Frost to Dust by Myra Danvers
7
For a moment, as I hung limp in the captain’s arms—nauseous and too weak to do more than breathe—I couldn’t make sense of the scene before me.
Sparkling green lightning crackled across the surface of uneven ground, ceaseless and beautiful, even as the scent of burning ozone singed the back of my sinuses. Seeming not to dissipate, it merely moved and jumped and crackled as if the very ground itself was too charged to absorb another drop.
Electrified.
And then I saw it.
Upturned before a massive crater in the earth, an electric blue dome shimmered in the gloomy half-light between dusk and dawn.
The rebel shield.
A glimmering beacon of the rebellion. Technology that shouldn’t be possible, but was a testament to the resilience of a people forced into exile but refused to lay down and die.
Elora and Tritan.
Thriving together—there could be no other explanation. Not with the color of that shield.
A direct contrast to the sickly green lightning that seemed not to fade, spidering across the ground beneath me. The whisper of hope, the promise that at least some of Tritan’s priestesses had managed to escape the clutches of the empire and dared to fight. To create a thing that had even General Tilcot sweating and slavering at the mere thought of possessing it.
It could only be pure priestess energy.
Similar in texture to the green arcs of elite discharge still clinging to the peaks in churned mud, broken buildings, and the wreckage that was the frontlines—the shield was a magnificent thing. A thing the captain had tried not to destroy, if the location of the crater was any sort of indication.
Intact and still functioning, and soon to be in Caledonian hands.
I swallowed, squirming in the captain’s embrace, for there, in the distance, movement.
Floundering with the gait of wounded prey, but movement nevertheless.
An Eloran soldier still hiding where he’d been safe, until the captain had been deployed.
Until he’d used my energy to—
“Put me down,” I rasped, untangling one leg from the cradle of elite arms.
The captain obliged me, setting my bare feet into the muck. Where green lightning swirled about my ankles for an instant before it sank into my skin. Reviving me with energy that was at once familiar and alien. Mine and his.
Blended together in one confusing soup of power.
I shivered.
Said nothing as my sense of balance returned in gradual surges the longer my feet remained in that hyper-charged muck.
“Gabe,” the captain said, and jerked his chin at the Eloran soldier stumbling clear of the shield. “Tilcot wants him alive.”
A choked sound slipped from of my lips, but that was all.
Gabe saluted, and said, “Sir,” turning to the field with weapon drawn.
I didn’t think.
It was as simple as falling back into old habits.
I faked a stumble, landing hard on my knees in the mud. Where my hands were buried to the elbow in grime and rejuvenating elite energy.
“Up you get,” the captain murmured, running a soothing, calloused palm down the length of my naked back before scooping me beneath the armpits. “Come. Let’s get you into bed, pet.”
With a whimper, I let him lift me. My eyes fixed to Marco’s boots when the soldier stepped up to the captain’s side. Eyes fixed to the distant shield.
It wasn’t until I accepted the captain’s hand, allowing him help me stand on trembling legs, that I thanked him by yanking Marco’s weapon from its holster.
“Oi!” Marco hollered, but I was already gone.
Sprinting through the mud, I whirled. Weapon raised, the captain’s stupid, handsome face caught in my sights. And through clenched, bared teeth, I hissed, “Call him off, Asher.”
For a moment, dark eyes simply watched. Unblinking.
And then, at the corner of his lips, the slightest whisper of a smile flickered to life. A hint of aching burn tingling at my wrists and throat, as if to remind me that he could have me on my back in the mud before an audience of his men, but chose not to do it.
“Go ahead,” he said, and unbuttoned his sleeves. First the left, then the right. Fingers working over the dark fabric and golden buttons to reveal the wrist cuff that matched my chains—and on the opposite wrist, a matte black one I’d never bothered to notice before. “Take your shot, Mila. You’ll only get one.”
Icy terror sparkled through my veins, but though my palms had begun to sweat, my grip did not falter. Instead, my gaze flicked back, over my shoulder to the spot where Gabe was frozen mid-stride. Eyebrows all but buried in his hairline, lips parted in shock as he watched our confrontation unfold.
