by Anna Carven
Get a grip, fool.
One boot, then the other, and once again, she was fully clothed. Torin retrieved her belt and took great care to secure it around her waist, making sure everything was in place, including her cloak-pouch. He walked across to the other side of the table and retrieved her glowing wrist-device, which he tossed to her. “Come, Seph. You need to eat.” And perhaps, rest. After their lovemaking, she did appear perhaps a little brighter in spirit, but also more physically tired—he could read it in the slight slump of her shoulders; in the way her movements were just a fraction slower than before.
If time and circumstances permitted, he might even allow her to sleep, watching over her as she took a much-needed rest. From observation and talking with his fellow warriors, he knew most humans needed to sleep at least a third of every day-night cycle on Earth.
Otherwise, they became irritable and erratic, prone to making mistakes. Humans bodies were attuned to the day-night cycle of their vibrant blue-and-green planet. All things considered, Seph was doing remarkably well.
“Uh, Torin…”
“Yes, Persephone?”
“You’re still naked.”
“So I am.” His nakedness served two purposes. One, he was returning his nanites to as close as to their resting state as possible, conserving their energy. Two, he liked the little quiver of appreciation in her voice. “You humans have some strange ideas about nakedness and modesty. Why should the natural state be so offensive, so forbidden?”
“Clothing is an expression of identity,” she replied, sounding a little defensive. She increased her pace, walking a little bit ahead of him, her glorious buttocks swaying. “You might dismiss our need to dress ourselves as a strange idea, but aside from being functional, our clothes define our status in society—or at least, how we perceive our status, and how we choose to define ourselves. Without fashion, everything would fall apart. Isn’t it the same for your people, Torin Mardak?” Her voice took on a certain tone he hadn’t heard before; confident, authoritative, a little bit stern. A teacher’s voice. So different to the scared, cautious woman she’d been when they first met.
Oh, he loved this side of her.
“I see your point. We have our uniforms and our disguises, yes, but I will gladly go naked if it pleases you.” Clothing didn’t really matter to Torin, although he did enjoy the aesthetic appeal of some human fashions.
But when one’s entire body was a weapon—a dark-tech infested almost-machine—the outer shell became insignificant, especially when one had been endlessly poked and prodded and tested. Torin had no scars to show for his suffering. By Kordolian scientific standards, he was considered a perfect physical specimen—it was why he’d been selected for their infernal program in the first place—but memories of that mind-shattering torture lingered deep in Torin’s psyche, hidden beneath the cold veil.
Shit, they were all like that. Torin had earned his fucking strength, and if he wanted to parade his body around in front of his female because it pleased her, then he damn well would.
He crossed the floor and retrieved his weapons—twin swords, throwing knives, and his serrated longknife. With a simple mental command, he activated his sheath-apparatus and secured his weapons on his body. “Would you rather I wore my armor, Seph?”
“It isn’t that I don’t like looking at you,” she rasped, a red flush spreading across her cheeks, “but maybe for now… some pants might be a good idea. I just need to be able to think straight. You’re very distracting, Torin Mardak.”
“As are you, Persephone Winters. Pants. Got it.” Pleased with her reaction, he summoned the lower half of his exo-suit as he closed the gap between them. As he reached her side, he curled his fingers around her waist, enjoying the view from behind.
Seph didn’t protest. She just leaned into him a little.
“This way.” He guided her past Relahek’s ridiculously extravagant dining table, past a servant’s prep-station, all the way into a long, narrow room that was more corridor than chamber. On both sides, small objects necessary for the preparation of intricate foodstuffs were arranged on neat racks. Torin knew nothing about cooking, so he had no idea what most of the things were for.
He followed his nose, scenting fresh meat. Of course Relahek would have fresh meat onboard. He probably got the stuff delivered via waypoint drop, freshly killed and transported from the nearest land-planet.
Torin’s mouth watered as the aroma grew stronger. The last time he’d eaten was back on Silence, and that had just been a stack of ordinary old protein mix. Right now, he could just devour a side of fresh meat.
