Frost to Dust by Myra Danvers
2
Ahard lump of bile rose to the back of my throat as the reality of his words sank in.
Knowing just what he’d stolen from me with three bands of gold.
My life. My power. Everything that I was…
… all tied to Captain Asher Rawlings.
Forever.
A fragile whisper spilled over my lips. Helpless denial of a thing I knew to be true. “You’re lying.”
Some complicated emotion flicked across his brow, but he shrugged. Held himself in tight control before I could make sense of it. “Perhaps. But are you so willing to take the risk?”
Incredulous, I swallowed around the lump strangling my voice, and said, “You expect blind trust?”
He smirked, closing the distance between us once more. Flexing his influence to force me still, just because he could, the captain adjusted the vulgar scraps of black silk hanging from my shoulders. Knuckles almost brushing my nipples when he said simply, “I expect obedience from my pet, and know just how to extract it, don’t I?”
My cheeks grew warm at little more than the reminder of what he’d done to me. What he’d made me do, bent over his desk.
Naked.
Spread—a feast to his depraved whims.
Nothing between us but rough fingers and whispered promises of things I couldn’t even begin to imagine until he was forcing me to learn.
To feel and obey.
Tormented by the heart-rending pain of the most intimate of betrayals—that of my own body dancing to the commands of another.
A predator who craved a feast of my fear and anguish.
Disgust made me bold when I might have been bashful, and though my voice trembled, I said, “You’re a monster.”
He made no effort to deny it. Merely sent his fingers to tangle in my hair, pulling me close before he pressed his lips to my scalp. Inhaling, he took a breath that whispered against my skin.
Possessive. Taking far, far too many liberties for his intent to be mistaken for anything but the ravenous, greedy thing it was.
And then I felt it.
The kiss of dark flames, his elite energy came alive in a rush. Licking at the edge of my senses. Tasting what no other might see, he groaned. Pressed deeper and drank me in, his fingers biting where they clenched too hard, he filled me with the reminder of what was now his to wield.
My power.
And then, “Well isn’t that something,” he murmured. Stepping back, he pushed a tangle of fine hairs back from my forehead. Standing too close, he laughed. “It’s not often that I find myself mistaken, let alone flat out wrong.”
Confused, I frowned. “Wh-what—”
A cruel smirk spread over straight, white teeth, and he released me from his influence. Gave me the power to fight when he tipped my chin back. Fingers growing tight where they were tangled at my nape. “You’re… tempted.”
A hard lump flapped behind my ribs. Confusion an impenetrable fog that coated my tongue.
“No, it’s okay. You don’t need to say anything, pet.” Rough hands framed my face, and he pressed close enough that his lips grazed mine. Not quite tender, it was a threat. “I can sense it,” he said. “What you need but can’t admit. Not yet.”
Heart beating in my throat, I shook my head. “I don’t—”
“But we don’t have time to indulge just now,” he drawled, thumbs dropping to trace the edge of my collar. Cupping both sides of my throat. “Appointments to keep.” He stepped back, and with a click of his fingers that shroud of alien energy fell upon me once more. “Come along.”
Teeth bared in helpless fury, I was made to follow when he turned. His influence a tight band that forced me to walk through the halls of his temporary, stolen home. A leash with no slack, keeping me half a pace behind him—where a proper slave might stand in wait.
He left me no option but to look where I could, seething. To breathe and obey, despite the way I lusted after the broad, exposed back displayed before me. Wishing for a lapse in judgement, where I might snatch up something heavy—a weapon, anything that could leave a dent in the back of that arrogant skull.
But his control didn’t waver.
Not for an instant.
Instead, he took me down a narrow set of stairs, guided me around a corner and passed an intimate, sparse kitchen. I blinked, watching from deep inside his shadow as he threw open the front door and filled my lungs with a gust of refreshing evening air. A soothing breeze that couldn’t ease the horror of my feet carrying me into the street at another’s command.
Yet despite everything, I was happy to be outdoors again, where the cool evening air washed away the stink of anxiety. The stress of being enthralled to an elite. Of being powerless in a game with rules I had not yet learned.
Pavement cold on my bare feet, I allowed myself a moment to pine for my durable tree bark boots. To wish for the luxury of choice, wondering if I’d ever make another for myself again.
Teeth grinding, I cleared my throat, and through a mask of false bravery asked, “Where are we going?”
He didn’t turn. Didn’t so much as bother to waste a glance in my direction. “Have I left you with the impression that there will be open discourse between us?”
“No, but I—”
“Then this is the perfect time for another lesson vital to your continued survival here. In the company of their betters, slaves will be seen, not heard.”
