Frost to Dust by Myra Danvers
15
All but naked, I staggered along at the captain’s back. Dazed. Dragged along in his wake, I clutched a fluffy white towel over my breasts. Unable to shake the general’s smirk, his absurd confidence in watching us go an ominous threat I could feel nipping at my heels.
Mind reeling at the hinted revelations—the half-truths and things I wasn’t supposed to hear, much less understand—I did my best to keep pace with the captain’s long-legged stride. Bare feet slapping at cool tiles, my jaw stretched with dull pain that spoke of the things I’d done. Opening for the captain with little more than gentle prompting.
I ached. Pussy throbbing with yet another release built and destroyed, blood still singing with elite might and denial.
Tangled in all things Asher, his fury became mine. His need to flee living in my chest almost as surely as the taut misery between my legs pulsed heavy and low in his sack.
But something stood out above all else.
Above the fact that they were seemingly related, the threat of being claimed by the general, the constant lurking threat of the capitol’s interest, and the consequences of what I had just allowed to happen.
“What program do you need Tritans for?” I asked, throat parched, dry and gritty as I watched the captain’s shoulders tighten.
He said nothing.
“Asher—”
Spinning, he glowered down at me for the space of a single heartbeat, then took me by the shoulders and shoved me into a storage closet. “Enough,” he snarled when the door snapped shut, plunging us into darkness. Bare chest heaving where it was pressed against mine, he shook me. Energy laced with a desperate, frantic edge. “Have you no concept of the danger we are in? Did you hear nothing that was just said?”
“Nothing I haven’t already been threatened with,” I returned, and stood my ground. Blood thick with the might of an elite, with a false bravado that left me flush with a confidence to which I had no rights.
“Then you weren’t listening,” he hissed, one hand finding my nape while the other landed high at the base of my throat. Forefinger and thumb pinching either side of my jaw, he tipped my head back. “He means to take you from me. To break you over a dozen cocks and see if you’re the exception to the rule.”
Sweat beaded at my brow, nausea bubbling in my throat, but I swallowed it back, and said, “What rule?”
At this, he grinned—and I saw it for the cruel, hateful thing it was, even through the dark. “Not your concern, little girl.”
I laughed, high and brittle. “Not my concern? Asher! It’s my life.”
Fist wrenched free of my hair, he punched the wall beside my temple. Fingers squeezing where they were locked tight on my jaw, he bumped my skull into the wall and bellowed, “And you’re my slave!” Forgetting to be covert, his voice filled the tiny closet to over flowing. Breath hot with scarcely restrained fury. “You have no rights! I could kill you here and now and no one would question it.”
Skin flushed with his temper, I sneered. Reckless. “I shouldn’t be surprised to learn you’re related to that monster. You sound just like him. Same threats. One cock or a dozen, what’s the difference?”
In an instant, the captain went still. Cold.
And then he swallowed.
Nodded.
Nostrils pinched white, he released me in a rush and stepped back. “Fine.”
Without another word, he kicked the door open and burst into the hall. Dragging me along in his wake, we descended the stairs, passed by the crowd gathering at the doors of the harem, and burst into the morning sun where the cobbles were cold on my bare feet. Where the eyes of dozens of Caledonian soldiers flicked over my nearly nude frame with open interest.
We were stopped by a trio of armed soldiers.
Three elites, though they were unbound. Absent the energy boost enslaving a priestess afforded so many of their brethren.
“Rawlings,” the largest said, chin dipping in a slight nod.
“Reese.” Stepping in front of me, the captain blocked me front sight. “What brings you to this fine establishment in the middle of your shift?”
Flanking us, one of the others said, “We’ve orders to take your priestess directly to Sasha for training.”
“Orders?” the captain drawled, head tilting toward the speaker. “From whom?”
“General Tilcot, sir,” said a young man with the smoothest cheeks I’d ever seen. His uniform pristine, not a stitch out of place. “And I’m to escort you to the barracks for assessment, sir.”
For a moment, I thought the captain would react beyond the thunderous scowl he sent back toward the second floor of the bathhouse. Dark flames lashed at the air between us, where his hands were hot and tight on my flesh. Reeking of possessive furor, until the captain issued a tight nod and turned to face me.
“Very well,” he drawled, and affecting an air of nonchalance, he made a concentrated effort to withdraw from me. To take his energy and leave me swaying in the cold.
Alone.
Naked.
Staggered without him lurking in the darkest parts of my soul, he took everything. Left me with just enough strength to remain upright, and had the audacity to run calloused fingers through my hair, murmuring, “Can’t leave Sasha with anything to work with, hmm? Causing all sorts of nasty little problems that might get you killed. Trust me, pet,” he said, a perfect mimic of mocking tone the general had used only minutes before. “It’s for your own good. I’m trying to protect you from horrors you cannot even begin to imagine. We share the same blood, after all, General Tilcot and I. Just can’t seem to help myself.”
