by C. D. Gorri
*.*.*.*
Siora gritted her teeth, thrusting her sword into her opponent’s chest before he grunted and backed away.
“Damn it, Siora,” Cian said, holding his hand to his chest. “That fucking hurt.”
“You’re wearing protective gear,” she said, scowling. “You struck me just as hard in the side, and I didn’t even wince.”
“Maybe you’re tougher than me,” he said, still rubbing his chest as he grinned, “or maybe you don’t have the ability to hit like a girl.”
“Hit like a girl, my ass,” she muttered, tossing her sword to the ground before picking up the container to chug some much-needed water. Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm, she sighed. “I’ve never hit like a girl.”
“Truer words.”
Latimus approached, calling all the troops together and informing them they would spar another hour before heading home. Siora glanced at the sun, noting it was still looming above the horizon, and was pleased she’d have time to help her father at the farm before darkness settled in.
“You’re doing very well, Siora,” Latimus murmured, and she turned to stare into his sky-blue eyes. “I have no doubt you will become a battalion leader before the final battle with Bakari. After we win, you can have your choice of assignments, whether it be field-based or tailored toward security. I still plan to maintain an army, although it hopefully won’t need to be as formidable since we will finally be at peace.”
“I love combat,” she said, lifting a shoulder. “There’s something cathartic about kicking someone’s ass.”
Chuckling, he gave a nod. “That there is. Keep excelling, and you could become head of security at one of the compounds. That should keep you busy.”
“Lynia is my home, so that’s where I’d like to be stationed regardless of which position I attain. I’ll do my best to earn it.”
“I have no doubt.” Lifting his brows, he asked, “Want to spar with this old man?” He pointed his thumbs at his chest. “I’m feeling the need to expend some energy.”
Siora couldn’t contain her smile. A request from the powerful commander to spar with him in front of the troops was an honor and would help cement her status as a competent soldier. The army had only recently allowed women to join the combat troops, and she felt an intense obligation to prove the decision was warranted.
“I’m not going to go easy on you,” she said, arching a brow.
“I’d be disappointed if you did.” Striding toward the weaponry rack, Latimus selected a sword. Soldiers milled around, gathering to watch the impending showdown.
Lifting her sword, Siora crouched and pointed it straight at his chest. “Ready when you are.”
He settled into position before charging, and she felt the magnificent surge of adrenaline she always felt when an impending challenge occurred. Then, she swung her sword through the air, thrilled when the metal clanked against the commander’s, and got down to the task of kicking his ass.
Chapter Two
Siora arrived home that evening as the sun lingered over the far-off mountains, a bright, orange orb in the graying sky. Tossing her bag on the porch, she headed behind their small two-bedroom house to the fields lined with corn. Her father was hunched over, picking the husks and depositing them in his basket.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, her tone soft so she wouldn’t startle him. “Want me to help? I can grab a basket from the shed.”
“Hi, sweetie,” he said, rising and extending his hands. Grasping them, she placed a kiss on his forehead. “I’m almost finished, but thank you. The harvest has been good this year. Thank the goddess for the growing population of hungry Slayers and Deamons on our tiny compound. I’ve been selling out at my booth every weekend. The reconciliation of the species has been fantastic for business.”
“Better than all the centuries harvesting corn for the Slayers imprisoned at Astaria, that’s for sure. Maybe we’ll make enough to actually build the annex onto the house this year.”
“I think we might,” he said, light blue eyes the mirror image of hers sparkling in the rays of the lowering sun. “Your mother would be proud.”
“I’d like to think so,” she said, sifting the toe of her boot through the tilled dirt. “I still remember her singing to me all those years ago, before she was slain in the Awakening.”
“Goddess, but she had a beautiful voice,” he said wistfully, briefly closing his eyes. “You were the light of our lives. Our little Siora.”
“And then I became your big Siora,” she teased, lifting her arms. “I think I’m a head taller than you, Dad.”
“You have the constitution of a warrior. I have no idea where it came from, although your mother’s brother was a fine soldier, Etherya bless his soul.” He laid his hand over his heart. “I miss both of them terribly.”
Siora’s eyes darted between his. “Would you consider bonding again? If I continue to excel in the army, it’s possible I’ll have to move closer to the main castle at Lynia’s town square if I get promoted. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“It’s only a forty-minute walk into town,” he said, waving his hand, “and I know my daughter will come to visit me.”
“I will, and I can also teach you to drive a four-wheeler.”
“None of that,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not interested in the human technology you soldiers toy around with. I have two working legs, and they can carry me into town just fine.”
Chuckling, Siora tilted her head. “You know, I’m pretty sure I get my stubborn streak from you. It runs pretty deep.”
“Then I am proud,” he said, lowering to pick up the basket full of corn. “It is a noble quality no matter how badly your mother used to tease me for it. One must stand by their convictions.”
Siora reached over and tugged the basket from his hands, settling it on her hip as he emitted a huff.
“I can carry it, dear.”
“Let your daughter help you. You’ve worked all day.”
They trailed toward the home, Siora placing the basket in the shed before locking it.
