by Lily Graison
Jorrick’s gaze shot through camp looking for Mar-see. He stared toward his hut but stopped when he saw it’s smoking shell. It was destroyed. Nothing remained of it and he feared going further and finding her there.
She wouldn’t have been there. She would have been with the other females.
Blood rushed through his veins so fast at the thought, he could hear nothing but the whooshing noise it made inside his ears. He turned to where the females hut sat. Much like his own, the space it had been held nothing now but charred remains.
He ran a hand through his hair as anxiety started to gnaw at him. Where were those he’d left in charge? “Vikram! Kyre! Aryan!”
A harsh cough to his left made him turn. Someone lay near the smoking remains of another hut. Jorrick hurried across camp and dropped to one knee beside of him. It was Wyvind. Black soot covered his entire face, the whites of his eyes standing out in the darkness surrounding them. “What happened here?”
“Attack.” He coughed again, then wheezed.
“Can you sit up?” Jorrick helped him and waited until he was steady before saying, “I’ll find you some water,” and took off at a run to the cooking pits. They hadn’t been spared in the attack either. The stores of food were gone and Cayen lay not far from the work table, his throat slit.
The preserved bladders they stored water in had all been sliced but one. It had fallen under an overturned table and was nearly full. He gave one last look to Cayen. He was hard and disgruntled but had been loyal. He’d be missed.
Jorrick hurried back across camp, kneeling by Wyvind’s side and put the water bladder to his mouth. He drank until he started coughing again, then wiped his mouth. “My thanks, warlord.” He inhaled a few deep breaths and propped his arms up on his bent knees. “The attack was from Allok’s group and I think another encampment was with them. There were too many to only belong to Allok. I couldn’t tell who they were, though.”
“Are you sure it was Allok’s men?”
Wyvind nodded. “Yes. Kr’Atek was with them.”
Jorrick clenched his jaw before looking around camp again. Kr’Atek among those who attacked could only mean it was Allok that had done this. He’d made war on his camp and—
This is what you wanted. The words whispered inside his head as he tried to count those that remained. You wanted a war. You took Mar-see in the arena to get one. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Is this all that remain?”
Wyvind nodded. “They took everyone else.” He met his gaze, an odd expression filling his eyes, his voice soft as he said, “All the females are gone except Jityria.”
Jorrick knew what that look in Wyvind’s eyes meant. Mar-see was gone, along with all the others. He stood. “Where is Jityria?”
“I’m not sure. I saw her right after the others were taken but I haven’t seen her since.”
“Stay put. I’ll go see who else is alive.” He found three others laying amongst the rubble. Two more were gasping for their last breaths and so many dead, including Vikram. Something in his chest clenched tight seeing him lay there. He knelt at his side, lifting his hand to close his friends eyes. They’d met the day he’d been pushed off the transport and left here. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t have done for him and it seemed Vikram had thought the same. He’d given his life to protect their camp.
He stood and turned a slow circle, taking in the destruction. So many gone. Those Allok hadn’t killed, he’d taken, his Mar-see being one of them. This is your fault. All of it. Every death another stain on your soul.
He lowered his head and ran a hand over his face. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
He’d wanted a war for so long he could almost taste it most days and now that he’d gotten it, he’d do anything to take it back. What of Mar-see? Taking her was part of his plan and had he not wanted his revenge, he would have never taken her. And his life would be more bitter because of it. She made it worth waking up every morning. She’d made him forget his need for revenge. He shouldn’t have forgotten. Now Allok had brought the war to him. He just hadn’t been here to participate and now his camp was gone. The people he’d promised to protect were taken or dead and the woman who’d finally made him feel something again other than a burning need to kill those who’d wronged him had been taken and the odds of getting her back were slim. There weren’t enough warriors left to fight to get her back. His revenge had cost him everything. It had cost everyone, and he had no doubt, Mar-see would pay for his sins in ways too painful to even fathom.
Marcy grimaced and tried to move her hands, the ropes around her wrists digging into her flesh. They were being led deep into the woods after being herded out of camp like cattle, pushed and shoved along the way, which caused them all to stumble. They were tied together, a length of rope wrapped around their wrists, then connected to the person in front and behind them so when one went down, they all went down.
She lost count of the times they’d all toppled like dominos. Her body hurt all over. Every time she fell, she’d been roughly pulled from the ground by someone and felt up until she was ready to gut the next fucker who touched her.
The number of dead they left behind had been staggering. She looked over her shoulder and could barely make the camp out in the distance. What ever remained of it was still burning if the thick cloud of black smoke behind them was any indication.
She glared at the orange alien from the arena. Kr’Atek he called himself. He walked by her side, barking out orders to the others as they tromped through the forest.
Krista was behind her, followed by the other females. All but Jityria. The need to claw her eyes out made Marcy’s vision go fuzzy and if she ever saw her again, she might just do it. The bitch had given her to—whoever these aliens were. Shoved her at Kr’Atek and ran. The aliens that hadn’t been killed were rounded up and taken. The only ones left behind were those too weak to be of any good.
