by Anna Carven
But there was no way to stop the blood and smoke and debris and bodies from clouding his vision, from blocking his path.
He’d let go, had pushed her away.
To save her life.
Suddenly, Torin felt like a part of his soul was missing, and if he didn’t get it back…
“I’ll kill every single one of you,” he hissed in Kordolian, a great darkness spreading through his heart. His loss, his fault, his fucking madness. To have found the one he’d been yearning for all his life, and to be forced to give her up in almost the same breath…
It nearly destroyed him.
“Amanhiel, Amanhiel…” There was that infernal chant again, as several Bartharrans converged upon him. What the fuck does that mean? Beyond his circle of enemies, the Plutharans still were fighting to the death.
Suddenly, gravity returned.
They all dropped to the floor, and Torin found himself covered in a pile of writhing bodies. Heavy, muscular, stinking Bartharrans pinned him down.
He lashed out with his claws and the entire mountain shifted, trying to get out of harm’s way.
Torin pushed through, punched through, cut through, trying to follow the ones who had taken Seph, but there were too many cursed bodies blocking his path, and by the time he finally fought his way out and found an opening, she was gone.
“Persephone,” he yelled at the top of his lungs in her language, desperately hoping she could hear him. “I am coming!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They had her!
Seph screamed and swore and kicked and punched, but it was no use. The Bartharrans were terribly strong, and they moved fast, their massive bulk and powerful bodies helping them generate huge momentum.
After her panic subsided, it took her a few precious seconds to realize that she was actually hanging upside-down over a large male’s shoulder. Her head swayed, her curly hair bouncing up and down to the rhythm of the Bartharran’s steps.
What the hell?
Gravity was back, and the Bartharran was running fast, and she was unarmed. The pirate had curled one huge muscular arm around her waist, trapping her arms as well, and there was nothing she could do to break his iron grip.
She’d been abducted by a seven foot tall barbarian, and she had no idea what the Bartharrans wanted with her.
Torin had let go of her.
He’d wrenched her arms off his body and pushed her away.
Shock and hurt had coursed through her, only to be replaced with terrible understanding as she saw the green plasma fire engulf his body. The heat had touched her for a split-second, and it had been intense. If she’d stayed there just a moment longer, she would have died.
I am coming!
She clung to the memory of those words. How angry he had sounded, how desperate.
These Bartharrans didn’t understand what they’d just done. If anything happened to her, Torin would tear this entire fucking ship apart with his bare hands. He would become death incarnate.
Unable to lift her head up to see, Seph could only stare at the floor, trying to count the pairs of feet on either side of her. Bartharrans didn’t seem to have any need for footwear; their feet were covered in rust-colored scales that faded mid-way up the ankle, turning into smooth, golden skin.
There were perhaps eight or nine of them, all running around her captor in a protective formation. Now and then, they communicated with one another, emitting low grunts and unintelligible snatches of Bartharran.
They broke away from the chaos of battle, gaining speed. The raging Plutharans became a distant memory as Seph was faced with an entirely new problem.
“Woop, woop, woop,” one of the Bartharrans said softly as those strange animals from earlier—nak nak, Torin had called them—emerged from some unseen place to run alongside them. The creatures would occasionaly weave amongst the Bartharrans like darting fish, their glossy red coats shimmering between legs encased in rust-colored armor and dark brown leathers.
“What do you want with me?” Seph groaned, her voice trembling as her head bobbed up and down. The blood went to her head, making her feel dizzy and a little nauseated.
The Bartharran murmured to her in his strange language, his tone surprisingly soft and almost… reverent.
Now why would that be? Seph tried to think, but her head was full of death and destruction and the steady thump thump thump of the Bartharrans’ gait.
There was that crazy goddess theory of Torin’s, but it seemed so ridiculously far-fetched that she had trouble believing it. Besides, if they truly thought she was this so-called star goddess, they wouldn’t be forcibly hauling her off to some unknown location without her consent now, would they?
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, urgency creeping into her voice. Surely at least one of these warriors spoke Universal. “You know I’m with him, right? Tall, silver, handsome, carries a pair of very sharp swords… you know he’s going to kill you now, don’t you?”
“Bakre og Amanhiel,” the Bartharran grunted, either unwilling or unable to respond to her in a way she could understand.
Seph squirmed under his grip, testing her boundaries, but the Bartharran wouldn’t budge. He just squeezed her tighter, forcing the air out of her lungs.
“Maglik ag, Salu,” the Bartharran whispered. His grip was beginning to hurt, and hanging upside down like this was starting to give her a pounding headache.
Damn it! Why did so many other species in the Universe seem to be stronger than humans? In terms of physical power, she was hopelessly outmatched.
An aggravated sigh escaped her as she went limp, sensing she would never win against this Bartharran in a battle of pure strength. Seph closed her eyes as she swayed, thinking of that special place Torin had conjured up for her in a moment of sublime tenderness.
In bed with me… on Earth.
