Oath Forger (Book 4)

by Nia Mars

They all stare at me in silence.

  “Do you feel like it’s lessening with every hit?” Dason asks at last.

  “I can’t really tell.”

  Uthan says, “Maybe she can control it better with each try, because the power is a little weaker. It’s something we at least have to consider.”

  “Why would it get weaker?” Roax demands, clearly angry with the possibility.

  “You think of it as a skill,” Uthan tells him. “Like weapons training. The more you practice, the better you get.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Except it’s not a muscle. It’s a mystic skill.”

  When the men don’t disagree with him, he goes on. “If her power comes from a shard of energy from the primal explosion...energy is eventually transformed. The world is no longer exploding all over the place.”

  “Even the tiniest shard of all that energy is still an immense amount of power,” Roax says, holding my gaze.

  “Yes,” Uthan agrees. “But it might not be endless.”

  I can’t tell if the idea leaves me relieved or worried. Both, I guess. Relieved because the power really is way too much for me, and worried because, hey, people are out to kill me. It’s nice to feel that I have some defense.

  Chapter Ten

  THAT NIGHT, Roax is the one to stay with me. That doesn’t freak me out at all. Riiight.

  “Let’s not start something we can’t see to the end,” he tells me right off the bat.

  If he thinks I am going to start something with him, he’s crazy. His intensity and strong dominating streak still scare me more than a little. I wish Dason was here. Since Dason doesn’t usually get into the dominance games with the other men, he makes a good buffer.

  You’d think by ‘let’s not start something’ Roax means that we should keep our hands off each other. He’s fully in hands-on mode, however, starting with the shower.

  This time, he strips, and he enters the mist with me. He turns me to the wall so he’s behind my back.

  “Stay still,” he orders when I squirm.

  He washes my body first, his hands slow and thorough, not leaving a single spot undiscovered. His soap-slicked fingers spend most of their time on my breasts and between my legs. He washes my front first, then my back. His fingers trail down my spine. When one finger dips between my cheeks, I tense.

  “Hands on the wall. Feet shoulder-width apart.” It’s the voice I can’t resist, deep and hot and silky.

  His soapy finger glides over my puckered opening. When I flinch, he gives a dark chuckle. “Once you accept me, every part of you is going to belong to me. I’m looking forward to it, Ava Mine.”

  His low, possessive tone is like a caress on my skin. I shudder.

  I think about his words while he washes my hair.

  I’ve already accepted three out of the five kreks. That’s ‘most.’ That should be enough to bring peace to the Federation. Koah, Tiam, and Uthan will not attack each other again. I don’t think Dason will attack them either. If Roax started something... The others together are too overwhelming a force to go up against. Roax is not stupid.

  So, as far as my Oath Forger role goes, I think I’ve done what’s expected. I have ensured peace. I don’t absolutely have to accept Dason and Roax.

  Except, according to Uthan’s theory, the more of the kreks I accept, the more they balance me out and the more control I’ll have over my powers, which I desperately want.

  “If I don’t accept you, will you leave Merim and restart your war against the other kreks?” I ask Roax as he towels me off a few minutes later, just to be 100% sure.

  I’d asked him before, but he hadn’t given a clear answer, hadn’t fully committed to peace. He’d merely said that I’d changed him. What does that even mean?

  He folds the large towel tightly around me, trapping my arms, and pulls me closer to him. The dark heat of his eyes turns to black ice at my suggestion of rejection. But after a long moment he says, “No.”

  A coil of tension deep inside me relaxes. “If we have to go up against the Trade Alliance...”

  “I will help.”

  “How powerful are they?”

  “They have enough money to own half the Zebet.”

  “And we have to go up against them?”

  “If you want to live, yes.”

  I want to live. I want my kreks to live. I want peace in the Federation. I feel responsible. “Screw the Trade Alliance.”

  Roax’s lips twitch, his tone wry as he says “I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

  He sits me, still wrapped up, on the stool by the shower and combs my hair. I can’t see him. He’s behind me again. He tugs the comb through my hair gently, the domesticity so at odds with the way Roax usually presents himself. Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

  After a few seconds, I relax into his tender care.

  I’m half-asleep by the time he carries me to bed.

  “I can walk,” I protest sleepily.

  “I like you in my arms.”

  As he sets me on the sheets, I reach for my nightgown.

  “No,” says The Voice.

  Okay, then.

  He lies down in the middle of a bed like some sultan in his harem. I stay on the edge.

  “Come over here.”

  “You’re very bossy.”

  “You noticed.” He reaches over and pulls me against him, my back to his front, spooning me from behind.

  “Do you always have to control everything?”

  “As much as I can.”

  “Why?”

  “When others control your circumstances, things you don’t want to happen, tend to happen.”

  There’s a new tone in his voice, something cold and brittle.

  That brittleness makes me ask, “Have you ever not been in control of your circumstances?”

  He’s silent for so long that I don’t think he’ll answer, but then he says, “When I was six years old, I was kidnapped from my parent’s palace by rebels.”

  Shock spreads through me. I imagine him at age six—just a little kid—in mortal danger. I try to turn to him, but he holds me in place.

