Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “Then there is hope.” A great smile transformed Kasmiri’s face from sorrow to joy.

  “You don’t understand.” Bithia cringed at her optimism. Looking at her was almost like looking in a mirror. They looked so much alike but for their height and eyes. Everything else was eerily similar. “I’ve been holding out hope, but there is none.” Removing her hands from the window, she wiped them against her dress. “Viltori is healing at the same rate that he’s living. Two lifetimes from now he might be healed.”

  Kasmiri didn’t lose her confidence. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “Who?”

  “My father.”

  From the story Kasmiri had told her, Helton Ook was a handler, a man who trained recruits to become Harvesters. “What could he possibly do to help Viltori?” After last night in Drahka’s arms, she’d made peace with the idea she must let go. She didn’t dare let even a sliver of hope back into her heart. Having it ripped away again would hurt too much. Before she could question Kasmiri further, the metal knob of the main door turned with a resounding click.

  Rown pushed the door all the way open, then held the knob while Sterlave entered.

  “I’m perfectly capable of handling the door myself,” Sterlave said, his attention on Rown.

  “I like doing things for you.” When Rown lowered his face but lifted his gaze to Sterlave, Bithia knew that the young man was utterly smitten. Not that she could blame him. Sterlave was beyond handsome, especially in his loose black shirt and trousers. Dark sweat stains marked his clothing below his armpits and along his chest. Pulling his straight brown hair back with a sigh, Sterlave kissed Rown’s forehead. “I keep telling you that you are not my servant.”

  Rown melted at his touch, then reddened when he saw Bithia and Kasmiri watching. Before Rown could caution him, Sterlave kicked off his boots, scratched his groin and yanked his shirt up. As the thin weave covered his face, he called out, “Kasmiri? What smells so good?”

  Turning to Bithia with an indulgent smile, Kasmiri said, “Perhaps the delightful scent belongs to our guest.”

  Wrenching the shirt back on so fast he pulled his hair into his eyes, Sterlave almost stumbled as he flicked the strands away. His eyes went wide when he saw who was standing beside his bondmate. He sputtered, “My lady.” Swiftly he bowed. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Obviously.” She tried to appear very stern, but she knew she failed miserably when her sister giggled. Bithia too laughed. “Please don’t stand on ceremony. We are family, after all.”

  Briefly unsure, Sterlave darted his gaze between the two of them, then settled his long-lashed gaze on Kasmiri. Even from a distance, Bithia noticed the change in him when he looked at his bondmate. “I missed you.” Stepping forward, he kissed Kasmiri firmly on the lips with a great smacking smooch. Bithia could tell he wanted to linger, but in deference to her, he didn’t. After pulling away from Kasmiri’s mouth, Sterlave leaned over and kissed her belly. “I missed you too.”

  Another shot of longing gripped her, but this time, Bithia was ready. She let the feeling pass, knowing that soon, she and Drahka would reach this comfortable place.

  “I want to introduce Bithia to my father.”

  Annoyance slammed down Sterlave’s face, harshening the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw. “I don’t see why.” Stubble caught what little light there was in the room, but this only shadowed his features, highlighting his anger. As if remembering who he spoke in front of, Sterlave relaxed marginally. “Forgive me, my lady, but I do not care for my bondmate’s father.”

  She didn’t know why he’d told her when his reaction had been perfectly obvious. Unsure what to say about that situation, she offered, “Please call me Bithia.” Suddenly she felt stiff and intrusive. “I must go.”

  “No!” Kasmiri grasped her arm, holding her where she stood. Realizing she attempted to restrain the empress, Kasmiri let go and lifted her hands. “Please wait.” With a sharp frown to Sterlave, she grasped his arm and pulled him away from the windows and into another room. Curious, Bithia listened but could only make out the bubbling earnestness of Kasmiri’s voice and the low negativity of Sterlave’s.

  Bowing to her, Rown listened to them briefly, then said, “Can I offer you refreshments?” He eyed the two cups on the table between the chairs. “I can bring you a wonderful bread that accents the h’venta.”