Yes, he would be curled up in the pure cotton sheets of her big soft bed, and they would listen to the rhythmic ebb and flow of the afternoon tide as it washed against the palm-fringed shore.
With all the violence and horror she’d witnessed since coming aboard this pirate vessel, she should have been terribly traumatized, but all she could think of was her rough, homely little apartment in Cayenne, with its old-fashioned wooden furniture and antique paper books and tropical vert-garden surroundings. How she would love to bring him to her secret sanctuary, the place where she never, ever brought anyone.
Torin was going to come for her. She knew it in her heart of hearts. It was just a question of when.
Chapter Twenty-Three
His swords were gone. His throwing knives were gone. His gun was still in its holster, but that was it.
None of that mattered to Torin, though.
All he could think about was how they’d snatched away his precious mate in his ultimate moment of weakness, and he’d had no choice but to let her go.
Torin roared in frustration as he threw a Bartharran aside, causing the big alien to crash into the dirty white wall with a resounding thud. A lone nak nak ran from the scene, howling.
Torin relentlessly pushed through the chaos, dispatching anyone who stood in his way.
He stabbed them with his claws. He fried them with plasma, his arm growing heavy under the weight of repeated blasts. It didn’t matter. He would fire and claw his way through these cursed Bartharrans until every last one of them was dead, if that’s what it took.
Torin was beyond rage. They taken her from him, and he was falling into a dark, savage place. The cold veil was long gone; shattered. Torin wasn’t a soldier anymore. He was alone now; anchorless, rudderless, cut off from his people.
Relying on his own instincts.
He was just a man with a heart, but his heart had been stolen, and if he didn’t get it back…
He would destroy everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
They brought Seph into a large room filled with clunky metal consoles. Small lights glowed on instrument panels, bathing the spa
ce in a soft blue light.
At last, they put her down. Her captor dumped her—rather gently—in a large metal seat, holding his hand up in warning.
“Obog.” The meaning was clear. Don’t move. He crossed his golden arms, muscles bulging all over the place. Sharp tusks thrust forward. Strange eyes narrowed. This was the first time Seph had seen a Bartharran’s eyes up close. Black sclera surrounded a small black point—pupil or iris, she couldn’t quite tell. The thoughts behind those eyes were completely unfathomable to her.
What do you want with me?
The other Bartharrans stepped aside, bowing their heads as an even larger, scarred male—this one standing about a head taller than the others—came to stand beside her captor. Seph recognized the male from earlier; the one Torin had called Clannath… or something.
Their leader, perhaps?
He appeared a little older than the others, his face hard and weathered, like old leather. To her shock, he slapped the other Bartharran hard on the upside of his head. The younger one glowered and launched into a blistering tirade of harsh words, grunts, and growls.
The boss Bartharran slapped him again, harder this time. He barked a single unintelligible word.
The young one backed down, muttering under his breath as he lowered his head.
Seph observed all of this in mute horror, terrible possibilities flickering in her mind. As the Bartharrans played out their strange ritual of manly dominance, she stole a glance around the room. A navigation hologram rose from a console in the center, displaying a large red planet with two moons. Bartharra. The resemblance to Mars was striking, but it definitely wasn’t the Red Planet humans were so familiar with.
To her even greater surprise, the big dominant male dropped to his knees before her, bowing his head. “Blessed Salu,” he said in highly accented Universal, his gravelly voice becoming surprisingly tender. “This unworthy one is eternally sorry for the rough treatment. You must understand, we had to get you out of the danger, out of the hands of Chaos.”
“Chaos?”
“If we do not act, Amanhiel will destroy us all,” he growled.
A series of explosions resounded from deep within the bowels of the ship. When the big Bartharran looked up at her again, there was an unholy light in his black-and-red eyes—he wore the feverish expression of a fanatic.
Oh, no. Why did that expression give her the creeps? She was half-tempted to protest, to tell these fearsome pirates that they were mistaken and she definitely wasn’t this Salu, but she feared what they might do to her if they realized she wasn’t their revered goddess.
Her thoughts whirled. Despite all her studies, she knew very little about Bartharran culture. The Universe was so vast and diverse and complicated that her knowledge felt like small pieces of a giant incomplete puzzle.
Dribs and drabs. On Earth, she was an expert. Out here, she was just another citizen of the Universe.
Torin was right. They think you’re a goddess. They revere you.
Seph took a deep breath and steeled herself. She still didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
She had to pretend.
Imagine you’re this goddess… Salu. Inwardly, Seph cringed. Holy shit, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Casting doubt from her mind, she straightened and tried to summon her best, most imperious ‘bow down to me puny mortals’ look. She channelled a little bit of human folklore, and a little bit of Torin, remembering how he looked when he was feeling imperious.
“Take me to him,” she demanded, unfolding her arms and leaning back in the metal chair. “I must see Amanhiel.”
The boss Bartharran stiffened, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “We cannot return you to the curse. Do you not understand, blessed Salu? We are here to save you from him, to return you to the place you yearn for in your heart of hearts.”
Earth?
No, not Earth.
