose of breeding. To continue the Penna line. You don’t need marriage for that to occur.”

  “So no one loves each other?” Rigby looked shocked by this information.

  “No. What purpose does that serve?”

  “Is there no pleasure allowed?”

  I shrugged. “I assume pleasure occurs during the breeding process, but love does not.”

  “That’s a shame,” Rigby said in a soft voice. “Another reason I am happy you are no longer a Penna. I would like to someday give you pleasure and love.”

  “You would?” I wasn’t sure how to respond or act to Rigby’s words. They were so direct—just like him—and they were so true and honest. I felt I owed him the same in return.

  “I would like that as well,” I said in not much more than a whisper.

  “I respect you as a fierce warrior. Because of that respect, I will not force you into marriage. This will be your choice. But I would like you to at least be open to the idea. It is the way of the Cyan.” He turned to face me fully, the intensity of his look highlighted by the moonlight. “But I do not want you to be forced into any match, Tudor, even with me.”

  With the intensity of his gaze, and the way my name rolled gently off his lips, I could well believe that he cared for me. A tingle flickered through me. Could I care for him enough to forsake a belief that was ingrained in me since birth, one that danced through my veins?

  I spoke in a rush. “I respect you, Rigby, more than I have ever respected any man. But…” I paused, looking away into the icy night and then back to him again. This time I looked at him not as a commander, but as a man.

  I studied his profile. His black hair was silvered at the temples, and his beard was stark black against his dark skin. By my reckoning, he was no longer young, but not yet old. His jaw was firm and set, showing the determination that had enabled him to lead a band of soldiers. His eyes, however, stopped me. Respect and caring lingered in their depths; no judgment lay hidden there, and no scorn. The slight twitch of his eye, accentuated by the moonlight, betrayed the worry he felt at my pause.

  Drawing a deep breath, I finished what I had to say. “I see in your eyes that you do not look at me as do the other men. The other men look upon me as a conquest, something to boast of in the long evening hours. In your eyes, I see respect mingled with
longing. My heart is hard. It cannot yet give love. Yet, perhaps I could say the four words you said to me. The words: I care for you.”

  “So you have agreed to be mine?”

  I nodded, staring directly into his eyes. “Yes.”

  Rigby smiled, his face lighting up with the relief my words brought. He reached out and grabbed my hand.

  “Give me time, and give me the freedom to fight,” I added.

  He nodded, still smiling before glancing at the sky. His smile turned to a frown, and I too glanced to the heavens. The moon had almost set, and the icy land was plunging into thick blackness. The last stars that had blazed bright in the indigo vault had disappeared. I looked at Rigby, alarm tingling through me.

  “The clouds are coming in.” I paused, glancing around the horizon.

  “It’s a blizzard,” he finished. “We must run for camp, now.”

  Without hesitation, we ran hand in hand. When I stumbled, Rigby pulled me back to my feet and our hands never left each other’s grasp. Despite the desperateness of the situation, I felt exhilarated as we ran. We made good time, leaping over the snowdrifts, and sliding or skidding down the steeper ones. But the storm was faster.

  Wind whipped around us, scattering dozens of snowy granules like miniature sling stones that stung any exposed skin. The roar of the wind increased, and just as it was upon us, the wall of the encampment appeared. Kicking our speed up to a full sprint, we jointly vaulted the wall and dropped into shelter behind it.

  We crouched behind the shelter. The snowstorm whirled around us, pelting the wall and every inch of exposed skin with snow and ice. Tugging on my hand, Rigby half led and half dragged me down the wall of ice.

  Visibility was down, I could not even see Rigby’s torso, only his disembodied hand and arm. Suddenly he yanked me forward, and I stumbled into a tent as he pulled the flaps shut.

  “We lucked out,” he said, glancing around. “At least we hit your tent and not one of the other men’s.”

  The snow beat against the door, but I was grateful it no long pummeled against my body.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “The storm came on fast.” Heading for the mattress of my bed, the only seat in the tent, I stumbled and nearly fell. My right, injured, leg could no longer bear my weight.

  Concern etched Rigby’s brow. “Are you all right? Did your wound break open again?”

  Collapsing in a seated position, I lifted up the edge of my ice-encrusted tunic, and pulled up my pants. The bandage was red with blood and thickly coated with snow.

  I nodded with a grimace. “It looks like it broke open. Either from trying to defeat snow drifts with a sword, or from trying to outrun the storm.”

  “Or from a combination of the two,” he replied, moving to the side of the tent and fetching the medical supplies, and some of the water that had been placed there when my wound was originally cared for.

  I watched his every move. He looked different. I saw a man who had declared he wanted me. I saw a man who took me in hand and soundly spanked my bottom with no clothing separating his hand from my flesh. I saw a man I respected. Was this a man I could also call mine?

  “We cannot let this get infected. I hope you trust my hand.” He smirked. “It can do more than just deliver punishment to a well-deserving behind.”

  I did everything to conceal the smile that threatened to wash over my face. “I can scarcely think of a man I would trust to treat my injuries other than you.” I glanced around. The plain, black-walled tent had been my home since I’d joined the Cyan army. Tonight the walls were lightened by powdered white, and the whistling wind buffeting the taut fabric. “I would prefer your hand doing this, rather than peppering my backside,” I said as Rigby prepared the wound wash with warm water and various herbs. “Though I believe the sting to be the same.”

  He smiled and turned to face me with a mischievous look in his eye. “Yes. My hand is a master of the sting.”