“I’ll get to shucking them in the morning,” he said. “Let’s have dinner. I’ve got some Slayer blood ready, and Ophelia dropped off some nice wine she picked up in town.”
Grinning at the mention of their neighbor, who Siora suspected had a crush on her dad, she cupped his shoulder. “She’s a nice woman, Dad.”
“She is,” he said, climbing the wooden steps to enter their home. “I wasn’t sure when Queen Miranda and King Sathan decreed reformed Deamons could live on our compounds, but she is lovely.”
“You could take a day off and escort her into town for one of the street fairs.”
“Stop trying to matchmake, girl,” he said, shooing her with his hand. “I’m too old for that nonsense.”
“You’re never too old—”
“Enough,” he interrupted. “We should be discussing finding a mate for you.”
Rolling her eyes, she huffed. “Thanks, but I’m all set. I told you, I like being single.”
Curiosity entered his gaze. “Don’t you want someone to come home to after your long days of training to protect our world? Don’t you want to give your father some grandbabies?”
“Oh, brother,” she muttered. “We’ve officially entered the uncomfortable portion of the evening. Come on—let’s table this and have dinner and wine. That should take your mind off grilling me.”
They trailed inside, her father dismissing the subject for now, but Siora knew it would rear its head again. Reminding herself that he loved her and wanted what he thought was best, she let the conversation go.
Siora had never longed for a partner or to have kids. Was she against it? Not really. But being a plain, stocky girl who’d grown into a brawny, intimidating woman didn’t really appeal to men in her experience. She wasn’t biddable or coy or whatever the hell Vampyre males wanted in their mates. Although the immortal world had evolved somewhat from its stuffy, traditional history, it
still remained quite staid in her opinion. Now she was a warrior in the army and that only decreased her chances of finding a mate.
In her experience, Vampyre males wanted soft, wispy women who would giggle and bat their eyelashes as they flirted. Siora had never flirted in her damn life and had no reason to start now. She could never fake being someone she wasn’t. It just wasn’t in her DNA.
She liked being tough and was pretty sure she would one day become the highest-ranking female officer in the immortal army if she kept up her grueling training. No one knew she woke up at 4:00 a.m. every day and trained an extra two hours before reporting to duty. She was determined to be as formidable as any man on the field—more formidable if she had her way—no matter the energy she had to expend.
There was honor in that, and it satisfied her more than any man ever could.
Even General Garridan…
Gritting her teeth at the words as they silently flitted through her brain, she squeezed her lids shut, trying to rid her mind of the image of his strikingly handsome face. Deep amber eyes stared back at her, refusing to vanish no matter how hard she tried. His fangs glistened atop his full lower lip in her vision, above strong shoulders and a chiseled chest. The aristocrat towered over her, which had always been disconcerting. Very few men made her feel small, but the infuriating general certainly did. If he wanted to envelop her in his thick arms and tug her head back to claim her lips, he could overpower her in a second…
“Dear?” her father asked, perplexed as he held up two goblets. “Ready for dinner?”
“Yes,” she uttered, frustrated she was daydreaming yet again about the asinine general’s kiss. The visions had become more frequent lately, especially since he sparred shirtless around the troops. How was her brain supposed to function when he bared that magnificent chest at every opportunity?
“Bastard.”
“Who is?” her father asked.
Damn, she’d said it out loud. Sighing, she shook her head and sat at the small table, grasping the goblet of Slayer blood and lifting it high. “No one. To another great harvest. Congrats, Dad. It’s going to be a good year.”
Clinking his glass with hers, his eyes sparkled. “It certainly is.”
Settling in to the lovely meal with her favorite person on the planet, Siora tried to push thoughts of Garridan from her mind while inwardly admitting the task was futile.
*.*.*.*
Garridan scowled behind the wheel of the utility vehicle as he approached his home at Valeria. It sat beside his parents’ austere mansion but wasn’t as large. They’d given him the plot of land centuries ago, hoping he would build a home, settle down with a bonded mate, and have children. Well, one out of three wasn’t bad, he guessed.
His father sat on the porch, his face an impassive mask as always. Turning off the four-wheeler, Garridan steeped from the vehicle and approached.
“Hello, Father. I expected you to already be at dinner with Mother and Sebastian.”
“Sebastian was held up at the governor’s mansion and won’t make dinner tonight. It afforded me the opportunity to speak to you.”
Lowering into the chair opposite his father, Garridan eyed him warily. “If you’re looking to argue, I’m exhausted and would rather wait until I have the energy.”
Astaroth’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be antagonistic. This will only take a moment, but it’s important.”
“Okay.”
“Would you like to go inside?”
“It’s a nice evening,” Garridan said, relaxing in the chair. In truth, he cherished his space and didn’t want his father’s toxic energy inside his home. “Let’s chat here.”
“Very well.” Lacing his fingers, he rested his hands in his lap. “There is a fundraiser in two weeks as the king and queen are looking to raise money for the army. It will be held in the main ballroom at Valeria’s governor’s mansion.”
“Good,” Garridan said with a nod. “The new TECs are expensive, and it will be nice for the aristocrats to contribute to the cause.”