  Feeling the light slipping away, knowing the time to release Viltori drew near, Bithia refused Rown’s hospitality. “Please give my apologies to Kasmiri and Sterlave. I cannot linger.” Before Rown could speak, she darted out the still-open door. Long-legged strides swept her away from their rooms. Once she had made up her mind, she just wanted the situation over and dealt with. After Viltori passed, she and Drahka could grieve properly and then move on. Bithia didn’t think Viltori would want them to stop living because of him.

  Her hurried, silent steps carried her past a multitude of guards and brought her back to the infirmary. As she stood in the arched entranceway, she saw Drahka, with one large hand pressed against the glass of Viltori’s cage. His fingers were not tight, but placed loosely upon the cover, as if he were touching Viltori directly with the greatest care. Eyes closed, Drahka stood there, his chest expanding slowly. After holding his breath for a few moments, he would release the air from between his lips. Bithia wasn’t sure if he prayed, meditated, or simply sought to calm himself. Whatever the purpose, she found herself relaxing just by watching the steady expanding and contracting of his chest. Rich crimson fabric stretched across his massive shoulders and around his buttocks, showing off the perfection of his form. Drahka said something in his native tongue, something that sounded like an apology and a farewell, then lifted his hand. When he dropped his hand to his side, he took a deep breath and held it for so long Bithia felt dizzy. He released it in a rush.

  Black eyes met hers. Just like Rown, crying had enhanced the white shards that spiraled out from his pupil. Just like the first moment when she saw him at the bonding ceremony, her attention was riveted to his hypnotizing gaze. Wordlessly she moved toward him, her hand out. He lifted his and when they made contact, powerful emotions threatened to drop her to her knees, but he pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace, enveloping her in his strength. Together, there wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle. Clinging to one another, they stood without tears, letting their shared grief mingle, then dissipate.

  Leaning back, Bithia placed a soft kiss to Drahka’s mouth. “I missed you.” She didn’t think Sterlave would mind that she borrowed his manner of greeting.

  A soft smile tilted the edges of Drahka’s stern lips. “I too missed you.”

  So strong was the connection between them that Bithia had to step back or she would be lost again, crying in his arms. For what they must face, she had to draw upon all the strength she possessed.

  “My lady, please, my mistress begs you to wait!” Rown flew into the room, then skidded to a halt when he saw Drahka. Eyes widening, he looked from his boot-clad feet to the top of his head, down his long hair and then across the width of his chest. For a very long moment, his gaze held at the bulge in Drahka’s pants. Drahka wasn’t aroused, far from it, but he didn’t need to be to create an impressive lump. Apparently, when Rown had seen him in the hallway prior to the fight, he hadn’t been close enough to see all of him. Remembering himself, Rown bowed his head, “Forgive me, my lady, but Kasmiri begs your indulgence.”

  Bithia felt Drahka’s arm stiffen. Clenching his fist, he considered Rown. “Who is this?” Anger deepened Drahka’s heavy voice. Before Bithia could explain, Drahka peered more intently at Rown. “You were the one who Viltori told to run.”

  Rown nodded and Bithia saw that same miserable shame threatening to overtake him again.

  “You saved my life.” Drahka’s quiet proclamation stopped Rown’s shame from deepening, and she was pleased they both had the same thought. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Meekly, Rown backed away,
bowing submissively, but still, he kept sneaking peeks at Drahka nonetheless. Bithia realized Rown was an ungati trained to pleasure men, not women. Now his smitten attention to Sterlave and Drahka made sense. Curious, she wondered just how deep his friendship with Viltori had gone. Not that it mattered. Bithia was not selfish with her lovers. If Rown and Viltori found pleasure together, she was grateful he’d found another person with whom to share his generous spirit. Sadly, that thought brought her back to their purpose for being here. Turning off the crystals that powered Viltori’s stasis would be like turning off the brightness of his soul.

  “Why does your sister wish us to wait?” Drahka continued to consider the shy Rown, but he directed the question to her.

  Bithia clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking. Because she thinks she can save him and I’m desperately trying not to let myself believe she can. “I don’t know. She said something about there being hope for Viltori.”