  “What happened?”

  “I was taken to the underbelly of the capital city, and handed off from faction to faction. They kept moving me so the royal guard couldn’t find me. For some of the time, I lived in the sewers with one of my captors.”

  I picture some of the nastier tunnels of the Dallas Colony, the damp darkness, the rats. We’re all careful that none of the children ever go down there. How much time did Roax spend in the sewers, six months? A year? I shudder.

  “And at other times?” I ask.

  “The last two years I was hidden in a brothel.”

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  “Were you ever abused?” I mean the question as Were you ever hit? But he answers it in a different way that makes me want to cry.

  “The owner didn’t sell me to his customers. He was afraid someone would recognize me. He sold me only to his friends. They paid well for a princeling.”

  My heart breaks for him so freaking hard. I squirm to turn, to take him into my arms and offer comfort, but he won’t let me. He just keeps holding me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

  “How were you rescued?”

  He pauses for a long time. “A drug smuggler fell asleep on me. I grabbed his gun from his boot, shot him, then shot my way out of there.”

  My arms are trapped against my body as he’s holding me tightly. I can’t wipe my eyes. I sniff. “Can I kiss you?”

  “I’ve overcome the past. I don’t need to be comforted.”

  “I do.”

  His hold relaxes by degrees, until I can turn to face him at last. I don’t wait for him, I press my lips against his. He doesn’t seem to mind that I’m the one initiating this time. He lets me.

  Then he returns the kiss, gently, no rough claiming, just tenderness. My heart aches. Tears roll down my cheek.

  “You’re not
allowed to cry for me,” he orders.

  A sob escapes me one second, a quick bark of a laughter the next. “Back to full-on control-freak mode so soon?”

  “Kiss me again.”

  I guess that’s a yes.

  My heart warms and expands, and I know it’s because Roax is in my heart, just like the others are. I’m going to accept him. I hold his gaze. “Roax, krek of—”

  He puts a finger over my mouth, sealing it closed. “Not yet.”

  Of course. Because he has to be in charge of everything.

  “Control freak,” I manage to mutter before he replaces his finger with his firm lips.

  ---

  --THANK YOU so much for reading the latest installment of the OATH FORGER series!!! If you’re enjoying Ava’s story, would you please consider writing an online review? Authors live or die by their reviews, and reviews are especially important for a new series.

  If you purchased this book as soon as it came out, double thank you! You don’t have long to wait long to find out what happens with Ava next, I promise. All 5 OATH FORGER books are written, and I’ll be releasing them one week apart. I’m a binge reader, and I hate to wait months (or years) between books in a series, so I’m not going to do that to you.

  In the meanwhile, please come and friend me on Facebook. facebook.com/niamarsauthor I’d love to hear how you liked my story.

  Also, don’t forget to stop by my blog and read about my other releases and enter my $100 gift certificate drawing. niamars.com/wishlist-giveaway

  To make sure that you’re first to know when a new release is uploaded, please sign up for my newsletter on my web site. niamars.com

  THANK YOU!!!!

  --Nia

  ABOUT ME:

  Books. Reading. Writing. Playing with the dog. That’s my life, in a nutshell. I love discovering new authors and new trends. Hello Reverse Harem novels!!!! Where have you been all my life? I love everything sci-fi, paranormal, and fantasy. I eat enough chocolate that at this point, I’m probably made of chocolate. OK, chocolate and coffee.

  WHAT’S NEW: I’ve just published OATH FORGER, a soon-to-be bestselling, post-apocalyptic, reverse harem, sci-fi romance serial. Ha! Say that three times fast.

  WHAT ELSE: If you’d rather try a standalone sci-fi romance from me, grab WARLORD (see preview in the back of this book.) And make sure you don’t sit near anything flammable while reading it. Because it’s HOT. Whatever level of heat you’re thinking right now? Double it. (Not recommended if you don’t have AC, or at least a ceiling fan.) You’ve been warned.

  MY WISH LIST: (In case my fairy grandmother is reading this.)

  For the OATH FORGER series to find readers who love these stories as much as I do.

  Finishing my Master’s Degree in (what else) Writing Creative Fiction. (When I’m not writing books, I’m doing homework.)

  WARRANTY: Your satisfaction is very important to me. If you have a complaint, please write it on a box of 50-piece Assorted Godiva Chocolate Truffles, and mail it to my office. I promise to personally see to all complaints.

  And...if you’re up for more reading, here is a little taste of WARLORD, my super steamy, standalone sci-fi romance. (Available now.) Enjoy!

  WARLORD

  By Nia Mars

  Another day, another planet conquered. Except this time, instead of sending intergalactic warlord Lukar Xon off to the next war, the Emperor gifts him with a governorship and a princess.

  Meela is the heir to a fallen kingdom. She is the conqueror's prize. But she will bow to no one. Certainly not to a barbarian! She might have to surrender her body to the beast, but she will not surrender her heart.

  WARNING: This book contains a variety of explicit sexual situations. The hero is an intergalactic warlord, and he takes what he wants. If that kind of fantasy doesn’t appeal to you, you might not enjoy this story.