Robbed of my vitality, I swooned beneath his hands. Too weak to voice the vitriol, I was left starving for just a sip of the power he’d fed me just to show he could.
But with the void, came the shock of clarity.
In his absence, the veil began to fade.
I could see. What he’d been doing. How easily he’d slipped beneath my skin and left corruption in his wake.
He’d manipulated me.
Easily.
“Don’t fret, Rawlings,” Reese said, flashing the captain a quick, greasy smirk. “Aiden and I will get her there, all snug an’ in perfect health.”
The captain hummed, tugged his damp shirt off his shoulder, and slipped it over my head. Buttons already fastened, he reached beneath the damp material and worked my arms through the sleeves. Inky gaze avoiding my eyes, he said, “Orders are orders,” under his breath, then rolled the excess fabric until the cuffs of his dress shirt were cinched around my elbows.
“Captain Rawlings, sir,” the smooth-cheeked elite stammered. “You can’t wear… that to a meeting with the general!”
Lifting his shoulder, the captain said, “Then hand over your shirt, Collins, and let’s be on our way.”
The boy’s face flushed a blistering shade of red, and with trembling fingers, he reached for his collar to do just that.
“Oh, for shit sakes!” Reese snapped, giving the younger man a shove. “Stop by the captain’s residence on your way to HQ.” The burly elite stepped up to my back, slipping one hand around my elbow. “Priestess.”
I swallowed, fighting the urge to shuck his touch, to look to the captain for guidance—to beg forgiveness if it meant I might be saved from the ravenous hunger whipping at the back of my skull before something came of it. Trying not to let the shock of revelation show on my face before I’d had the time to sort through my thoughts.
Instead, I ground my molars. Fists clenched at my sides, I clung to what little remained of my pride.
And said nothing.
Sasha would have the answers. She could wade through the confusion of foggy lust lingering between my temples.
She could fix the shield and give me the power I needed to be free. Only she could give me distance from a man who could take at will, wielding the might of a priestess and an elite without a hint of strain or effort.
For if not her, who?
The Head Priestess of Tritan faith, a woman made of secrets and dressed in power, who could teach me to counter the captain’s attacks without succumbing to the infection of elite energy and the fury squirming in my heart.
A beast named empath.
It had been left to starve, awakened by the captain’s petty cruelty.
Without a backward glance, I turned to follow these new elites.
Dazed.
Ravenous.
Dressed in nothing but the captain’s shirt and a wet towel, I shivered with the weight of inky, black eyes tracking me through the thinning crowd, but refused him the satisfaction of seeing my confusion.
Every step bought distance.
Each breath I took a cleansing of my soul, despite the masculine scent clinging to my shirt or the slick glide lingering between my thighs.
None of it was mine.
Manufactured to manipulate, an artful lie I hadn’t seen before it was too late.
It wasn’t long before the Tilcot manse came into view. Before I was once again padding through the illustrious halls of white marble lined with stolen art. This time absent a guide, we headed toward Sasha’s office in silence.
And when I saw the Head Priestess’s drab, unassuming door swing into view I stifled the urge to bolt. To throw priceless Eloran art to the floor and sprint to my destination for no other reason than I hadn’t the strength.
Instead, I waited for Reese to open the door. Ushering me inside with a nod to the woman inside, he closed the door with a gentle snap.
“Mila,” she said, voice a soft croon that drew a rush of heated shame to wet my lashes. “Welcome.”
I wasted nothing for subtlety, forcing, “Help me,” through the points of my canines. “Sasha, please. My shield. It didn’t work. He found it and—”
Standing in a rush, she rounded the corner and cupped my cheeks in palms that were soft and warm. “Take a breath. That’s it. Nice and deep.” Brushing heated skin in a sweep of her thumbs, she wiped away the salty wetness so I might see the deep, furrowed lines bunched between her brows. “Have a seat.”
I sat. Unfurling the cuffs of my borrowed shirt, I twisted the gloomy fabric between my fingers. Drawn in by her touch. The soothing promise in soft skin. My mouth watered at the precious hint of priestess energy oozing through her palms, where she cupped my cheeks and probed me with a tiny spike of soothing purity.
“Tell me, child.”
“It didn’t even slow him down,” I rasped, squeezing my eyes shut as if that alone could turn the tide on my hunger. “But the captain sends his compliments. Called your shield ingenious, or something to that effect.”
She frowned, for her energy lanced through the barren waste the captain had left in his wake, and found nothing she might work with. Nothing with which she could use to soothe me—I felt it happen.
Saw the way the wrinkle between her brows deepened, and knew the scent of fear for the tantalizing whisper it was.
“Help me,” I whispered again.
She stepped back. Face arranged in a careful mask of concern, she bumped a hip against her desk. “Captain Rawlings managed all that, did he?”
I nodded, tone an echoing void of empty destruction when I said, “Before breakfast.”
Ignoring the risk, she took my hands and put a stop to the anxious twisting. And I felt her try again, to pull from an empty cup. “Everything will be okay.”