  Again, Drahka stiffened, this time his entire body tightened. “We have decided, Bithia.” His gaze drilled into her with the force of a heavy blade. “There will be no more clinging to the body of a dead man.” He kept his voice low but the tone carried all his pent up frustration. “I loved him too, but I will not allow him to be kept like a precious plaything in a glass box.”

  Drahka referred to the collection of items in her room, fragile toys given to her over the course of her childhood that were now stored in tidy rows of glass boxes. She’d never made the connection until now. Resenting his accusation didn’t take the truth away. Was she keeping Viltori like a memento? Too afraid to let go, she would keep him forever to make herself feel connected? A burst of insight showed her what Rown had already told her; keeping him alive but dead in a box was cruel. And yet, there was that tiny fleck of hope that her sister had given her. Bithia had tried so hard not to let it in but there it was, that painful, magical what if?

  Defensively, Bithia straightened her spine. “My sister asked for my indulgence. I am willing to grant her a moment. If you are not, you may leave.”

  Flared nostrils displayed Drahka’s shock at her pompous tone. He did not submit well to her authority, and Bithia did not take pleasure in using her superior position against him, but neither would she let him dominate her, especially not in front of one of her subjects. After all, she was the empress.

  Realizing that things might get ugly, Rown sidled toward the archway.

  Narrowing his gaze, Drahka’s lips thinned to a straight, brutal line as his gaze raked her from head to toe and back again. “I will not go.”

  Standing her ground, Bithia lifted her chin, tilting her face fully to his. Her words were held in her throat as Sterlave entered. Holding her breath, she turned, catching his gaze.

  Aware of the high emotion in the room, Sterlave glanced between her, Drahka and Rown. In the end, he fell back on protocol. “My lady.” He bowed to Bithia. “Kasmiri is coming.”

  “Why does she delay the inevitable?” Drahka demanded, taking an aggressive step toward Sterlave.

  “Don’t you dare.” Bithia threw her hand up, pressing her palm against Drahka’s chest. As soon as she felt the hardened muscles below, she realized the futility of trying to hold him back. Removing the domineering tone from her voice, she whispered, “Please, no more fighting.”

  Ashamed, Drahka stepped back. Keeping his voice low and his attention on her, he said, “This is between you and me.” He looked to Viltori, then quickly away. “I do not want others making our decision.”

  “They won’t,” she reassured him. “But she’s my sister, she’s with child, and if I can give her the indulgence of some time, then what is the harm?” The tiny fleck of hope had grown now to a sliver. After a look to Viltori, then back to Drahka, she added, “Waiting a bit more will not hurt him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Drahka reluctantly agreed that a small delay would cause no further damage, but he saw the sparkle in Bithia’s eyes. Hope had returned. He feared that if her sister’s idea, whatever it may be, failed, Bithia would want more time to try something else. Drahka dreaded an endless series of ever-hopefuls consuming her life until her spirit was so damaged she was as much a shell as Viltori.

  And Viltori…

  Drahka could feel his confusion. Alive and yet not, trapped in the confines of his own body with pain his only sense. Drahka would not wish such torment on his worst enemy. He’d learned the necessity of grieving from the loss of his companion. The first step came with letting go. They couldn’t move on until Viltori was well and truly gone. Drahka loved him, and he would miss him, but he also understood he must release him.

  As they waited, Drahka considered Rown and his obvious interest in him. His hungry blue eyes returned to Drahka’s crotch repeatedly as if forcefully drawn there. He wasn’t wearing the hated echalle today, or any other day, for that matter. On that, all of them had agreed—that annoying scrap of fabric had to go. It gave him a prominent bulge but getting it off took too long. Even without it, he pressed against his clinging trousers.

  Uncomfortable, he hastily adjusted himself, causing an almost imperceptible sigh of pleasure to escape from Rown’s slightly parted lips. Into his mind came the image of the young man on his knees, head tilted back, and lips just as they were right now—barely parted, moist, willing. Rown wouldn’t just suck his cock. No, Rown would worship every bit of his wicked length. Something in his stance told Drahka that Rown knew more about pleasure than the rest of them combined.

