At least, he was confident that Trace had gotten the message. Tarren admired the youth from the start, and hand-picked him so that the lessons he had learned in training would not be lost. Brash, thoughtlessly brave and arrogant, Trace reminded Tarren of a younger version of himself. For that reason alone he had loved him. Loved his fierceness, his determination to excel and even his snarkiness.
Last night had been an epiphany for them both. Tarren partly blamed himself for Trace’s behavior. Tarren knew that he had neglected to spend necessary time with the youth, and he felt guilty as a result. Frequent Liquidator and Rogue attacks had taken up most of his time lately, but the neglect of his charge would have to change if there was any hope for the youngster.
Even so, he knew that Natalia had judged wisely and meted out the punishment in the measure in which it was needed. Trace was still fearless--the slicing blows had crushed only his arrogance, irreverence, and obstinance.
They were so deeply connected on the spiritual level that they had not needed to exchange any words after the Ignitus. The shared experience had been equally painful for them both, and Tarren was confident that his own physical agony would teach the boy a lesson.
And now they shared shame, perhaps more potent than shared glory. It deepened their connection, and it was up to him to engrave it into their very souls just as it should be.
Chapter Seven:
Creed
“You look incredible in that bikini,” Gwenyth complained loudly.
Her arms were folded over her chest as she surveyed Brynn’s flawless pink and white flesh, her private parts barely concealed by the scant and flimsy material of the hot pink two-piece bathing suit she wore.
“It’s so unfair that you got our mother’s boobs, and I am practically flat chested. That completely sucks.”
Brynn chuckled as she surveyed herself in the three-way dressing room mirror of her massive closet. She had taken her shades off and thrown them onto the bureau within the space, and the vibrant pink color was striking with her ruby eyes.
“I do thank mom, but I have to tell you that having these breasts is very inconvenient in battle. I have to strap them down to protect them sometimes, and our enemy doesn’t take a woman in combat seriously. Anyway,” she continued, “You aren’t finished growing. When I was your age, I was 34B too. You will be amazed at the changes coming.”
A knock outside of the massive closet interrupted Brynn, her head snapping around toward the sound. Bayn stood just within the threshold. His eyes studied her with a lust he attempted to hide but failed epically. The look in his eyes made Brynn think of the kiss in the garden outside the Manse during the Victory dinner while the others had celebrated yet another win against the Liquidator’s advances to eradicate them. Heat crept up into her cheeks, and she turned back to the mirror, hoping he hadn’t seen it.
“Yes, Bayn. What is it? Hopefully, that prisoner of ours survived and is ready for interrogation,” she quipped, sincerely hoping he had survived his injuries.
She loved to administer an interrogation because, if they didn’t open up, she could make them and no one would say a word. All because of what he was or what they thought he was. She was still perplexed by the color of his blood.
“Yes he is much recovered,” Bayn agreed, searching her eyes for any recognition of what had transpired between them and finding none. “Surprisingly so. You should be careful. Even the Surgeon is not sure what manner of miscreant we are dealing with.”
Brynn stripped off the bikini and let it fall to the floor, gathering her clothes she had worn out to the mall. That was when she heard the breath catch in Bayn’s chest, audible and oh so obvious. She had never once cared who saw her sacred flesh, but she was beginning to wonder if she should take more care around the twin. He had an all too apparent infatuation with her that she wasn’t even certain she wanted to explore.
“Fine,” Brynn answered brusquely. Inwardly she was irritated beyond reason at the love-struck puppy dog look on Bayn’s face, so much so that she wanted to slap him and yell, “Snap out of it!”
It had been a kiss, a drunken one. What was that expression among the Electi? “Wine sweetens the lips and warms the valley of desire, but come the morn you have lain with a Liar?”--something like that. She wasn’t about to neither encourage a repeat performance nor give him the idea he had impressed her. She was all business and expected no less from him.
Once fully dressed, she brushed past him and strode down the corridor, her boots loudly echoing on the natural stone tile floors. Bayn’s heavier steps sounded behind her, and beyond that, it seemed as if a third set was also following.
Brynn turned around, fixing Gwenyth with a steely gaze.
“No. Absolutely not. You are not coming to the cells with us, Gwenyth. Now go back to your room.”
Brynn had to give Gwenyth credit. She staunchly stood her ground and glared back, a smaller version of her intimidating older sister right down to the defiant expression on her lovely face.
“I’m not a child,” she said, “and if we are currently training twelve-year-old boys to fight against the Liquidators and die, then you are way past time to teach your own sister how to protect herself. Oh, you’ve done a dandy job of keeping me safe. You’ve kept me so safe that I wouldn’t know a Liquidator if it sat on my face and wiggled.”
In spite of trying not to, Bayn snorted and bent his head as if he were smoothing his hair so that Brynn wouldn’t see his amused expression.
Brynn sighed with frustration. She had always known this day would come, though she dreaded it, and she had an answer ready.
“Then come if you want, but I warn you. What you see won’t be pretty, or smell lovely. If you have night terrors, you will only have yourself to blame, dear sister. But yes, come along. I think you should. It will at least cure you of your foolish curiosity.”