Unlike some of the other warriors, Torin actually enjoyed his food.
“What is this place, Torin?” The narrow corridor opened into a box-like chamber filled with small preservation units.
“Food stores.” He sniffed the air and walked across the room to a unit marked ‘wet’ in crude Veronian script. With a gentle tap of his palm, the thing slid open, revealing a large, perfectly intact leg of meat.
Torin didn’t know what animal it was from, but it smelled so good he began to salivate. “Mmm. Would you like me to cut you a piece, Seph?”
“Ugh…” Her soft sound of distress made him turn.
The color drained from her face.
“What is it, Seph?”
“I think I’m going to be sick. Sorry. I just…” She put a hand over her mouth.
“This does not appeal to you?” Shit. He’d forgotten humans preferred to cook their food. Despite all his research; despite all the questions he’d asked his mated brothers, nothing could have prepared him for the very real and important task of protecting, providing, and caring for a human mate.
Temperature, sleep, food, clothing, pleasure… When it came to human needs, there was just so much to learn!
Seph waved him away, trying to act nonchalant. “Don’t mind me. You go ahead and eat. I’m not all that hungry.”
“I don’t believe you. I heard your stomach rumble earlier.”
“That was before. Don’t worry about me. I’m used to going for long periods without eating. You’re the one who’s been fighting and getting injured on my behalf, and believe me, I will feel a whole lot better when you’ve fixed this instant weight-loss condition of yours. I don’t understand it at all, but if you need protein, then you need protein. Please knock yourself out.”
He blinked. “You want me to punch myself?”
“Eat,” she urged, pushing him toward the preservation unit.
A soft sound made him freeze. “Wait.” He held up a hand.
Scuffscuffscuff.
How had he missed that?
Torin spun and yanked open a storage unit. A furry tail shot up into the air. “What are you doing?” He hauled the Veronian out of the unit by her tail.
The alien shrieked. Full of fear, she dropped to her knees, bowing her head. “P-please Master, don’t hurt me.”
Torin felt a stab of sympathy for the slave, who had only ever known a life of subservience and fear. Sometimes, it was too easy to fall into the familiar old imperial patterns; to take Veronian submissiveness for granted.
But the Universe was different now, and Seph’s reaction to his Kordolian ways reminded him that old habits could change.
That was one of the things he loved about humans. Some were innately kind. Torin could never be like them. Perhaps he could walk in their light-filled world and pretend, but he was a Kordolian through and through, and he would never lose his fangs.
If he was Seph’s taint, then she was his light. He would draw on every shred of his darkness to protect her, always.
“Chichin,” he said, using the Veronian word that meant free one. “Relahek is my enemy. You are no slave to me.” He spread his hands wide, his palms facing outward to show he was no threat. “Get up. Parrus is in the third outchamber. He is fine. After you are done here, you may go and join him.”
“Parrus?” Her stripes glowed pink, and the cadence of her tail-waving
changed. “He is unharmed?”
“Indeed.”
The Veronian’s pink glow intensified.
Seph gave him a strange look; a secret look he couldn’t quite decipher. There was affection there, but also something resembling awe.
No, Persephone, I am in awe of you.
She was his. After waiting for so long… after witnessing several of his brothers fall into chaos and emerge with a human mate in tow, Torin had finally found his one.
And he would spare no effort to make sure her every need was taken care of.
He nodded at the Veronian, who had managed to regain some of her composure. “Prepare something for my mate, Veronian. Make sure it doesn’t resemble anything close to what a Kordolian might eat. Make it sweet.” Rykal had once told him that certain human females had a weakness for sweet things.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
Seph elbowed him. “She has a name,” she whispered in English.
Ah, yes. The first stage of respect was to acknowledge the being as an individual; a person.
“What are you called, chichin?”
The Veronian stared at him in shock, as if Torin had suddenly re-grown his horns. “K-Kvorae, Sir.”
