by Jake Stone
Zorel reaches up to kiss me, and I feel the tip of her tongue gracing the seam of my lips, when I suddenly hear Petronelous’s voice.
“Enough,” the redhead says, shoving Zorel to the side and moving in front of me to meet my gaze. “It’s my turn this week.”
Zorel groans in the background, her arms crossing against her chest as she begins to pout. “You don’t have to be so rough about it, geez.”
I’m about to kiss Petronelous when she’s suddenly shoved to the side, and I see Chun Hei standing before me. With long black hair and purple eyes, she’s stunning to look at, but when she smiles, a facet of her beauty that is rarely gifted due to her tortured past, she, inexorably, becomes that much prettier.
“Glad you’re back,” she signs to me.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s gonna take a lot more to get me out of this outfit.”
“Agreed.” And with that, the dark-haired beauty yanks me away from the other two women, pulling me to one of the beds, where she removes my gauntlets and begins to check my hands. Her dexterity as a marksman, amongst other things, had caught the attention of the monks, who quickly admitted into the ranks of healers. Now, she’s not only a crack sniper who can kill at a whim but a healer in the making.
I wince as she finds a bruise on my wrist, a dark blot of blood that congeals beneath my skin. Digging into one of her supply bags, she pulls out a pad doused in an herbal liquid that smells of turmeric and sticks it to the wound, holding it there until I feel the ache begin to dissipate.
“Wow, that feels better.” I sign with my other hand. “Thanks. It was starting to get painful underneath my vambrace.”
“Speaking of…” Zorel says, glaring down at her golden armor and crinkling her nose. “I think it’s about time we get out of these heavy things. Wouldn’t you agree, girls?”
“Indeed,” Petronelous says thoughtfully. “I could use some breathing room.”
“You took the words out of my hands,” Chun Hei signs to the both of them, inspiring a laugh from all of us.
I watch, smiling, as the women wander back to their beds, each of them turning their backs on me as they begin to detach the sections of their battle armor. It’s weird. Even though I’ve had sex with each of these women, I’m still a bit uncomfortable in situations like these.
Allowing them their privacy, I turn away. But everyone once in a while, I steal a glance at their bodies, unable to give in to the deep lust burning in my loins.
I watch as Zorel removes her breastplate, stripping down to the black body suit that insulates her body and I feel my cock harden by the plumpness of her breasts. Before she can notice, I look away, only to be hit in the face with Petronelous’s ass.
Ugh, this is tough.
I shut my eyes, and shake my head, trying to rid myself of the raging hard-on that’s threatening to pop out of my armor, but when I reopen them, I find myself gawking at Chun Hei’s long toned thighs and slim waist.
Fuck!
Interestingly, I’m actually relieved when Atia storms into our quarters, her helmet retracted, her face flushed with anger, as she stabs me with her eyes. “Xander Cross.” She plants her hands on her hips. “What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?”
I swallow, feeling my cock die instantly.
Atia’s magnificent in her fury, her shoulder-length blond hair falling sharply beneath her jaw, her steel-blue eyes almost blazing in their accusation. She looks as if she’s been carved from anger itself, and I find my heart nearly stopping by her beauty and my own fear.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, rising to my feet.
“Disobeying a direct order? Disregarding the War Council? Our job was to destroy the generators; that was all!”
“Our job was to secure the beachhead,” I reply, holding her gaze.
“It’s not your place to make that distinction.”
“Then whose was it?”
“The War Council.”
“The War Council.” I snort. “If it was up to the War Council, we’d all probably be dead right now.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she says. “Your dereliction of duty could’ve cost us Petronelous’s life, if not your own.”
I glance at Petronelous, watching as she’s hugged from behind by Zorel, who wraps her arms around the redhead’s waist, pressing her face against hers.
They look at me with such longing, with such despair, as if my own shame and embarrassment hurt them as well. How could I have done this? How could I have put one of them in danger? I look away, my heart hardening in my decision to leave them behind.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right.”
Atia lets out a long sigh, my sudden admission frustrating her even more. Perhaps she was expecting a long fight, as is usually the case with me. But I don’t offer her one.
“What did they tell you?” she finally asks, her voice now tinged with sincere concern.
“I’m not excommunicated, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I say. “And don’t worry,” I add, “your record is still clean.”
“That’s not…” she stops herself, cupping her face with a hand. “What are they going to do with you?”
“They’ve given me an option,” I announce to the women, meeting each of their gazes.
“Yes?” Atia says.
I hold up the digital device in my hand, and she looks at it quizzically. “What is that?” she asks.
“Coordinates,” I say.
Atia’s brow creases. “To where?”
I shrug. “See for yourself.”
Atia lodges the device into her vambrace and holds out the underside of her wrist, where the light of a hologram suddenly leaks out and spreads out into a frozen landscape of snow and mountains. On top of one of the highest peaks, the same red dot that I saw in the tent begins to blink again. The women crowd around in fascination.
“I know this place,” Zorel says, her face darkening. “I read about it in the scrolls back at the monastery, the last known communication signal between the expedition and the republic.”
