The Hand of Vengeance

by Renee Rose

  “Please,” she whimpered.

  His hand continued to rise and fall, blistering her quivering cheeks as she shoved her fingers in her own twat. When his thumb pressed against her anus, she shattered. Lights danced before her eyes as waves of pleasure rolled through her. She let out a continuous moan as her muscles contracted around her own fingers and her inner thighs squeezed.

  Blade stopped spanking and squeezed her burning globes, his grip possessive and hungry. A blissful languor spread through her limbs, easing her aching muscles and slowing her breath. Her body seemed impossibly heavy as she lay across his lap, limp as a rag doll.

  Blade pulled up her lace panties, which felt too rough and scratchy against her raw cheeks. Her leggings followed.

  She wanted to offer him something in return, even though her ego craved giving him a piece of her mind. But the pleasure coursing through her overruled pride. The thought of dropping to her knees at his feet sent a renewed pulse of lust straight to her pussy.

  Before she could make herself move, Blade rolled her up into his arms, standing and rotating to lay her on the cot with her head at the pillow. He pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat in it, dropping a large hand onto her head. His fingers moved in her hair, massaging her scalp with a slow, unambitious pulse.

  “You’ll feel better in the morning, Doctor,” he murmured.

  She literally couldn’t keep her eyelids open. She still had half a mind to argue that he had no right to put her to bed, and certainly had no right to spank her ass rosy red. She wanted to ask him how the hell he always seemed to know what she needed, whether it was what she wanted or not. But, most of all, she wanted him to lie down beside her with an arm around her waist, the way he had that night they’d spent in the canyon.

  None of those things happened. Or, if they did, she missed them as dreams took over her consciousness and she slipped into the most restful sleep of her life.

  Chapter Five

  He wasn’t sure how Bailey had harangued him into attending the ’president’s examination. His job had been to deliver the doctor to camp, nothing more. If Bailey thought he had some kind of persuasive power or sway over the surgeon, he’d be disappointed to know that Blade’s diplomacy relied on nothing more than his use of a leather belt across her delightful little ass.

  She sat beside Sheel Black’s hospital bed, studying the holographic results of all her brain scans. She touched the image and rotated, magnifying the area with the dark blob. Turning to their deposed president, she asked, “When did the symptoms begin?”

  “The headaches and nausea started about two years ago,” Sheel said. She looked ancient. She must be eighty-five in Earth years. He’d discovered her hidden by her people in Treboth. When Treedle had overthrown her democratic rule, she’d been rumored to have been killed, but her most loyal supporters in the capital had managed to squirrel her away. He’d caught wind she was still alive five years ago, and it took him another year and a half to find her.

  “The vision loss as well?”

  “No, that’s only been this past year.”

  “Has anyone given you a diagnosis yet?”

  President Black waved her hand in the direction of the hologram projected in front of them. “Well, it doesn’t take a genius to interpret the big black splotch inside my skull.”

  “Right. It’s a mixed glioma tumor. The pressure on the optic nerve has caused your vision loss.”

  “Can you remove it?”

  “Yes. With the right equipment.” She turned around and looked at Bailey. “I assume if you have these diagnostic machines, you also have a full surgical suite? I was told in the clinic you lacked both local and general anesthesia. Are you keeping some in reserve?”

  Bailey looked uncomfortable. “Actually, anesthesia’s the one thing we do not have. Our supplies were blown up and other attempts to procure drugs have failed. I believe you witnessed the most recent failure.”

  Lara shook her head decisively. “Then it’s impossible. Not until you get the medication.”

  Sheel grasped her arm. “We cannot wait. Time is running out. I need this surgery now.”

  Lara looked back at the hologram. “President Black, your time is not—”

  “Not my time,” the old woman interrupted. “The revolution’s. It is time to rally my people, and I cannot do it blind and unable to think straight. The Jesel people need to know I am alive and well to lead them if they succeed in overthrowing Treedle. I want you to do the surgery without anesthesia.”