“Kvorae,” Seph said, her voice taking on a gentle note that he’d never heard before, showing him such a different side to the stoic, determined woman he’d encountered on Zarhab Groht. “Would you help me out? I don’t need anything fancy, just something edible that will keep me going for a while. Sugar, carbs, protein. That’s all I want.”
Appearing relieved to have something to do, Kvorae nodded, her eyes widening and her stripes glowing brighter as she stared at Seph. The Veronian had probably never seen a human before. “I’ll make you sapha. Everyone likes sapha.” Kvorae rolled back the sleeves of her grey tunic and began to rush around the room, giving Torin a wide berth as she fished for ingredients in the various unmarked preservation units.
And that was how Torin suddenly became responsible for the welfare of not just one, but three souls. Removed from the hard-edged world of his First Division crew, he found himself in a strange alternate reality, where flame-haired goddesses turned to lovers, and only the honed edges of his Callidum blades held the savage world at bay.
Chapter Eighteen
They sat side by side in extravagant gilded armchairs at Relahek’s ridiculously long table, the one they’d just had sex on. Set to ambient light, Seph’s link-band lay across from them, bathing them in a muted glow as they ate. She felt as if they were subjects in some decadent renaissance painting entitled Kordolian and human lovers dine at the table of the defeated rogue.
Seph munched on her sapha, a dense, finger-shaped cake thing that had a flavor somewhere between vanilla ice-cream and pancakes, only not as sweet. Crispy on the outside and warm and gooey on the inside, it was pure comfort food. She chased the stuff down with a hot bitter tea that washed her palate clean, preparing it for the next delicious bite.
Beside her, Torin ate quickly, efficiently, carving up small pieces of raw meat with one of his knives. So Kordolians were pure carnivores. Predators. The fangs, the nails, the hyper-acute hearing, the dark-vision… now it all made perfect sense.
Whether he enjoyed his meal or not, Seph had no idea, because his expression never changed.
Actually, his silence made her a little uneasy, so she decided to break it. “Torin?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Aren’t you worried the Bartharrans might attack us here? It’s their ship. They can probably get inside if they want.” As she took another bite of her sapha, the gooey center burst and trickled over her fingers. She didn’t know what the stuff was made of, and she didn’t know whether it was healthy or not. All she knew was that it tasted damn good. Now that her nausea had finally settled, her hunger came roaring back.
“Bartharrans are terribly noisy,” Torin replied. “I’d hear them long before they got anywhere near us. They know that.”
“So we’re essentially barricading ourselves in here?”
“With its narrow entry and exit point, it’s an easy place to defend.” Between bites, Torin shrugged. “My preference would have been to breach their command center and force the Skalreg Va back to Zarhab Groht, but fight to get there would spread me too thin and put you in too much danger. Don’t worry. You’re safe here with me, Seph.”
“Until we get to Bartharra.” A tendril of dread snaked its way into Seph’s heart. “That’s just a death-wish waiting to happen.”
“For some.” Torin licked a spot of dark red blood from his lower lip, revealing his gleaming fangs. He looked so damn relaxed, like a big cat after devouring its prey, that Seph almost forgot they were discussing matters of life and death. “I know Bartharra well. These pirates will dock at a place called the Rakthari Coast, a neutral zone. I am quite confident I will be able to get us from there to base without too much trouble.”
“Did you just say base?”
“Yes. The Empire once occupied Bartharra. There are hundreds of Kordolian military bases scattered across the planet. Once we are safely inside, I’ll access the comms and request a retrieval from the nearest friendly vessel. The bases are well fortified, and our technology doesn’t decay. I don’t expect anything will have changed much since we withdrew our main forces from Bartharra. We’ll nestle there until our rescue ship arrives.” Torin raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Seph nearly choked on her bitter tea.
Damn you, Torin! How irresistible he was; how heart-stoppingly attractive.