The smell of wood smoke still filled the air, the stink from the burning camp lingering long after they’d gone. They walked for what felt like miles before she spotted another camp through the trees.
Their captors made them go faster until they reached the perimeter of their camp. It looked nothing like the warlord’s encampment. As primitive as his had seemed, it was a five star resort compared to this one.
There was nothing but ramshackle tents made of poorly stitched together pieces of cloth. They were scattered through the trees as if the alien who built it didn’t care where he put it. A lone wooden structure sat on one end of a small clearing and if she had to guess, she’d say it belonged to whoever ran this camp. Everyone seemed to notice them at once and a cheer went up. Loud shouts and chants followed, an assortment of aliens running into the clearing to look at them.
They were pushed and shoved, grabbed and fondled as if they were nothing more than—
Marcy blew out a breath and looked at Krista. Their eyes met and she saw defeat in her friends eyes. She knew what awaited her. The warlord had made it clear in his camp that no female would be touched without consent. Marcy doubted that would be true here. If the look on the faces of those watching them were any indication, they were as good as fucked. Literally.
A shrill whistle filled the air. The aliens quieted, some shifting away to the outer edges of the small clearing. Marcy saw an alien appear at the doorway of the single hut. He was tall, as most of the aliens here were. He was the warlord of this encampment. The ornate robes he wore said as much.
He looked nothing like what she suspected the other warlords on Prison Moon One to appear. Jorrick was a massive wall of muscle. This guy, had he been on earth, would have been bullied and pushed around as if he were nothing. Here, they feared him. She could see it on the faces of those who suddenly dropped to their knees at the sight of him.
The warlord strode out of his hut on legs so spindly she wasn’t sure how they held him up. His head was misshapen. He had no hair and his skull was elongated with bright red veins that ran from front to back.
He was almost skeletal in appearance, his bones pushing against his dark pinkish-red skin, but he didn’t appear weak. It might have been the look in his eyes that told her he wasn’t. They were an odd shade of red and something in the way he was staring at them said he had plans for every one of them and none of them were good.
His gaze landed on her. He smiled, his teeth sitting in a neat row that even from a distance she could see were pointed on the end. Whether they grew like that or he’d filed them down, she wasn’t sure.
“I’ve been waiting on you,” he said. He continued across camp, his steps slow as he approached. “Had Jorrick not stolen you from me…”
His entire body shuddered so fast, it looked like an optical illusion. Marcy blinked, not sure she saw it, or if her mind was playing tricks on her.
“You were to be my prize,” he said. His voice sounded almost—synthesized. As if it was being made by some device rather than actually spoken. The sound of it raised the hair on her arm. He cast a glare in Kr’Atek’s direction, disapproval of him obvious even from the distance he was from them. He was slow to turn away but when he did, something inside her head felt—tight, as if there wasn’t enough room inside her skull.
“But you are here now,” he said. His eyes skimmed her body when he stopped in front of her, his nostrils flaring. “I see Jorrick took you from me for more than just revenge. His scent is all over you.” His toothy grin widened. “I can hardly wait until he gets here.”
Marcy knew nothing about the way these warlords behaved but this one's words were enough to tell her that him taking her and the others was just a ploy to get Jorrick to come to him. She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. “Jorrick isn’t stupid. You have most of his men so he won’t retaliate in a war he can’t fight.”
“But for you he will.”
She snorted a laugh. “Not hardly.”
He inhaled, his nostrils flaring again. “Oh, I think you are wrong, witch. He has marked you.” His gaze landed on her neck where Jorrick had bitten her. He sneered, then did that crazy-fast shuddering thing again. “He will come.”
The warlord took a step back and looked at the others, his gaze lingering on the women before turning to the men. “You will swear your allegiance to me or die. I do not care which.”
He walked to the front of the line. She didn’t know the name of the alien he stood in front of but he was one of the sentry’s Jorrick had scattered around their camp. The traitor fell to his knees, his trembled oath making some of the others mumble words she couldn’t make out.
The warlord went down the line and reached Aryan, every line on his face screaming of arrogance and the determination she saw there said he would never kneel. He lifted his chin, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “I swore my allegiance to Jorrick, and that is where it will stay.”
Aryan was hit from behind and fell so hard and fast, he took down most of the line with him due to their tied hands. Marcy staggered and crawled back to her feet when Aryan’s hands were untied from the others and he was dragged away.
Everyone in the line was asked. Every man but five kneeled. Marcy watched those loyal to Jorrick as they were kicked and beaten before thrown into a hole in the ground much like the pit on the outskirts of Jorrick’s camp.
Allok turned his attention to the females. “Cut their binds and take them away.” He studied them all, his gaze coming back to her and lingering. “Take the witch to my hut.”
They were grabbed and hauled away roughly, Dawn and Tezhila screaming as they were picked up and carried toward the trees. Marcy didn’t scream and pushed away from a blue alien with horns when he reached for her. “I can walk.” He gave her a push in the direction of the hut. Her heart was in her throat when she looked back over her shoulder at the others. They looked terrified and Marcy knew they had reason to be. What this warlord let happen in his camp was anyone’s guess, but she didn’t imagine it was anything good.