  “Impossible. I can’t do it.”

  Bailey cleared his throat. “My understanding is the anesthesia is simply for pain management. Does it stand to reason that the president will be completely unconscious from the pain, anyway?”

  Lara’s face paled, and she appeared disgusted. She stood up. “Commander, Madam President, with all due respect, if you think I’m going to saw open someone’s skull and cut a tumor out without the ability to slow her vitals and eliminate the pain, you are insane.” She stepped toward the door, but Bailey blocked it.

  He shot Blade a look of entreaty. Blade answered with a shrug. Bailey was the mastermind behind the revolution, not Blade.

  “We’ll numb her with grain alcohol.”

  Lara’s lip curled.

  “Please, Doctor,” the president croaked. “I understand there are risks. I know I may not wake from it. But I want to try. Please don’t turn your back on me and my entire planet simply because something has never been done before. I thought you were known for making do with few resources.”

  Lara rolled her eyes and paced the tiny room. “Making do and sawing someone’s—” she broke off, looking at the president. “I’m sorry.”

  President Black waved her hand. “I’m not bothered by it. You may speak as graphically about the procedure as you like. It will not scare me. To be honest, Doctor, the pain in my head has been so bad, I’ve wished I were dead more days than not. So even if you end up killing me, you’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Lara groaned, but she stared at the floor as if thinking. When her eyes lifted, they were directed at him. “Dasha.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question.

  “Pardon me?” Bailey asked.

  “The Varusian healer.”

  Understanding dawned. “One of your Samaritans.”

  “Yes,” she said, turning to the president. “She might be able to put you under using mind control.”

  President Black winced and held her hands to her skull as if the pain had suddenly become intense. “Let’s do it,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “I’ll get a team together,” Blade said, striding for the door. “Anything else you need from that clinic?”

  She nodded. “I’ll make a list. Too bad your team lost our anesthetic when they were shot down.” Her eyes lingered on his face, with some kind of question.

  He’d avoided seeing her since he’d spanked her and put her to bed two nights before. He supposed he felt some guilt for the liberties he’d taken, both in spanking and in pleasuring her, even though he’d obtained consent for the latter. While he could rationalize that correcting her had been necessary for their survival out in the canyon, taking charge of her here at camp was another story. He wasn’t her husband. Not even a boyfriend or lover.

  He couldn’t imagine what had come over him, except for the certainty that since that first time she’d come, dripping and pulsing all over his fingers, the most irrational part of him considered her to be his. He’d taken her welfare on as his responsibility, when, in fact, she’d probably prefer he jumped off a cliff. So he’d kept out of her sphere until Bailey had summoned him to the meeting.

  He gave her a slight bow, acknowledging her elevated position among them. Educated and civilized, she sat much higher on the social strata than an escaped slave like himself.

  She dropped her eyes, and he made his escape before he said something stupid.

  ~~*~~

  Lara scanned the treeline for the in
coming airship. Blade should have been back with Dasha by now. She knew from Bailey that he’d left the day before and had planned to be back by nightfall. So something had gone wrong—again.

  At some point since the big warrior had captured her, she had become a sympathizer with the rebel cause.

  More than one night that week she lain in bed, too wound up from all the medical crises to sleep, and half-wished her fierce warrior rebel would come put her to bed with a warm bottom and well-stroked pussy. Because that seemed to be the cure for her insomnia.

  She remembered the spankings he’d given her. Replayed that whipping in the canyon, her wrists trussed behind her, his belt smarting her bare skin until she screamed. Only, in her fantasy, it didn’t end with him shoving her up the tree and fighting off rye-wolves. It ended with his banging her from behind. Hard. Sometimes she even imagined him parting her cheeks and shoving his cock into her back hole. And she’d never before been interested in anal sex. Hell, she hadn’t even been interested in regular sex. Not until now.