Disappointment hit her as she realized these Bartharrans weren’t going to follow her every command. They saw Torin as the enemy, and as for her…
“Now be still and fret not, blessed Salu, because we must prepare.”
“Prepare for what?” she looked around, trying to disguise her alarm. The Bartharrans—around eight or nine of them in total—were crowded around her, blocking any potential escape points. They all wore the same unnerving expressions, their eyes intense and burning… fanatical.
Ominously, the hulking alien didn’t answer. He just stroked her cheek with his leathery hands and whispered something in Bartharran.
It took all of Seph’s willpower to not recoil as if she’d been touched by acid. If this went on for much longer, something was going to break, and she was going to lash out or panic.
Serenity now! On the outside at least, she had to try and appear calm, but how the fuck was she supposed to do that when she was surrounded by a group of menacing Bartharrans who wanted to prepare her for some unknown event?
Think of Earth.
No, that wouldn’t be enough.
Think of Torin.
He was coming for her, and he would arrive amidst a storm of death, but would he come in time?
He will.
She needed to believe it with all her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A wall of Bartharran pirates stood before him, turning the corridor into a sea of green fire. Torin had hacked, slashed, and shot his way through most of the ship, killing dozens of Bartharrans and a few Plutharan marauders in the process, but still they kept coming.
Most of the Plutharans seemed to be retreating, perhaps to where their escape-vessels were docked.
Malhak.
Amanhiel.
Those were the names they called him as he ripped into the Bartharran horde, but now he was Malhak in name only, because they fought him with renewed fervor, having apparently decided to take back that title.
It didn’t matter. Every time a new challenger stepped up to face him, he dispatched them with savage efficiency. Get out of my way. The time for negotiation, for talk—that was long gone.
Torin’s fury knew no bounds. These deaths brought him no regret, no remorse, no soul-searching.
He just wanted his mate back.
That was all.
His one-in-infinity; the soul he’d been waiting to meet his entire life… against all odds he’d found her, and they had snatched her away.
For what?
He would not delay long enough to find out.
Torin strode ahead and got smashed in the chest by a bolt of plasma. It threw him back. He stood up. Strode forward. Got shot again, and again, and again. His exo-armor weakened under the force of the sustained plasma-fire. He raised his arm and fired, once, twice, three times, picking off three Bartharrans.
As quickly as they fell, they were replaced by others.
Torin growled in frustration.
Pain crawled over every inch of his body and dug a deep, excruciating tunnel that burrowed into his chest, his spine, and his head. He could no longer gather the cold veil. It had been replaced with fire; white-hot anger that scrambled his thoughts and made his movements wild and uncontrolled.
All his training deserted him.
Get her back! It was all he could think of.
The Bartharrans had formed a defensive barrier; a wall of bodies, a fortress of golden flesh. They raised their guns to shoot him again, and this time, Torin moved differently.
He ran alongside the wall, digging his claws in whenever a storm of plasma threatened to throw him back.
And bit by bit, he advanced, anchoring himself to the wall and firing back when he could. He ignored the damage to his armor, which was starting to look patchy. Even though the Bartharran guns were inferior—probably sourced from Ephrenian traders—Callidum-impregnated nano-armor couldn’t sustain repeated plasma blasts.
A bolt of plasma seared the side of his face, burning away part of his helm. Torin felt
the flesh of his cheek, mouth, and eye burn away, only for his nanites to instantly swarm into place and mend the damaged tissue.
Keep moving!
The intense healing and regeneration forced the nanites to sacrifice the integrity of his exo-armor. That’s why his legs were injured next, the plasma fire burning through the flesh of his thighs. Torin was engulfed in his own personal hell, wave after wave of excruciating plasma savaging parts of his body. His nanites were in overdrive, consuming flesh where they could, replacing tissue in critical places.
Torin had been in countless battles. He’d been injured many times, and he’d been subjected to the most cruel, excruciating experiments, but he’d never experienced pain like this. Several times, he almost passed out from the sheer agony of it, but he kept going.
Nothing could keep him away from his Persephone, nothing. Perhaps if he’d had time on his hands, if he hadn’t been so desperate, he might have been able to figure out a more strategic approach, but he was deathly afraid of what the Bartharrans might do to his mate if he didn’t reach her in time.
Even Kaiin, the death god, wouldn’t be able to stop Torin from dragging himself out of the infernal Nine Hells if he had to.
The Bartharrans fired another devastating round of plasma, but it didn’t matter, because Torin had reached them.
Summoning strength from a place he didn’t know existed, he forced himself to move. He was more beast than man now, surrendering to his most primal instincts as he took the line of Bartharrans down, shooting two of them point-blank in the face, digging his claws into throats. Blood sprayed everywhere, and his nanites rose to the surface, hungrily absorbing the crimson splatter.
The Bartharrans fought back, hitting him with fire and sword in the places where his armor grew ragged and thin. Torin took one of the blades that was pointed at him and turned it against his attacker. He lashed out, losing himself in a red haze of anger.