  Crushing guilt caused Drahka to sway on his feet when he remembered where he was and why. How could he be thinking such a thing when he stood right next to Viltori? In that instant, Drahka realized the images had come from Viltori, almost as if he were giving Drahka permission to find his replacement. Another wave of guilt gripped him when he thought he was blaming Viltori for his own twisted mind.

  Silence stretched around the group of him, Bithia, Rown and Sterlave. Everyone just stood looking at the tiled floor, the art-covered walls, really anywhere other than at Viltori or each other. Except for Rown and Drahka. Neither one of them could stop looking speculatively at the other. Regardless if Viltori were feeding him the sensations or not, Drahka was uncomfortable feeling them in this place at this time. With a sigh, Drahka turned, but now Rown kept his gaze on Drahka’s behind, causing an entirely new set of thoughts to swirl in his mind.

  After a while, Sterlave became aware of Rown’s concentration. Frowning, he darted his golden brown eyes between them. Drahka pretended not to notice, but when Rown caught Sterlave’s attention, his eyes widened and his face turned red. A quick lift of Sterlave’s brows chastised Rown into keeping his eyes turned to the gray floor.

  Now Drahka’s attention fell on Sterlave. He was muscular and dressed entirely in black, which indicated his status as a Harvester. Not the current Harvester, or he would have crimson along his outfit to show his allegiance to Bithia, but a past Harvester. Then Drahka noticed that Rown cinched his brown robe with a black sash, indicating he was a servant to Sterlave, but the sash was trimmed in crimson, which was Bithia’s color. Was Kasmiri allowed to use the color to indicate she owned him too? Now Drahka was doubly confused. Was Kasmiri still considered a part of Crimson House despite her illegitimacy? Sterlave did not like Rown’s attention on another man, but Sterlave was bonded to Bithia’s sister. Did he keep a male slave to play with? Clearly, Sterlave did not like the idea of sharing Rown, not that Drahka would ever ask.

  With a sharp pang, he missed Viltori. He could have explained this new and confusing aspect of Diolan culture. Unwilling to ask anyone else for details, Drahka was relieved when Kasmiri entered. He knew she was Bithia’s sister because they looked so much alike except for their height and eyes. Also, Kasmiri dressed entirely in black, while Bithia was clad in crimson. And then his gaze fell on her distended belly. Something about that gentle curve pushed all his instincts into overload. He wanted Bithia to look like that. Big and round and slightly unsteady with that glor
ious glow all pregnant women seemed to have. Kasmiri radiated contentment and joy. Drahka would do anything to have Bithia looking the same way.

  “Thank you for waiting.” Kasmiri stepped into the room and right to Sterlave’s side. Behind her came the most strangely put-together man Drahka had ever seen. Squat and wide, his body was so bulky he could not cross his arms, which seemed too long and his legs too short. His shoulders were so thick with muscles he could not turn his head. A shock of white hair covered his skull. He was dressed in black, indicating a prior status as a Harvester.

  While Kasmiri introduced Helton Ook to Bithia, Sterlave curled his upper lip behind Helton’s back. Drahka sensed a long history between the two men, but again, he wouldn’t ask for details. All he needed to know was what was obvious: Sterlave utterly detested his bondmate’s father.

  After pleasantries had been conducted, Kasmiri finally explained what her grand idea was. “Remember when I told you how the creature injured us?”

  Bithia nodded while Drahka stood still, trying to glean information. He felt as if he’d come into the middle of a conversation.

  “Well, one of the people on that planet healed us with a bare touch.” Kasmiri flashed her sparkling gaze on Viltori. “I’m sure she could help him.”

  Before Helton could even speak, Sterlave interjected, “He’ll never survive the trip.”

  “I didn’t mean take him.” Exhaling an annoyed sigh, Kasmiri glared at her bondmate. “The portal works both ways. We could bring one of them here.”

  “You are not making that trip, not in your condition.” Sterlave wrapped his arm around her shoulder, as if already holding her back.

  With a roll of her eyes, Kasmiri patted Sterlave’s hand. “I didn’t mean me, exactly, but someone could—”