Broken.
The word echoed through my skull. A perfect description of the creature I couldn’t bring myself to look away from.
“Are…” I swallowed. Wet my throat and tried again. “Are you okay?” I whispered, and heard nothing of the men discussing strategies to subdue the rebels. My gaze fixed to the sallow, empty face before me.
She flinched, but that was all.
“I’m sorry,” I pressed, knowing it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough… wasn’t so much as a start.
But when she turned liquid blue eyes up, blinking as the ghost of an understanding smile lit her pale face, I knew it was…something.
“Quit your stalling, Asher,” the general said and broke the spell. “We need a prisoner or two for the inauguration of the new elites.” A smug little smirk tugged at the edge of his lips. “I’ve managed to entice the capitol this year, which means we might just have ourselves a royal visit. Let’s see what you can do with our wildcat.”
“She’smywildcat, sir,” the captain retorted beneath his breath. Irritated and sulking, but to Marco, he said, “Take her to cover, but make sure she’s got a good view.”
Marco’s grip landed on my shoulder. “With pleasure, sir.”
I slapped his hand away, set my teeth, and said, “I won’t let you do this.”
The captain blinked. Tearing his gaze from the field, he turned to face me with a slow roll of his neck. A viper’s smile drawn tight across his lips. “Is that so? Tell me, priestess,” he drawled, and sent the full might of his power pounding through my veins. Making me smolder from the inside out, skin searing with the burn of submission that lit my very blood ablaze. And then he forced me to my knees before an audience of men who devoured every instant of the confrontation, and said, “How exactly do you plan to stop me? And please…” He paused, extended one finger to trace a line between my breasts. “Be explicit.”
Scowling, I refused to blink, trying with all my might to fight his influence. To ignore the trail of blazing flesh left in his wake and gain some equal standing.
The lick of dark flames stroked at the backside of my ribs, the captain filling me from the inside. Making sure I felt it when he rose to the unspoken challenge. That I was with him when his head tipped to one side, tongue darting out to wet his lips…
…when he forced me to bow.
His point made, the weight of his influence evaporated. Leaving me gasping and trembling where I’d been submitted in the dirt. On my knees. Unable to find the courage to lift my head and see the gloating, Caledonian smirks I knew were weighing me down.
Strong fingers wrapped around my elbow and the captain drew me to my feet. Pressing my cheek to his chest so I might hear the heavy thump of a heart I wished would stop beating. “It’ll get easier,” he murmured, tangling his fingers in a sheet of silky, silver-blonde hair just to tug my head back. To force our eyes to meet. “Accepting your place at my feet.” He smoothed my hair back, clearing my forehead before his thumb dropped to trace the ridge of my left cheekbone. “As mine.”
A hiccup spilled over my lips, voice strained and fragile, but still, I said, “No,” with all the hatred I could muster.
He grinned, showing teeth.“Fire and fury,Mila,” he whispered, reminding me of his threat to turn a coin. He spun me then, sending me stumbling into Marco’s arms and said, “To the barracks with a view, if you please.”
Marco engaged his weapon and tapped the muzzle to his brow. “Yes, sir.”
“Sasha, you too,” the general said, and flicked his wrist at the Head Priestess, dismissing her. Watching me with murky eyes.
With a shiver, I turned away. Not willing to test the captain where the general might be motivated to assume my punishment.
Cool, dry fingers slipped between mine, unwinding my clenched fist.
It was the Head Priestess. Her touch soothing to the inferno of tempered flames. The helpless, seething mass of hatred I couldn’t act upon calmed by her offer of… something.
A thing only another priestess might understand, for we were to be made to watch the murder of innocents. Made to participate.
To watch, and know the blood spilled was blood we’d be forced to wear into the Void between this life and the next.
Marco guided us to the shoddy headquarters building, holding the door as if a Caledonian soldier had any idea what it was to be a gentleman. “By the windows,” he said, and pulled the Head Priestess’ chair out, offering an upturned palm as she perched on the ledge of a three-legged stool and set sightless eyes to the pockmarked wreckage before us.
A sight she’d seen often enough not to be alarmed by it. Desensitized by the carnage.
I cleared my throat, ignoring the wave of numb terror washing over my skin. “Baby-sitting duty suits you,” I snipped, and crossed my arms over my breasts. Jaw clenched, manacles stuffed out of sight. Into my armpits.
Marco lit another cigarette, took a drag, and mirrored my posture. Bumping one hip against the counter, his back to the row of windows as he watched me. Amusement flickering across his face. “Wouldn’t call it that,” he said at length, exhaling a cloud of sweet smoke in a jet toward the ceiling.
I sneered. “What else could it possibly be? You’re in here, made to watch with theslaves,” I spat, “while the menfolk do the killing.”
