Warlord and the Waif by Chloe Parker

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CALDER

I DON’T MAKE another move as I watch Ella leave, though my instincts scream to clutch her close and show her the pleasure I know she hungers for. She steps hastily out of the room, not taking another glance at me before she walks out and the door slides shut behind her.

My tattoos are already beginning to ache again, the salve doing little to quell the curse’s effects. I stalk forward, the impulse to fly into a rage nearly overwhelming me. To be so close to that ecstasy after so many years, only to see it slip away…

I slam my fist against the stone wall, and a spasm of pain immediately courses through me. I let out the roar that’s been building up inside, and my shoulders feel like a thousand blades are piercing my lungs. I can do nothing but crumble to the floor, grabbing at the stone to maintain my sanity as the pain wracks me.

After what feels like hours, I finally rise, my body still convulsing. The rage makes it worse, I know; but sometimes I can’t contain my anger in this prison. There was a time when I traversed the galaxy, having my way with hundreds of beautiful women and striking fear into the hearts of all who learned my name.

That I tremble from my pain shames me. That Ella McKenna seems to be the only thing that can stop it enrages me.

But I will never stoop to taking that autonomy from another. Not after what’s been done to me.

I dress once again, pulling my trousers on gently. My arousal has gone along with Ella, the searing pain in my shoulders conquering all other feeling.

The storm outside rages on, the fluorescent drops trailing up the windows of the castle. It’s the strange magic of this place: the scientific machinations of the Hyperboreans who keep this whole city afloat over the wastes of Myste. I have been here so long that sometimes I forget rain does not fall this way on every planet.

I’m suddenly reminded of home.

On Kanin, the rains fall hard most seasons, buffeting my people’s longships on the high seas. The Skoll are accustomed to harsh conditions, to feeling the sun on our skin on the rare clear day, to working and living on the sea or across the galaxy.

I haven’t felt the sun’s kiss on my flesh in two centuries. It hurts too much.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so drawn to Ella McKenna. She is like sunlight itself, fiery and bright. She warms me, while at the same time she burns me when I get too close.

I must have her.

I throw my cloak over my shoulders and leave the room, stalking down the hallway toward the servants’ quarters. I will show her why she should accept me, and I will bring her to heights of pleasure she never dreamed.

When I reach her door, I raise my fist to drum on the stone slab.

But I can’t bring myself to do it.

Rage fills me once again at her rejection, and I spin on my heel to stalk down toward the kitchens. The clanging of pots and machinery echoes from down the stairs, so I assume Portia and Lucien must have returned with the bots we’ve requisitioned for the Hyperborean delegation’s visit.

Gods above. I’d nearly forgotten.

I focus on the task before me as I proceed, orienting my mind toward planning for our guests, shoving away all thoughts of the human woman. The delegates’ satisfaction with my service as warden could have some bearing on the speed with which they supply a cure, and it’s paramount that we put on a show of strength.

My fervor to bed Ella stands in the way of my cure, and I cannot abide by it.

As soon as I enter the kitchens, both of my old crewmen stand straight and attentive, waiting for instructions. Portia’s brow furrows at my appearance, and I scowl at her.

She’s always been able to sense more than she should.

“I see you’ve acquired the serving bots,” I glance at the machinery, “All is set for the visit?”

“The delegation is due to arrive the day after tomorrow,” Lucien says, “I received their itinerary this morning, and I intend on going to the port personally to escort them to the castle.”

“And their quarters?”

“Ella is preparing the suites right now,” Portia offers.

My scowl deepens, and she narrows her eyes.

“Lucien, I can handle the bots if you want to go check on Ella,” she says.

“I’m sure the human is fine,” Lucien grumbles.

“Get out, Lucien,” Portia hisses.

Lucien gives us both a look before he departs. Portia doesn’t take long to get right to the heart of the matter.

“Did you hurt her?” she demands.

I groan, pacing and hoisting my cloak higher on my shoulders.

“If you were wise, you would stay out of my personal affairs,” I rumble.

“She was shaken when we got back,” Portia continues. “I’m assuming it was your doing.”

“I did nothing to hurt her,” I shake my head.

“Don’t lie to me,” Portia warns, and I round on her.

“Do you have no more trust in me, Portia?” I growl. “I didn’t hurt her. Quite the opposite.”

Portia inhales sharply, like I’ve said something even worse, and I rush to correct her.

“She asked me to pleasure her, so I did. And when she told me she wanted to leave, I allowed it. I’m not a monster.”

“But you’ve behaved like one.”

My rage engulfs me, and I turn abruptly to send one of the newly acquired bots crashing to the ground. The act sends a wave of pain through my shoulders, and I wince, curling inward.

When I look back at Portia, she isn’t impressed.

And I realize I’ve proven her point.

She leans back against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding me with a cool stare.

“I remember a time when a certain warlord could charm the pants off any woman he met,” she says, “That man would go to any length to woo the object of his desire, even if he scarcely even wanted her. Would bring ships packed to the brim with gifts to sate her needs.”

“That man is gone,” I scowl.

“I can see the spark between the two of you,” Portia insists. “But you’ll never win her by stalking around this castle like a beast.”

I take a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

She’s right.

I slump into a wooden chair in the corner, looking down at the wreckage of the bot I’ve just demolished.

“What am I to do?” I ask her. “I can tell that our desire is mutual, but she despises me. She is…the first woman I’ve felt such things for in centuries. When she touches me…” I release a frustrated sigh remembering what it was like to have her hands on my flesh, cooling me more than the salve ever could. “It’s like the curse has lifted for a time.”

Portia scrutinizes me.

“Her touch can stop your pain?”

So that’s what this is about.

“You think she’s the key to breaking the curse,” I murmur.

“I do,” she confirms.

“But why her?” I shake my head. “She’s lived no more than a quarter of a century. But we’ve been trapped here for nearly four hundred years.”

“Which I’m sure the witches would see as a light sentence,” she says.

“And she’s so contrarian.”

“Who said breaking the curse would be easy?” Portia snorts. “Imagine it, Calder. If she can break the curse, we could fly Freyr’s Fury off of Myste and leave this place forever. You would no longer be in debt to the Hyperboreans. We could all be free!”

“But by telling me this, you may have doomed us all to failure,” I argue. The next sentence I utter pains me, but we both know it to be true. “We had agreed that the curse requires a level of altruism that I am unfortunately incapable of.”

“And you’ll never know if you don’t try,” Portia persists.

I splay my hands out in front of me, asking for her help.

“So what do I do?”

“You woo her,” Portia says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“How?”

Portia rolls her eyes.

“The once-great warlord, now little more than a pitiful child, begging for my help…”

“You’d best watch your tongue, or this may be the last time we speak with such candor,” I warn.

Portia sobers.

“She likes reading,” she says, “You might want to give that a try.”

“I should read to her?”

“No, you foolish man,” Portia chuckles, “Give her information, history, knowledge. She’s hungry to know more about our world.”

“But the old archives are on the Fury.”

“Then perhaps that’s where you should take her.”

I shake my head.

“There’s no time,” I say, “The delegation will be here in two days, and there are preparations to be made…”

“Let me handle the preparations,” she says, “It’s not as if you’d be doing much anyway.”

I look up at this woman, the fierce warrior who was once my greatest friend. She’s filled out some as we’ve grown sedentary, but she still carries herself with the grace and poise of a fighter.

I should thank her.

But instead I rise, looking down my nose at her.

“You should get back to work,” I say. “There’s much to do.”

She smiles like she knows something I don’t.

“Of course, m’lord.”

Now to figure out how to convince Ella to go with me to the library.