  Chapter One

  The three things intergalactic warlord Lukar Xon most liked about winning a war were:

  Winning.

  The break he and his men would get at the nearest waystation before the Emperor sent them into the next war.

  The camp women he would get to fuck at the waystation.

  They were the rough and tough type, and so was he. He liked camp women just fine.

  Half-asleep, he sat sprawled in his commander chair and let pleasant images of past encounters fill his mind, hoping they would lead to interesting dreams.

  “Incoming communications from the Emperor in one minute.”

  Lukar opened his eyes as he groaned at Selep, the fighter ship’s captain. “What does a man have to do to get some shut-eye around here?”

  He should have gone back to his quarters and gone to bed. Then again, Selep would wake him for the Emperor, no matter where Lukar was.

  Take the planet, subjugate the king, the Emperor had said. So Lukar had taken the planet. Tembria wasn’t much more than a ball of red rock with one large cerium mine and the city state built on top of the wealth. Lukar had killed the king in the final battle. That was as subjugated as a guy can get. If the Emperor had any complaints, Lukar didn’t want to hear them.

  “On screen in five seconds,” Captain Selep called out, and the dozen crew members on the spaceship’s command deck quieted.

  The captain was lean and mean, looked more like a pirate than a proper military man; his nose nearly flat, it’d been broken so many times. He’d had rough beginnings, but he hadn’t let that stop him. “Four. Three. Two. One.”

  Lukar swallowed a groan as the Emperor’s face filled the screen. No one should have to wake up to that.

  Emperor Walestran had been a warrior himself once. Now he had a pasty double chin and girth to prove he’d hit the good times a few decades back. He wore the dark green uniform of his elite forces, because he thought it made him look more badass. In reality, he looked like a blob of tofu wrapped in seaweed.

  Lukar sat up straight as his side of the video connected. “Your Highness.”

  “I have a job for you, warlord.”

  No ‘well done,’ no ‘how bad are the casualties.’

  “I am looking forward to it.” Lukar was a warrior. He didn’t require a pat on the back. His men, however... “The troops will need a month to rest and recover before the next deployment. They are owed leave. Any damage to our ships can be repaired at the same time. We are headed right now to the Sector Nine waystation.”

  “No need for that.” The man on the screen brushed Lukar’s words aside with an imperial flick of his wrist.

  It wasn’t as if Lukar had expected better. He could and would figure out how to get his men some rest, and his ships repaired, on the way to the next engagement. If their new target was on the other side of the galaxy, he could steal at least a day or two here and there.

  “Destination planet, Your Highness?”

  “Tembria.”

  “We just took Tembria.” It’d be nice if the Emperor could at least keep track.

  Irritation flashed through Lukar, followed by a sense of foreboding. He didn’t like the glint of childish excitement in the Emperor’s beady brown eyes. That look usually meant the man had a ‘great’ idea. Like changing military strategy at the last second because he had a dream. Or taking out the life support system of an entire planet because on his last visit he’d gotten a bad vibe and thought they were planning a rebellion against the empire.

  The Emperor was convinced he had a sixth sense about these things. He’d lived longer than any of the Nulean Emperors before him, which he took as proof of his uncanny abilities. True, he had unmasked a number of assassins in the past couple of years, but Lukar contributed that to the fact that the man, through sheer dumb luck, had managed to assemble a competent team of people around himself.

  “You are staying on Tembria.” The Emperor’s regal smile said he thought he was being magnanimous. “You served me well, warlord. You deserve a break. You deserve a prize.”

  Lukar gritted his teeth and hoped it wouldn’t
come through on the vid feed. “Thank you, Your Highness. I’m honored. For how long?”

  “You took Tembria for me. Now you’re going to hold Tembria for me, warlord. According to initial assessments, the mine has great potential, but it’s not producing as it should. I want you to look into the ‘Resistance,’ some revolutionary movement among the miners. Minister Kellar reminded me that you have a background in mining. You are in the right place, at the right time. I expect doubled output in a month.”

  If Minister Kellar, the old asshole, got hit by a spaceship, his death would have grieved Lukar none. “And then back to war, Your Highness?”

  Again, the Emperor’s hand flicked. “I’m putting you permanently in charge.” His magnanimous smile flashed again and grated. “Now, go do what needs to be done tonight.”

  “Which is?”

  “Eat their food, drink their wine, fuck their queen. Same as I would. You’ll be there in my place.”

  If Lukar had had something in his hand, he might have thrown it at the Emperor’s fading image on the screen.

  “Congratulations?” Selep risked, and the rest of the crew echoed the sentiment.

  Lukar slouched in his chair and kicked his feet out in front of him, exhaustion overriding his anger. He dropped his head onto the chair’s back and stared at the metal glint of the ceiling. Everything he was resisted the order. His jaw was so tight it hurt.

  “I’m a warlord, dammit, not a satrap.”

  Warlords gained territory, satraps governed it. Lock Lukar up on a planet for a year, and he would go mad. Probably sooner than a year. He couldn’t handle permanently.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with all these people?”

  “You heard the man.” Selep’s tone held more glee than was healthy for him. “Eat their food, drink their booze, fuck their women. Same as the Emperor would.”