As soon as Brynn had turned and was walking again, Bayn and Gwenyth smiled at each other, and silently fist bumped behind her back. It wasn’t often Brynn acquiesced to someone else’s suggestion, particularly in matters having to do with Liquidators.
If that was truly what this imprisoned creature was.
As the hidden elevator at the end of the hallway descended five floors to a sub-basement area, Gwenyth’s stomach lurched and her early triumph turned to anxiety. What if Brynn was right? What if the very appearance of the Liquidator, or whatever he was, gave her nightmares?
Her DNA-based bravado took effect, and she squared her slight shoulders. She would not wimp out by showing fear or even disgust. She would take her cues from Brynn and follow her lead. After all, if the Daughters of the Electi did not show courage, they could not expect their followers to be fearless, could they?
When they reached the bottommost floor, and the old elevator creaked open, Brynn immediately addressed the five members of the guard stationed in front of the main gate to the cells. All of them saluted as soon as they saw Brynn and then dropped to one knee until she said,
“At ease!”
Both guards rose from their position on the floor and listened intently to their leader.
“I need a more recent update. Is the prisoner talking? Eating? Does he piss and shit? What manner of creature do you find him to be?”
The General Surgeon stepped forward and regarded the Daughter of Electi with a curt nod.
“He does not speak, although one of the guards heard him singing. His blood is red, not black, though a deeper hue than ours. He heals nearly like a vampire, though slightly more slowly. I am doing some genetic testing on his blood. He is unusually strong. We have had to keep him shackled with the enchanted chains and fetters as a precaution because of his enormous strength.”
Brynn nodded, rolling the information the Surgeon had just given her over in her mind, still unsure of what to make of any of it.
“Excellent. Take me to him.”
When Brynn and her entourage found themselves in front of one of the larger cells she was startled by th
e appearance of the muscular humanoid shackled against the far wall. The cell was clean and sterile, white walls and shining iron bars. His tanned flesh was even starker against the brightness of it. She had expected dirty, ugly and glowering as he knelt before her.
What she saw before her looked like a modern day gladiator with dark hair that hung in random loose curls to his collar bones and a five ‘o’ clock shadow. His dark brows arched in an intelligent manner over wide set dark eyes of indeterminate color. He had a straight nose and lips that were laterally generous. And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, he had a goddamn superhero cleft in his chin that made Brynn sigh. She had always been a sucker for a cleft chin, and she had to kick herself mentally to stop from removing the shackles right then and there and taking him as a woman should.
Her voice did not belie her emotions as she had the guard unlock the cell and stepped in between the iron bars, the stranger placidly watching her intently as if he were curious rather than fearful.
She looked down at him and said in a haughty tone, “Stand, Liquidator. You are in the presence of a Daughter of Electi.”
The captive hesitated just enough to make her ire rise. If he had hesitated a nanosecond longer, she would have enjoyed lopping off his head and displaying it that evening for all to see to know that she would not be seen playing games with those that stood against them.
“Daughter of the Electi,” he said, giving a slight nod while still holding her gaze. “So this is who I was fighting. So small you are, yet you fought so fiercely I thought that there was more than one of you trying to kill me.” He said all of this with a smirk as if doubting her fierceness would get a rise out of her, and he was attempting to incite one. But also showing that he undoubtedly admired her strength.
Brynn ignored the captive’s attempt at a backhanded compliment.
“What are you?” she asked, stepping close enough to him that she could catch the scent coming off of him.
Yet another thing she would attempt to ignore, as he smelled like musk and the darkly delicious scent of the soap they cleaned prisoners with. It was in no way extravagant, but the smell of his maleness underneath it made it nearly tempting to touch him. He was dressed only in a roughhewn pair of shorts that trailed down long enough to cover his upper thighs, long-boned and muscular. He was tall, very tall, perhaps taller than Bayn and Tarren, which was astonishing in itself.
“With all due respect, why should I tell you anything?” he countered, “Is this how the Electi conduct torture sessions? With a ‘Q-and-A’? Why not just get to the point? Bring out the Spanish Donkey, or the Sicilian Bull, the Judas Cradle, the Iron Maiden, the lead sprinkler? Am I missing anything? Isn’t that the way you medieval throwbacks do things?”
Brynn gave him a brittle smile and took another step toward him, crossing her arms over her chest. Bayn made a move to stay in line with her, but she shot him a look of blatant disapproval, so he stopped himself.
“I see that your inept leaders epically misinformed you. We have everything you can imagine including state of the art ‘chemical persuaders,’ if you will. We don’t need to torture those who are reckless enough to become our captives. We usually just dispose of them. I do, however, own some torture artifacts, including a pair of sterling silver crocodile shears that I am immensely fond of and am dying to use again.” When he didn’t react, she tapped one elegant boot on the floor and tossed her hair back. “What’s your name? You’re boring me already, and when I’m bored, I kill things.”
“Really?” the captive answered in a mild tone. “So do I. We seem to have a lot in common. Who would have guessed?”
Brynn was so intent on grilling the stranger that she did not hear Gwenyth come up from behind her until she heard her take in a breath, staring at the stranger with rapt fascination plain on her face.