Something incredible had happened since Torin first started eating. Slowly, subtly, the planes of his face had filled out, becoming a little less gaunt, a little less harsh. His muscle bulk had filled out to its original state, his magnificent—and still bare—chest becoming a little more prominent, his mouth-watering abs standing out just a fraction more.
Torin sat back with one leg hooked over his chair’s armrest, looking very much like a wayward prince. That lean, hungry look was gone, and in its place was a man in his physical prime.
Seph swallowed another mouthful of her bitter drink, trying to distract herself from all-consuming thoughts of naked Torin and his devious tongue. “You look like you’re back to normal. I’m relieved. For a moment there, I was worried.”
“Almost there.” He popped another morsel of meat in his mouth and licked his fingers. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.” The sight of those sensual lips closing over long, elegant fingers made Seph squirm in her seat.
Torin smirked.
Bastard.
He seemed to be enjoying this.
Torin drank his entire mug of bitter tea in a single gulp, even though the beverage was still steaming hot. “We have a little time to ourselves now, Seph. We have quarters, we have food, we have room, and if anyone tries to come through that door, I’ll take their fucking head off.” A mischievous smile played across his lips.
She contemplated him quietly, a million hot thoughts running through her mind. “How long until we reach Bartharra?”
“Based on our probable relative location to Zarhab Groht, I’d say it’ll be around the Earth equivalent of two weeks.”
“Two weeks? That’s not all that bad.”
“Bartharran ships are built on modified Ephrenian tech, so they’re surprisingly fast, and Bartharra isn’t all that far away.” Torin’s hand dropped to her thigh. With the same long fingers that had just been between his lips, he stroked her leg through the taut fabric of her travel suit. “With all this time on our hands, why don’t we just get to know each other and play?”
Yes! Her body reacted before she had a chance to think. With great effort, Seph pushed the carnal thoughts to the back of her mind, forcing herself to be still as a sneaking suspicion overtook her. “Sounds like you’ve got this whole thing perfectly planned, Torin Mardak. I almost get the feeling you’ve a plan in mind from the very start.”
His expression turned deliciously cryptic. “I’ve been doing
this sort of thing all my life, Seph. It is always chaos at the beginning, but eventually, you forge a path, beat things into order, and see a way through.”
“And these well laid plans of yours… do they always work out the way you think they will?”
“Almost never,” he chuckled, taking her hand. He gave her a gentle tug, pulling her into his lap. Seph went willingly. “But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” He ran a hand over the swell of her hip and captured her wrist in a firm grasp. Slowly, maddeningly, he licked the sticky sapha from each of her fingers. “I hate sweet things,” he murmured, circling the pad of her thumb with the tip of his cunning tongue, “but I love licking them off your skin.” He curled one leg around hers and thrust his fingers through her hair, caressing her scalp, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine.
Torin inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, and Seph felt the insistent press of his erection against her lower thigh.
Once again, he seemed to be naked.
Seph’s arousal flared, wiping the fearful thoughts from her mind.
Torin’s limbs entwined with hers, his hands roaming possessively. He turned her face toward him and kissed her. He tasted sweet yet bitter, his lips infused with an almost imperceptible metallic taint.
Sweetness, blood, and darkness. That was Torin through and through. With this dangerous, alluring creature wrapped around her, Seph came to a realization that was both terrifying and sublime.
She’d fallen for him, and he would never let her down.
With Torin by her side, she had no doubt she would see the blue, green, and white surface of Earth again. It might take a little while, and it might get dangerous from time to time, but she was no longer afraid.
How could she be, when she had one of the strongest creatures in the Universe by her side?
Chapter Nineteen
Time flowed into an endless stream of Seph, and Torin bathed in her presence.
He ate with her, slept by her side, and had in long, naked conversations with her about intergalactic politics and offworld cultures and the human condition, which he found absolutely fascinating. To his surprise, she knew a great deal about the Outer Sectors, enough to engage him in fiery debate, and on more than one occasion, win (although he would never readily admit it).