  She’d been too career-oriented for relationships or even recreational sex. She’d been the geek—graduating from both high school and college early to pursue medicine. She’d lived in the labs, consumed the latest studies like candy. Once she began working, she lived on the adrenaline of crisis and trauma. It was an addiction, she supposed. Her dreams were only of attending to trauma victims. Until the past few nights, when she’d been visited instead by images of Blade using her body as he pleased.

  What would it be like to be a Jeselian wife? To have a dominant, protective man like Blade in charge of her. To live under his hand.

  The airship fully materialized and landed. She watched the hatch open and a big dog run out. Her heart jumped in her chest. Dasha came out next, followed by several soldiers then Blade.

  Lara ran to meet her colleague, who jogged toward her with a smile.

  “Dasha, thank you for coming!”

  The Varusian laughed. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”

  “No, you didn’t. But I wouldn’t have asked for you if I didn’t truly need you here. And we’re safe enough.”

  Dasha nodded, her violet eyes full of wisdom. “I know.” She lifted her fingertips to touch Lara’s sternum and cocked her head. “You’ve changed, my friend.”

  “What?” But she shook her head, blushing. She really didn’t want Dasha to elaborate on that statement. Not out there on the field, anyway. Maybe in private, later. But, even then, she wasn’t sure she’d want to hear how she’d changed. “What took you so long? We expected the ship back yesterday.”

  “They couldn’t get into the clinic because the Republicans were on heavy patrol, so they had to land quite a distance away and travel on foot.”

  “On foot? Are you well? Do you need food or drink? Or rest?”

  “I am fine. Your warrior took good care of me.”

  “My warrior?” Once more, she didn’t care to hear her friend explain why she considered Blade to be her warrior. “Never mind.” She took Dasha’s arm and led her into the single low-slung mud-brick building, built into the side of a hill so it was hardly noticeable to anyone flying over. Of course, the sprawl of canvas sleeping yurts, medical tents, and dining tents didn’t blend quite so well, but she understood the place was cloaked using the magnetic waves from a large airship buried underground.

  Come in and I’ll brief you on the situation where you are most needed.”

  She told her about the surgery for the exiled president of Jesel, as well as the lack of proper anesthesia as they walked to Sheel Black’s quarters. She tapped lightly on the door and opened it.

  Her patient sat at the window, her forehead resting against the glass. She didn’t turn when they entered.

  “President Black? My colleague has arrived. This is Dasha Sunman.”

  The woman turned slowly, her eyes unfocused, the muscles of her face taut. “Thank you for coming.”

  Dasha bowed. “The pleasure is mine.” She walked forward and stood before the president. “I normally look into a patient’s eyes to redirect their mind. I know you have lost most of your vision, but can you try to focus on my face?”

  The president’s eyeballs turned and lifted slightly in the direction of Dasha’s voice.

  Dasha looked at her for a few moments then shook her head. “May I touch your forehead?”

  “Of course.”

  She extended two fingers and placed them between President Black’s brows then shuddered at the contact, as if electrocuted. “Ah, yes, this will work.”

  Sheel Black drew a deep breath, and her shoulders relaxed. “You took the pain away,” she said, wonder echoing in her voice.

  Dasha gave a serene smile. “Good. Now, if you’ll go to the bed, I’m going to see if I can put you to sleep.”

  The president settled herself on her hospital bed, and Dasha once more touched her forehead. The president’s eyes slid closed, and her body slumped back against the pillows.

  “Do you want to test her pain threshold somehow?”

  Lara cringed. Purposely causing injury to someone went against her every fiber. But Dasha was right; they had to be sure. She unwrapped a sterile needle and jabbed it mercilessly into the back of Black’s hand. Nothing happened.

  Dasha nodded. “I can slow heart rate and respiration. I can control blood flow to some extent. We do not execute invasive procedures like this on my planet, but I believe this can work.”