Zorel. Of all the women, she’s always been the Wikipedia of our group when it comes to the supernatural and geography of the galaxy. Whether it’s because she’s an elemental, or because she just has a morbid fascination of the enemy, she always seems to have the background.
“Why did they give this to you?” Atia asks me.
“Because they want me to find it,” I reply. “And because in four days, General Alvarium is going to lead the entire army against Lord Bantha and his minions. And he needs to know what it was that defeated the Republic army during the First War.”
“Sounds like an important mission,” Zorel says.
“Important enough to sacrifice a Battle Saint?” Petronelous asks.
“Duty, sister,” Atia reminds the redhead, putting her in her place.
Petronelous bows her head despite herself. “Of course, Captain. But still—”
“Yes,” I say, hoping to end the quarrel before it can begin. “It appears that the information is worth the value of my life.”
“More so,” Atia says, drawing my attention. There’s no malice in her voice, no petty contentment that she relishes. Instead, I only hear the heavy tone of resignation. “More than all of us.”
I nod in acceptance.
“According to this,” Zorel says, peering at the hologram, “we’ll be well behind enemy lines.”
“Without any chance of support or reinforcement,” Petronelous agrees.
“And you can forget about a supply line,” Chun Hei adds in her sign language.”
“A difficult situation, indeed,” Petronelous agrees.
“Correction,” I say, gaining their attention. “A difficult situation, that only I will be in.”
Petronelous frowns. “What do you mean?”
“He plans to go alone,” Atia says as she’s struck by realization.
Zorel exchanges a glance with Chun Hei, their worry clearly written acros
s their beautiful features.
“Why are you doing this, Xander?” Zorel asks.
“Because it’s too dangerous,” I say. “And I’m not going to put you in that position again.”
“Unacceptable,” Chun Hei quickly signs. “Where one of us goes, so do we all.”
“Agreed,” Petronelous says.
Zorel nods emphatically, her gaze turning to Atia as if expecting the captain to agree with her. She doesn’t.
“Atia?” Petronelous asks, trying to awake her from her gaze.
Atia stares at me through the hologram of frosted mountains and snow filled winds, her gaze hard and unchanging. She’s torn, I can see, pulled apart by her responsibility as a soldier and her personal desires. She knows I’m right. Accompanying me into such a dangerous and unknown territory is idiocy, and she doesn’t want to put the others in harm’s way, just as she knows I don’t.
“Xander’s right,” Atia finally says. “If we were to go with him, it’s highly unlikely that any of us would come back.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved that she’s plainly spoken to the rest of the women.
“But as your equal,” she quickly adds, causing me to look back at her, ““I must remind you of the oath we still hold.”
“Rachel,” Petronelous says.
“Rachel,” Atia agrees. “If not for her sacrifice, we would not be here today, nor would the republic still have a chance to quell this new demon invasion that threatens to end our world as we know it. Elandra knew this, as did she know Xander’s place in this war.”
I throw my head back in frustration, rolling my eyes. “Not this shit again.”
“How can you deny this?” Atia asks, reading the doubt on my face.
For a moment, I’m thrown back to Dardekum, haunted by the false beliefs and expectations that had been put on me by the populace. I’m not the savior. I’m not the champion of light who arrives in the night to bring back the day. I’m just a man, a guy with bad luck, who lost his best friend because he wasn’t strong enough to save her.
“Because it’s not true.”
“Because you have no faith.”
“Because I have a brain,” I finally say. “I’m sorry.”
Atia shakes her head, refusing to listen to my nonsense. “This is what Elandra told us, this is why you’ve been thrust across space into our world. We must do as she says, we must press on and find the other part of the scrolls so that we can learn the entire prophecy and locate the weapon you can use to kill Zendal once and for all.”
I sigh.
Chun Hei pulls away from the other women to stand before me once again. “I don’t care if you’re the savior or not,” she signs, looking up at me. “You’re my friend, and I’m not abandoning you.”
The sincerity of her voice is heartbreaking, but it only hardens my resolution. I can’t take them with me. I can’t put them in harm's way. I’m already about to shake my head when I hear Atia’s voice.
“There’s more to this than just you, you know?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Aside from the scrolls and the prophecy, the one you refuse to believe, there, indeed, could be information the Republic could use against the enemy. Actual information that might end this war sooner and save lives.”
The truth of what she says is painfully frustrating, and I find myself teetering on indecision, thinking. Any information we find could help the republic. But even if we do find something, is it worth the price of my friends’ lives? This is why I’ve never wanted to be a leader, why I refused to fight for Simmons’ position as second in charge of the particle collider. I hate having to choose the best of two wrongs.
“She’s right,” Petronelous says. “It’s our duty to go regardless of how badly you want to protect us from danger.”
“Watch out, sexy,” Zorel says with a grin. “You’re about to be outvoted.”
“If you come I can’t guarantee your safety,” I say in one last-ditch effort to convince them to stay.