The sound of the others screaming followed her into the hut and she wondered as her gaze fell to the bed if being raped would be her fate as well. This warlord seemed to think Jorrick would come for her but she wasn’t so sure. Would he risk his life in a fight with those in this camp when half his men were now dead and the rest of them captured?
Her foolish heart said he would.
The voice of reason whispering in her head said he wouldn’t.
As the curtain covering the doorway of the hut moved, and the warlord walked in, she wasn’t sure it would even matter.
Chapter Twenty-One
How did he win a war when there was no one left to fight? Jorrick paced through the ruins of camp. Three more had died since his hunting party returned and those that remained were being attended, their wounds cleaned and bandaged, but he knew despite the attention, most of them wouldn’t make it. There were no medicines, no clean bandages. Those that didn’t die would be weeks from away from fighting and he’d be left with nothing more than a handful who were even capable of lifting a weapon.
He looked at those who were left. They were a rag-tag bunch and nowhere near capable enough to take on Allok’s men. Those that could stand weren’t fighters. They never had been, and he supposed that’s why Allok’s men had left them. They weren’t of much use to anyone.
He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face and paced a long path past the central fire pit and back. He had few allies on this world and he doubted any of the other warlords would come to his aid. Why would they? He wouldn’t have, had it been someone else.
He blew out a frustrated breath and turned in time to see Jityria stumble from the trees. He hurried across camp and grabbed her as she started to fall.
“Warlord…” She fell against him, her eyes closed. “I tried…”
When she said nothing else, Jorrick wrapped an arm around her waist and held her head up. “You tried what?”
She licked her lips, and he noticed a bruise forming on her cheek. “To get them to safety but—” Her brows lowered, her lips tightening into a thin line. “She gathered them all, warlord and…” She shook her head. “She handed them over. The human—she hit me and helped Allok’s men take the others.”
A cold shiver raced down his spine, the implications of what she was saying sounding so familiar, it gave him a sense of deja vu and in an instant, his past came back to haunt him. Would Mar-see have betrayed him and ran off like—
She is nothing like Zasra.
Jorrick clenched his teeth, old memories whispering through his head. No, Mar-see hadn’t betrayed him. He knew it without question. She cared for him. He felt it in every caress of her hand.
Jityria leaned heavily against him, her head coming to rest on his chest. She’d been here to see everything that happened between him and Zasra, saw how she almost destroyed their camp. Would Jityria use that incident to make him think Mar-see had done it as well? It was no secret Jityria and Mar-see did not like one another. He’d wondered more than once if the bruises he found on Mar-see’s delicate skin were the result of fighting he wasn’t aware of and if they were, then Jityria could have very well given Mar-see over to Allok’s men. If not, why had she been left behind? Even if Mar-see had hit her and helped them take the others, why had Jityria not been collected with the others and taken as well? If the animosity between them was any indication, Jityria should have been the first one Mar-see would have handed over.
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head. “If you are lying to me, I will rip your lying tongue from your mouth with my bare hands.”
A momentary flash of fear sparked in her eyes but was gone an instant later. “I would never, warlord.”
He helped her over to where the other injured were and resumed pacing the camp, his thoughts in constant motion.
Did Mar-see betray him as Jityria suggested? Would she have done such a thing?
The feel of her phantom hands against his flesh said no, she wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have left him willingly. She had feeling
s for him. He knew by the way she touched him. By the look in her eyes as he made love to her.
Had he told her the same with his actions? Did she know he cared for her? Probably not. He’d had to be ruthless for so long now, it's all he knew. Sweet words and gentle affection were nearly a foreign thing to him now.
You should have told her how you felt. Told her how having her in your life now made the hell this place was less painful.
He continued to pace the camp until Wyvind approached long minutes later and drew him to a stop.
“What are your plans, warlord?”
“I don’t know.” He stared at the smoking remains of camp. “We don’t have enough men to retaliate and survive but leaving those captured to their fate feels wrong.”
Wyvind nodded. “He took the best fighters we had.”
“And I’m sure he knows that.” He blew out a breath and stared into the distance, the whir of the small camera orbs that were a constant reminder they were being watched hovering in the air. He forgot they were there most of the time but now, he followed the movements of one as it stopped, hovered, then flew toward the red mountains. The moment he saw it jutting into the air in the distance, something in his chest clenched tight. “I might have an idea.”
“What sort of idea?”
“The only one I have at the moment.”
“You may call me, Allok.”
Marcy bit her tongue to keep from saying something she’d probably regret. This warlord, Allok, wasn’t stable. It was in the eyes. The way he stared at her made her think something inside that misshapen head of his wasn’t quite right.
He crossed to a table against the wall and picked up a slender cylinder and tipped it over a cup. A blue liquid spilled out, and she stared at the talon-like claws on the ends of his fingers.