  “Good. That’s good news. We’ll do the surgery in the morning, then.”

  The ground beneath them shook, sending supplies flying off the counter. Lara grabbed the handle of the door to stay upright. Get out into open air. That had been the advice for surviving a quake. Staying inside increased their chances of being crushed. Before she managed to yank the door open, the quake stilled. She exhaled in a long gust. Her legs shook.

  Dasha’s amethyst eyes were round. “I hope this doesn’t mean more injured.”

  “So do I,” she said grimly.

  Chapter Six

  “Major fault line opened near Brunnick,” Bailey reported, turning from the screen. The Republicans and their irresponsible mines had emptied many of the planet’s underground aquifers, causing Jesel’s core to become unstable. “Republicans aren’t responding since most of the inhabitants are Jeselian.” He glanced down at the canine sitting at Blade’s feet. “What the hell is that animal doing in here?”

  He ignored the question about the dog. “I’ll get teams out there to provide basic first aid and bring the seriously injured in right away.”

  “You bring the injured in here, and your doctor will be distracted from the mission.”

  The words your doctor did something strange to his chest. He started to say, “she’s not my doctor,” to ward off the painful tightening there, except he found he wasn’t willing to release the thread that still connected them. “Have her perform the surgery as soon as possible. Today, if you can, so it’s done. Either it will work or it won’t. We have to know. The rebellion will happen regardless, but we need to know how to play this.”

  “I wasn’t aware she took orders from me. She seems to march to her own beat. Sort of like someone else I know.” Bailey’s sea green eyes studied him with open curiosity.

  “You can be persuasive.” He wanted Bailey to charm her with one of his intelligent explanations. The poor woman had had enough of his uncivilized ass.

  “So can you.”

  Somehow he didn’t think his form of persuasion—namely, spanking, would be the way to tell her how to do her job. “This isn’t my area, and you know it. I belong in Brunnick,” Blade said.

  Bailey handled the inner workings of the revolution, the underground movement and communications, the strategizing. He’d been hatching this plan for the revolution for eighteen months, and having President Black as a figurehead, urging her former constituents to fight for the freedom of their planet had been a crucial part. Bailey had masterminded it all, while Blade...well, he had be
en the steel.

  Bailey stood and Dog growled. Bailey froze.

  Blade cuffed the bluehound’s ear lightly. “Stop that.” Dog lifted his ears and wagged his tail in apology. “He’s still a little feral, but he’ll come around.”

  “Looks about as loyal to his master as they come.”

  He burrowed his fingers in the animal’s fur and drew his huge head against his thigh. “He’s a good dog underneath the bluster. He’s just had a rough time of it.”

  “Sounds like you again.”

  He didn’t dignify that with a response. Turning, he headed toward the door.

  “Be careful out there,” Bailey said, serious once more.

  Blade turned and covered his heart with his fist, bowing.

  Bailey mirrored the gesture. “Go with the Universal God’s protection.”

  ~~*~~

  Lara peeled the bloody gloves off and rolled her aching shoulders. The surgery had taken six hours, but had gone as well as possible. Once inside, she’d found not one, but three tumors, one large one and two smaller pea-sized formations. She’d been able to cut them all out without severing any nerves. They’d had to circulate the brain with a blood bath to keep things alive while she had it out of the skull. The bleeding had been minimal, and, thanks to Dasha, the president had remained stable throughout the entire procedure. Black lay in recovery now, with constant monitoring by both equipment and volunteer aides.

  They had bumped the surgery up because Bailey expected another wave of injured to arrive from the quake. She got the sense he wanted her to do the surgery before she got distracted by those in more critical need, which she could appreciate.

  Overall, other than the never-ending work, she’d been treated like gold. Only she, the president, Dasha, and Bailey slept in the mud-brick building. Everyone else lived in makeshift yurts, tents, or temporary housing, without plumbing or running water. Their building had been plumbed years before when it had served as a transport station.