An incredulous bark of laughter burst from my lips. “Oh, my deepest, most sincereapologies!” I cried, tone rich with reckless, mock outrage—the only rebellion I could manage in my state of forced restraint. “I had no idea us lowly slaves aren’t meant to voice our opinions!”
“Keep it up, Mila,” he purred, lips crinkled at the edge. Promising all sorts of wickedness I had no way to defend against. No way to brace or prepare.
But for a moment, as I matched his challenge with a glare of my own, I wasn’t sure if I cared. Let him show me who he was. Let him feed the hatred that burned, starving for an outlet.
My stomach growled, the distant memory of stale bread echoing with a plea for temperance. To recover my strength if only so I might fight all the harder.
With a hitching breath, I lowered my head. Gaze catching on the uneven cobbles beneath my bare feet.
With a nod, the captain’s hand found purchase on my lower back. Calloused palm catching delicate silk, making it pull in such a way that drew sharp awareness to the spots where it grew tight and binding. Hips, ribs… my breasts.
“A slave should be seen, not heard, and speak only when spoken to,” he continued, voice a light, taunting rasp. “Understood?”
Teeth clenched, I grimaced at the dark and spat out a bitter, “Yes,” through the points of my modified canines—and felt the blunt scrape of his nails where they dragged across my skin. A warning that drew my gaze to his in a snap, where I found his attention already fixed to my face. One brow raised in wait. So, with a sneer, I tacked on a surly, “Sir,” that held no trace of the respect the designation might otherwise warrant.
It was enough.
“Your arrival here has caused quite a stir,” the captain murmured as we drew near a sprawling manse. Sweeping white stone and manicured gardens lined both sides of a grand entrance, the Eloran architecture nothing but an aching whisper of the people who had once lived in this fallen city. “General Tilcot has decided to throw a feast in my honor, but make no mistake. This is nothing more than a pretty trap, just waiting to snap shut.”
Before I could ask what he meant, a heavily pregnant, statuesque woman emerged from the front doors in a swirl of silk and gold. “Asher!” she cried, and kissed the captain’s cheeks. One after the other, a swirl of midnight locks spilling down her back. “So good to see you darling. And with such a rare creature in tow!”
A heavy shadow emerged over her shoulder.
General Tilcot.
The naked elite who’d stayed to watch me in the baths. Whose eyes had seen everything beneath these flimsy scraps pretending to be clothing.
“Let the poor man get a foot in the door before you throw yourself at him, Tyra,” the general said. And then, daring to reach out with a curled knuckle, he caught me under the chin and tipped my head into the light. “My God. Asher, tell me this isn’t our filthy little wildcat?”
“My filthy wildcat, sir,” the captain returned with an easy smile and a possessive hand on my shoulder. His finger twisting in the hair at my nape, he pulled me back a few inches. Enough that I stumbled into his chest. “This is Mila, my Tritan priestess. Say hello, pet,” he said, and squeezed the meat above my clavicle.
Instead of obeying, I let my head drop, offering only a tiny, stiff bend at the knee. Avoiding eye contact and affecting an air of subservience in one, defiant action.
“Mila,” the general hummed, taking liberties with my silks. Adjusting what did not need fixing, his fingers left a trail of sticky cold disgust in the wake of his touch. “Well, I must say, you look lovely in Caledonian colors, girl. A true prize claimed in the name of the empire.” He stooped, leaning in close enough that his breath warmed my cheeks, though his gaze remained fixed over my shoulder. On the captain, a dangerous glint sparkling in those murky depths, his eyes laced with more brown than what was present in the captain’s ebon glare. “A prize I’m not sure the young master Rawlings can possibly keep… given all the challenges sure to come his way now that you’re bound. And without permission, I might add.”
I swallowed, hard. Sweat blooming on my brow, the back of my neck—where the captain’s touch had grown tight with a nip of biting pain.
But he laughed and said, “I’m sure I’ll find a way to manage, sir.”
Without another word, the general hummed, slipped his hand around Tyra’s waist, and turned to escort us down a long, richly appointed hallway.
Under my breath, I tipped my head in the captain’s direction, and asked, “How was that, Asher? Have you any performance notes?”
At the sound of his name on my lips, he went stiff. Skewering me with a glare that promised retribution, he pressed his lips to my ear. “I wonder if you’ll enjoy these little rebellions half as much as I’m going to enjoy breaking you of the habit? Do let me know, won’t you?” he cooed, then sent me stumbling down the hall. A mess of fear and fury tangled behind my ribs, veins thick with the urge to sink my teeth into the back of Captain Asher Rawlings’ thick neck.
The general guided us down a long hall that opened into a massive dining room. In the center, a heavily laden table dressed in black and gold drapery stretched the length of the room.