“Just kill him, Brynn,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “I think I know exactly who this is.” She took a few brazen steps into the cell, stopping just shy of Brynn’s back. “I read about him. He is the estranged half-blood son of King Uictore, the leader of the Liquidators. His name is…”
“Creed,” the stranger said, cutting Gwenyth off mid-sentence. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Daughter of the Electi, even though you suggested my death just a moment ago. You’re so bloodthirsty for someone so young.”
Brynn glanced back at her sister, taking in the anticipation that was evident in the set of her mouth.
“And you said you needed to train at the school, huh? I don’t believe you even need it.”
Brynn heard the scraping sound of a heavy metal short sword being pulled from a scabbard and realized for the first time that Gwenyth had armed herself. Gwenyth brandished the sword and sent Brynn a pleading look.
“Please let me kill him, sister. He called me young.”
Brynn was both pleased and amused by Gwenyth’s response, but her demeanor didn’t reveal her intense amusement at her little sister’s reaction. She was attempting to remain the cold leader she had made certain every Liquidator knew of, and she was not about to waver.
“I promise that if I decide to have him killed today he is yours, dear sister,” she responded. “For now, he is mine.”
The sound of heavy boots approaching the cell was heard and soon Tarren appeared in the cell opening. Brynn raised her eyebrows in surprise. She’d purposely not included Tarren, reasoning that he might still be recovering from his wounds from the Ignitus Ceremony, but he looked fit as a fiddle already. Or he was at least putting on a brave face because he knew the prisoner was within their walls.
He gave her a brief nod with one eyebrow raised as if to say, You should know better than to try and leave me behind, but aloud all he said was, “Hail, Daughter of the Electi. I am at your service.”
Creed, the captive, seemed amused at Tarren’s appearance.
“I see you hire retired Chippendale’s dancers for your bodyguards. I should like to see them dance sometime.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when Tarren rushed past the trio in front of him and delivered a powerful blow to the prisoner’s midsection that caused him to double over, coughing and gasping for air immediately.
Tarren returned to his position with a self-satisfied look on his face, saying, “If you want to continue your impertinence to a Daughter of the Electi, feel free. I could use some sparring practice, you reprobate.”
When Creed had managed to catch his breath, he returned, “So brave to punch a shackled man. I shall take my time with your death Tarren Craven. Yes, I know who you are. You and your brother Bayn are famous as thugs for the Electi.”
There was no hiding their surprise at Creed’s knowledge of the ranks of the Electi, but Brynn chose to remain calm. Tarren started forward again, but Brynn placed a staying hand on his chest.
Reaching into her pocket, she removed what appeared to be a long thin Karyx wand she had gotten from Natalia years ago when she had been appointed as their leader. There were only two left in the world, and it had the mindfucking power to cause whoever it was directed toward to experience their darkest, deepest fears. It didn’t matter how hard they fought the images displayed to them. She held it out in front of her so that Creed could see she had it and, for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes.
“The interrogation will begin now,” she muttered, placing one hand on her hips and sauntering over to Creed to stop directly in front of him.
She twirled the Karyx wand between her delicate fingers, watching him intently as sweat broke out across his forehead and bare chest with anxiety.
Brynn turned to look at Gwenyth and said, “You shouldn’t be inside the cell while this takes place. I cannot risk his aggression on you.”
Gwyn shook her head, and when Brynn raised a hand to motion toward the brothers, Bayn took her by the shoulders and led her from the within the cell as Terran took his place just inside the threshold.
“No, I want to be in there. I will not just stand out here and watch,�
�� Gwenyth insisted, taking her older sister’s safety into account even though she had been previously frustrated with her because of her insistence she remain protected. That same irritation reared its ugly head once more.
“But you will,” Brynn shouted sternly.
Bayn’s eyes were full of apology as he closed the cell door and had the remaining guards on the outside lock the iron bars, locking Terran, himself, and Brynn inside with the massive man.
Brynn turned back to look at Creed, his stare intent on her as she stood before him and not once looked away. She smirked.
“Now, tell us about your mother.”
Creed shook his head. “I will not, Daughter of Electi. I don’t care what you do to me, but I will not betray my mother to your ilk.”
“Oh, you won’t? We will see about that.”
She flicked the Karyx wand, giving him only a small taste of what it was capable of. She saw the air just before him shudder and twinkle, an image almost taking shape before him, but she could not make it out. But, from his reaction, she knew he was acutely aware of what the wand would show him. Would show them. His weakness was just underneath the surface waiting to be brought into the light by the Karyx wand she held in her hand.
“Now, you do not have to so much tell us about her. Just her name. That’s all I want,” Brynn admitted.
“And what will her name do for you? Nothing.” He shook his head again. “It will give you nothing.”
“That is none of your concern,” Brynn replied as she flicked the wand again, the image flashing in the air just before him even though he had turned away from it.
It followed his gaze, making certain he would realize his worst fear would become reality. He squeezed his eyes shut, bending to her torture way too easily from the looks of it. She decided to use that and do the only thing she knew to in this situation.
Vindicta (The Liquidator Wars Book 1) Page 6