“Don’t you see?” I laughed, and launched myself from the chair. Evicted from her presence before I succumbed to the temptation. Before I turned the tide and sent an inferno ripping through her palms, so I might feed from a well of a once-powerful priestess. “Nothing is okay, Sasha! He left me with nothing, can’t you feel it?”
“Mila, please. I need you to sit and relax so we can begin to sort this out. We’ll try something different, this time. I have to admit I didn’t expect”—she pushed a hand through her silver-blonde hair and glanced to the door—“didn’t think the captain had come quite so far in his explorations. But we expected this. That things would be different for you.” A breath whistled through her nose. “There’s a way we can dampen your empathic abilities. We just have to find what works.”
A wash of cold awareness settled over me.
Twisting and sick, it stuck to my nape and oozed from the back of my skull, forward.
Realization.
The Head Priestess’ icy blue eyes flicked back to the door.
This was just another betrayal.
She didn’t want to help me tame the empath.
She wanted to destroy it.
The only weapon our enslaved people might possess, the only scrap of power that didn’t lie between thighs forced to spread or knees purpled with bruises.
I should have expected nothing less.
“You were right,” I breathed, and felt a stillness bleed through my chest. “Right and so very, very wrong.” It was my turn to touch, and I did it without thought. Claimed her hands in fingers that had become deadly, hooked claws. “I am nothing but a plaything. No talent. No skill. Defenseless against a man like Captain Asher Rawlings.” I took a step. Forced her back. “There’s nothing but hunger. A thirst for more. And he made me like it, Sasha. Just like he promised he could.”
Sasha’s pale skin went a sickly shade of green. “He ignored my warning. That stupid boy!”
I cracked my neck, pointed teeth flashing at the question that wasn’t. “He served me a diet rich in elite energy and infected me with the need to be fucked raw by a man I hate. An enemy. A man I want to see brought to his knees before me.” A choked sob splintered over my lips, but I couldn’t stop the admission from spilling over. “And I liked the taste. If he were here now,” I whispered, and felt the salty burn of tears when they spilled over my lashes, “I would go to my knees, right here. Right in front of you. I’d choke him down and beg for more. Just another… little… taste…”
“You have to fight this, Mila,” she said, standing tall before me. Broken, but unbent. “Fight the empath, and it will pass.”
“Yes,” I hissed, and didn’t blink. “That’s what you want for me, isn’t it? To learn to bend before I break? To learn to love the bruises on my knees, as you do.”
She swallowed and it was dry. I heard the click of her throat working.
Thumbs working back, I traced the fine bones in her wrists. “Because I can’t beat him, can I? Not as I am. So why bother fighting at all?”
“This isn’t you, Mila.” Icy blue eyes flicked to the door. “It’s the empath.”
“But that’s not entirely true, is it?” I drawled, licking dry lips. “He showed me, Sasha. What you wouldn’t. That priestesses and elites are two sides of the same coin.” Jaw flexing, my head tilted to the side and I watched her every tiny movement. “And then he showed me what could be done with it.”
Again, her eyes flicked to the door. “It doesn’t work like that, Mila. Once we are bound, there’s nothing we can do to stop them using our power.”
I sneered. “Ah, yes. It keeps coming back to the chains, doesn’t it?” I glanced at the covered pedestal on the far side of her office, where an unused set sat hidden beneath dark cloth. “A convenient shield for you to hide behind, hmm? One that absolves you of your sins in this war.”
Cold blue sparks leapt at me. “You think you can judge me, child?” she whispered, deadly soft. And then, turning her wrists and setting her grip to my forearms, she abandoned all pretense at soothing the beast. Provoked to show her temper for what it really was. “You’ve been a slave for days. This has been my life for five years.”
“What program do they need Tritans for?” I asked. Soft, so she’d have to strain to hear me. So I could watch when her cheeks went sallow and her pupils dilated.
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
Then, once more, she glanced at the door—and I knew. Who she was waiting for, who was coming to check on his priestess after working so hard to separate me from the captain’s delicate sphere of protection.
An admission of guilt I could see and feel.
Despite the familiar pain of betrayal, a grin spread over my lips. “I should have wondered,” I said, “when you called me a plaything for an elite. Should have wondered how you knew.” A froth of seething wrath bubbled up, reaching for the pretty pure energy swirling before me, meager though it was. “That I’m just another tool—a hole to be used and filled. Soiled. Pretty words from like recognizing like.”
Cheeks beating hot, she reeled back and slapped me full across the face. “Mila! Pull yourself together,” she snarled, fending off the barbs of wicked hunger probing through her modest defenses. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
I paid the sting less attention than the warning. “What you don’t see, Sasha, what you don’t understand?” I hummed, and tongued a bit of coppery warmth spilling over my lip. “I don’t have to bend. I don’t have to break. All I have to do is become.”
At my back, the door opened without the courtesy of a knock.