“As opposed to you, who contributes with brawn and sweat. I am still frustrated you donated your entire trust to the immortal army. I can’t fathom how you exist on a soldier’s salary.”
“This land you gave me was all I needed,” he said, gesturing with his hand. “I have a home and a job I love. Wars are expensive, and we must win them if you want to keep living your lavish lifestyle.”
“Don’t mock me. You are still the beneficiary of much privilege as my son.”
“I know,” he said, softening his tone. “I appreciate what you and mother have done for me. I’m sorry you don’t understand my choices. We’ve been doing quite well at agreeing to disagree, haven’t we?”
His father’s lips twitched. “We have, but I fear that might soon change.”
Garridan’s eyebrows lifted. “Because?”
Silence stretched between them before he spoke. “Because I have promised Handor you will accompany Celine to the fundraiser as her escort.”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “No. It’s possible I won’t even be available that evening. The training sessions are becoming more intense as we near the final battle with Bakari.”
“Son,” Astaroth said, leaning forward, “when the battle is over and the immortals win by the grace of Etherya, you will have no place as a soldier. It will be time to resume your aristocratic duties. Time to find a mate and settle down. Celine would be a fine choice.”
“Celine is a lovely woman, but she is not my mate,” he said with finality. “And I will still remain in the army in some capacity. I love it too much to leave.”
“Ridiculous,” he spat, sitting back and huffing in frustration. “You have a duty!”
“Duty is what we make of it, Father.” Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, he sighed. “I won’t let you push me into a life I don’t want. I’m sorry.”
Rising, his father’s thin body vibrated with anger. “You know nothing of duty,” he said, jabbing a finger in his face. “Nothing of what it means to uphold your aristocratic obligation with honor!”
“Don’t yell at me,” Garridan said, rising to his full height, several inches above his father. “I don’t want to argue. Focus on Sebastian if you must. Perhaps you can ‘save’ one of your sons from ruin,” he said sardonically, making quotation marks with his fingers.
“Sebastian is another story, and I won’t let you change the subject. At least he sits on the council and fulfills his aristocratic obligation. You both need to bond with an honorable female, but he does not shirk his duty.”
“You have some nerve to say I shirk duty when I’ve fought by Commander Latimus’s side for centuries. Go home to mother. I’m done with this conversation.” Dismissing him, he began to walk toward the front door.
His father grabbed his arm, causing him to whirl around, and anger simmered in his gut.
“I will donate the funds to Queen Miranda for her to purchase a thousand additional TECs for the final battle if”—he lifted a finger—“you escort Celine to the fundraiser in two weeks’ time. If not, you can explain to the queen why I have withdrawn my donation.”
“That’s absurd. Defeating Bakari will help solidify your safety as well. You’re drowning in money and will barely miss the donation.”
“I’ve made my decision,” he said, slicing a hand through the air. With a final nod, he began trudging down the stairs. “I would like an answer tomorrow so I can confirm to Celine’s father you will accompany her. Good night, son. I won’t tell your mother of your disparagement of our heritage. It would break her heart.”
Garridan watched him stalk away with slitted eyes, furious at being manipulated with the one thing he loved most: protecting his people. Wondering for the millionth time how he was related to someone so cold and unyielding, Garridan muttered to himself as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.
After a warm shower and much contemplation, he sat down to enjoy his dinner of Slayer blood and wine. Fu
rious, he admitted he would accompany Celine to the fundraiser because his men needed all the extra weapons they could get.
“Your soldiers need all the weapons they can get,” he murmured in a self-deprecating tone, acknowledging Siora would shoot him a hate-filled glare if he called the troops “men.” He’d done it a few times in front of her—out of habit and certainly unconsciously—and she’d raked him over the coals for it each time.
Feeling the corner of his lips curve, he acknowledged how much he cherished her furious scolding. Hell, he actually longed for it. She would stare up at him with those gorgeous eyes, spittle flying between her fangs as she laid into him. Sometimes, she would even shove him or punch his arm before he gave her a look of warning, reminding her he was her superior. Her glorious features would form a scowl under her short cap of black hair, and she’d grunt before walking away, muttering to herself what an ass he was.
Would she grunt like that if he returned her touch? If he drew her toward him and fashioned those full red lips into some action other than scolding him? Perhaps kissing him with fervor, as he longed to do to her, or placing the plump flesh over other parts of his body…
Glancing down, Garridan grimaced at the erection now tenting his sweatpants. All it took was one thought of Siora’s gorgeous lips, and he was hard as a damn rock. Deciding he needed a release, he slid his hand beneath the waistband, gripping his turgid cock as he groaned.
“Siora,” he whispered, sliding his hand back and forth over the sensitive flesh, imagining it was her hand…her lips…her tongue…
And then, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully succumb to the vivid dream he wished was reality.
Chapter Three
The next day, Siora sparred with one of the new recruits from Naria as Garridan and Latimus observed. The new soldier, Kristoff, was skilled and quick as a damn jackrabbit. Every time she tried to gain the upper hand, he anticipated her strike. Frustrated, she gave a grunt and thrust her weapon. He knocked it to the ground and promptly held his blade to her neck, causing her to curse.