One step inside, and I faltered. Shocked still by the sudden onslaught radiating off the forty or so people already seated.
Power.
It struck me with the force of a falling tree. Buried me beneath an avalanche of wet spring snow, trapping me where the air was frozen solid. Where panicked flight was the only reasonable response to such a confrontation.
The Caledonian elites. Gathered together, sipping from crystal goblets, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.
A virtual army of unstoppable killers at rest.
Propelling me forward, a familiar, hated hand settled on the naked skin of my lower back. “Where’s your bravado now?” the captain whispered, and sent a shiver racing through my blood as his lips rasped against my ear. The heat of his chest cloaking the naked skin of my back.
I took another step—and found horror waiting around a towering pillar of white stone.
Bound and gagged, there was a woman spread over a cross. Her limbs a lewd X that left her exposed to a sea of powerful men who thought nothing of such a heinous display. Men who sipped wine and nibbled cheese, sending only the occasional appreciative glance toward an expanse of pale flesh laced with angry red stripes.
As if drawn to my presence, she turned her head and my heart leapt into the back of my throat.
The Head Priestess.
Brought low and strung up.
Appearing at my side, the general chuckled. “You’ve a fine eye for tonight’s entertainment, I see. My Sasha is being punished for withholding your identity,” the general explained, stepping forward to stroke one long finger down Sasha’s back. Tracing the marks, he grinned when she whimpered and squirmed. “You lied to me, Sasha,” he murmured. “A few more lashes should cure you of that nasty habit, I think.”
She turned liquid blue eyes back, begging for mercy from a man who’d never give it.
I could feel it. The distant echo of fear pouring off her in suffocating waves. The hopeless, desperate plea for help that might never come.
And before a single rational thought could flick through my head, I staggered forward, and cried, “I’ll take her punishment!”
Silence fell over the elites, and as one, they turned dark eyes upon me.
“Please,” I whispered in a tone meant for the general, but my voice traveled around the room nevertheless. “I-I don’t mean to be rude—”
“And yet, here we are,” the captain drawled, placing his hand on my arm without exerting his influence.
At his droll comment, the tense spell shattered and the gathered elites laughed. Indulgent smiles gracing several faces, they went back to their chatter. Their sipping and nibbling.
“You’ve got a long way to go in the training of this one, don’t you, Rawlings?” the general purred, though his face held none of the amusement present in his voice. And then to me, “Sasha knows the rules, girl. If she’d been forthcoming, you would be mine now. She cost me the opportunity to be the first elite bound to two priestesses, and for that, she will be severely punished.”
“But it’s not her fault!” I cried, and the captain’s fingers grew tight, unyielding.
I slapped his hand away.
“Ah, and there’s our wildcat.” The general grinned, a hungry gleam entering his gaze as he took me in. Eyes dropping to my chest, before drifting lower. Doing a leisurely sweep of exposed skin no longer stained by walnuts.
Without missing a beat, the captain said, “I find her temperament rather fitting for a man of ambition.”
The gathered elites laughed, a polite smattering of applause echoing over the din of chatter. And with that, they descended. Congratulating the captain, inspecting his newest acquisition with greedy touch.
Me.
“You lucky son of a bitch!” one man said, and punched the captain’s shoulder. “My priestess cost me almost half a million. How much did you pay, Rawlings? I’ve heard the rumors, but I don’t want to believe them.”
A slick grin spread across the captain’s lips. “The opening bid was a hundred.”
“You paid a hundred dollars for a Tritan priestess?”
“No.” And the captain’s teeth gleamed strong and white, when he added, “I paid fifty.”
Cries of shock met his claim, and clutching at his throat, the jealous elite slung his free arm across the captain’s shoulders. “I feel sick,” he said, leaning heavily on the captain as we were escorted to the large table.
The captain pulled his chair back, an air of smug accomplishment positively oozing from his skin.
But there was no seat for me.
I blinked, shocked. Uncomfortable to be left standing while everyone else had already taken a seat.
And it was at that moment, fidgeting in an ocean of powerful men, utterly out of place, that I noticed the dozens of Tritan women already kneeling at the feet of their captors. Half-hidden beneath the table, eyes downcast, their hands folded in their laps. Knees braced on thin, silky pillows.
But through the reek of the elite, I could feel their fear. Even through the blinding fog that was Captain Asher Rawlings, it permeated the room, making my heart beat faster in horrified empathy.
Tritan’s priestesses.
I’d found them.
“Kneel,” the captain drawled, but it was laced with something vicious. A dare for me to continue defying him despite his warnings for me to obey.
“Like a dog?” I hissed, outraged.
“No, Mila,” he said, and used his influence to force me down. “Like a slave.”