“And we can’t guarantee yours,” Atia says, her voice edged with that sharp unemotional tone that she’s become known for.
My gaze lowers to the floor. I’m out-gunned, unable to man a counterattack against their unified insistence of accompanying me to my death. All I can do is snort, accepting my fate.
“Are you sure?” I finally ask, forcing myself to meet each of their gazes.
They nod in unison.
“It’s decided, then,” Atia says, turning around to begin her packing. “We leave within the hour, before night comes. It’ll be much worse then.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until tomorrow at first light?” Petronelous asks.
“We can’t,” I say. “General Alvarium plans to attack the demon army in four days. We need to get to the top of the mountain, search the area and bring back what we find.”
“What if we don’t find anything?” Petronelous asks.
“Then we don’t come back,” Atia replies.
Chapter Six
The storm assaults us at every turn, bombarding us with frigid winds and hail-like snow, slowing our steps to long and drawn out lunges that move us only a few feet at a time.
According to the temperature gauge in my heads-up display, we’re struggling against 60 mph winds, with visibility ranges between twenty to forty feet. The wind tears at the optical sensors of my helmet, causing static relay across my visor.
I give the side of my helmet a hard pat, and the screen clears up, only to garble up again as another wind belts us from the north. It roars like the ripping sound of a jet cutting through the sky, warding us back as though we’re uninvited guests. Still, we press on.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Zorel says over the com. “But I think I actually miss the desert of Dardekum.”
“Agreed,” Petronelous replies. “What I wouldn’t give for the sun right now.”
“Enough talk,” Atia says. “It wastes energy. And we need to conserve our strength for the journey ahead.”
“She’s just joking,” I say. “You know, letting off some stress? Which, if I’m correct, wastes energy as well.”
“That’s true,” Chun Hei signs.
“Then she should rely on the meditations,” Atia says.
“Oh come on, Captain,” Zorel continues. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t rather be sunbathing with a bunch of mutant cannibals right now than be here?”
“The killing part sounds okay,” Atia finally concedes.
“You’re all just fun and giggles, aren’t you?” I ask.
Another wind rolls out from the north, its strength great enough to halt us in place. We wait for it to die down, leaning into its force, before pushing through again, our steps becoming slower, more cumbersome.
Amazingly, the winds are getting worse. How that’s possible, I have no clue. But I take faith in the protection of my armor, relying on its temperature stabilizer, as well as my own ability to withstand the harsh conditions of planetary environments—a gift which has been bestowed to every member of the Sainthood by the genetic scientists at the Monastery.
Yet, even with all this added protection, I’m struggling against the unforgiving harshness of this frigid temperature. It seeps through the bulky metal of my armor and into the dense lining of my bodysuit, where it builds and builds until it has enough strength to turn my sweat soaked skin into a thin layer of chill.
The cold, I’m realizing, is our first foe. And it doesn’t want to be beaten.
“The storm’s getting worse,” Petronelous says over the com.
I glance over my shoulder at the stoic redhead, shocked to find the bright sheen of her golden armor dampened by the patches of frost that seem to be growing like a virus.
Damn…
Both Zorel and Chun Hei, their forms appearing like trailing shadows in the building storm, begin to slow down, their knees quickly swallowed by the surrounding snow that continues to rise.
We’re not going t
o make it.
Already I can feel the joints of my armor locking in place, my hope unraveling at the seems. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to bring them with me on this pointless mission. I didn’t want to sentence them to a useless death that will no doubt sting me before I’m killed. I need to stop them. I need to send them back.
I’m about to ask them to return to camp when I notice that my lips are trembling.
What the …
It’s a strange feeling, one that distracts me from the threatening cold. Am I already this cold that I have no sensation? My hand immediately reaches for my chest, trying to feel my skin, but its touch is obstructed by the thick plating of my armor. I grimace, irritated. This is no good. Frostbite could be setting in. We need to find cover. We need to get out of this fucking storm.
I come to a halt, peering in desperation through the blinding storm. But I can’t see a thing.
“What are you doing?” Atia asks, somehow sensing that I’ve fallen back from her lead. She comes to a halt and looks back, waiting for my response.
“We can’t go on like this,” I reply over the com. “We’ll die before we get to the top of the mountain.”
“We have no choice,” Atia says.
“Please, don’t start with that duty stuff, okay?” I don’t want to start an argument—not in this dire weather with the most stubborn woman I know.
“What do you propose then?” she asks.
“Give me a second,” I say.
The storm’s clutch, as Alvarium had pointed out to me in our meeting, has made our communication channels unreliable, and I’m unable to get an exact bearing on our location.
But I still have the holographic map from the device he gave me before we left, so I pull it up on my heads-up display and begin to study the image of it as carefully as I can.
Our location is clearly lost to me, but I do the math, using the duration of our journey and our direction as a reference, and quickly come to the approximation that the mountain range that stretches toward the main city lies to our left.
Zooming in on the image, I’m relieved to discover that we might be next to a crook in the mountain, a place where we can hide temporarily from the winds. It’s our only chance.