  I turned, pulling the pants away from my leg just enough to permit access to the wound. Rigby squatted before me and carefully unwrapped the bandages.

  The wound was inflamed and hot, with pus oozing around the edges. I winced, and Rigby looked grim. With a degree of care and gentleness that surprised me, he washed the wound. Over and over he washed it, until no trace of pus or dried blood remained visible. His touch was gentle. His skill was also clear as he effortlessly mixed, pounded, and otherwise prepared herbs to place on the wound. After the herbs were prepared, he stepped back and fetched a flask from the medicine chest.

  “This will burn but it should prevent infection from setting in again.”

  I raised my eyebrows and then gasped as he poured the liquid over the wound. Stinging pain stole my breath. As soon as he finished pouring, he smeared the herbal preparation over the injury. The herbs soothed the sting, enabling me to catch my breath again.

  “That may clean the wound, but it hurts,” I exclaimed, watching as he began bandaging the injury.

  He applied a layer of absorbent cotton. Then he wrapped a narrow bandage of linen over it to hold the cotton in place.

  “The linen will help prevent contamination of the wound, and the cotton can be changed to prevent infection from increasing. The herbal preparation will remain good for some days, even in these conditions, and you can change and redress the wound nightly. That will also help keep infection away.”

  I nodded, wincing as he began cleaning the cut on my face with some of the liquid.

  “Is that really necessary? Just because the wound is smaller doesn’t mean it stings less.”

  “It probably stings more. But if you don’t sit still, I will make your bottom sting as well.” Rigby smiled. “Keeping down infection and keeping the wound clean will decrease the severity of the scarring and speed healing.”

  His breath was on my face. The close proximity made me nervous as he applied some of the herbal salve to the injury. When his hand dropped, he brushed it gently along my jaw. Then he walked back to the chest to put away the things he had used. Reaching up, I brushed my fingers gently over the wound and let my hand linger along my jaw, relishing his touch.

  “It seems strange,” I said, relaxing and letting down my guard at Rigby’s care and gentleness. “I do not feel I have to prove my strength to you right now, yet I worry you’ll find me weak.”

  He shook his head and said, “That is where you are wrong, my fighter. When you don’t feel the need to prove your strength, it is then that I see your true power.”

  “It always seemed hard to me, that when the men were trained to use the sword, women were simply told how to die on one,” I said, glancing down at my hands. The snowstorm continued to rage around us, providing the only sound in the silence.

  Rigby broke the silence after a few moments. “Although I hate the sense of fear I feel seeing you fight, I prefer it to you not knowing how. I know you can kill with the same ruthless nature as I.”

  I turned, watching Rigby carefully. “Ruthless nature? Is that said with liking or disgust?”

  He sighed, slipping closer to me. He stretched out his arm, and slid it behind my shoulders. Leaning sideways, I rested against his shoulder. A strange feeling of protection and comfort stole over me.

  “It is said as fact. I have no disgust towards you,” he whispered. “Quite the opposite.”

  “You are different than the men I have known,” I said, glancing at his face, profiled sharply against the black tent. “They treat me as less than the dirty snow on the bottom of their boots, yet it seems you see me as more.”

  He nodded. “I do. I see you as a fellow fighter. I want you in battle right beside me.” He moved in ever so slightly, so I could feel his breath against my lips. “I also see a woman I would very much like to be inside of. I see a woman I would like to be with in all ways.”

  “I would like that too,” I admitted. My heart soared unexpectedly at the prospect of fighting alongside this man whom I now respected. But my body throbbed with need at his proposal of
intimacy. “It would be my pleasure to fight at your side until death parts us,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He leaned in completely and kissed me softly. This was not a kiss of force, or aggression, or even sexual need. This kiss was gentler than a light, chilled breeze—but had the power of a whiteout storm.

  My breath caught and I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back with complete freedom. I felt safe with Rigby; protected, but at the same time valued for the powerful woman I was.

  He broke the kiss, but only pulled away mere inches from my face. “And what about my other desires?”

  I knew he wanted more. In truth, I too wanted more.

  I blushed. “I don’t have an answer for that… yet.” I gave the answer I felt I should give, even though my rebel soul wanted to be taken by his need.

  Rigby leaned forward, brushing his lips gently along my hairline. “Then we had better part ways tonight, since I don’t trust my wants and desires. We have a long journey back to my home village tomorrow. Dablin Becker, the Cyan general, is meeting us there with more reinforcements. Our army is beaten down and we need to rest and rebuild.” Rising softly, he went to the door of the tent. “Sleep well, my dark feather.” He exited without another word, the only sounds being the swirling snow and biting wind.

  Chapter Six

  We had finally reached and settled in to the village of Danis. Our travels were on hold until reinforcements arrived and the injured could heal. Camp was set up for the soldiers for housing so we could also continue to train. But for the time being, we were all taking this time to lick our wounds while Rigby met with General Dablin Becker to decide what the Cyans’ next move would be. We were at a standstill, and rather than the break and rest giving me comfort, as I’m sure it did for many, I felt a constant sense of unease and anxiety.

  I stretched out on my mattress and pulled my arms behind my head, taking in the thick, clean smell of freshly fallen snow. I closed my eyes and stared up at the plain ceiling of my new living quarters. When I tried to turn onto my side, I winced. I still suffered slightly from the wound I had taken to the leg, but it was quickly healing, and I expected to be fully recovered in a few days.