Forgetting his mission to collect the wounded Eloran and make the man a sacrifice to some faceless Caledonian with royal blood. As I watched, a pair of rebels wearing white sprinted to the field, collecting their fallen in the confusion of my distraction.
And despite the fear, despite knowing that I’d overplayed my hand and earned what was sure to be a dreadful punishment, I smiled. Treasuring this one, tiny victory. In saving just one more from the clutches of the empire.
The captain’s attention didn’t so much as waver. Not even for an instant. And instead of bothering with the lost victim, he said, “I’m waiting,” in a placid drawl that drew my eye back to find a predator shrouded in dark flames. One who’d been held in check too long by duty to his superiors, starved for the hunt while pretending to be the perfect, obedient soldier.
I didn’t have to take the bait, so I shrugged and said, “No.”
“No?” he returned, soft and deadly. As if there were no one else but the two of us in the entire world. “Don’t tell me my warrior priestess has lost her nerve. Here,” he said, and took a measured step. “Let me help you.”
I adjusted my grip, matching his advance with a retreat—and tried to toss Marco’s weapon into the mud.
Couldn’t.
My fingers had seized about the cold, matte metal. The distant tingle all the warning I needed to know that the captain hadn’t finished toying with his meal.
He tisked. “Feet braced. Shoulders strong,” he cooed, and made me obey. Keeping the deadly end trained directly on his face. “Now take a deep breath,” he said, the flames of his wrath igniting behind my ribs when I sucked a breath between my teeth. Feeding him exactly what he craved so badly.
My fear.
“A-Asher, please,” I whispered, still backing away no matter the control he kept over my hands.
“I think it’s time for another lesson,” he said, prowling ever closer. Hips rolling, filth soaking his pants well beyond his ankles. “Pull the trigger,” he barked.
It was a command I could not disobey. My forearms bunching with the sheer weight of the energy he forced through my muscle, fingers locked tight enough to bruise where they were held at the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Nothing but the thrum of wicked laughter echoed by the men who’d stopped everything to watch the uneven standoff unfold.
“You’re missing a few key pieces of that weapon, pet,” he drawled, smirking as Marco lifted his left wrist to display a cuff that matched the color of the weapon now trembling in my grip. “It won’t fire for anyone but the owner.”
A hitching breath crackled into my lungs as he closed the distance between us at last, putting us all but chest to chest, except for the muzzle of the weapon still held aloft.
I pulled the trigger again. “Bang,” I whispered, making a promise only he might hear.
Head thrown back, he laughed. A bark of true amusement that died between the flash of white teeth, but continued to sparkle in those inky, gleaming eyes. “Fire and fury, Mila.”
Cheeks flushed hot, I was helpless but to watch as he plucked the weapon from my fingers and tossed it back to Marco. Issuing a scathing, “Can I trust you to handle it from here, or shall I have my priestess take over for you?” over his shoulder.
Marco rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink as mine felt. “I should be able to manage without any more distractions from the lady wildcat, sir.”
“Good,” the captain said, and set rough, needy hands on my skin. Driving me from the mud thick with dancing elite energy back to solid ground. “You and I need to have a little chat,” he said, lips pressed to my ear. The rasp of beard stubble making me cower away from heated breath, the hazy threat of a male pressing too close.
I didn’t bother to fight him. Couldn’t bring myself to spend the energy it would take to make myself heard. I merely walked where he guided, too depleted to do much else.
It wasn’t until he sat me in the front seat of Marco’s coach that I could bring myself to speak. “The rebels will fight another day.”
He hummed, distracted and careless. “That’s war, pet.” Shifting the vehicle into gear, we glided away from the headquarters building at a much more reasonable pace with the captain behind the wheel. “But the end to this conflict has already been written.”
I swallowed the lump lodged at the back of my throat, my eyes flicking left.
He was watching me. A coy smirk promising wicked things I hadn’t the stomach to endure after everything that had come before. But no matter the swarm of chaos bubbling in my stomach, I couldn’t look away as he navigated through the quiet streets. Careful and precise, his every movement filled with purpose. Intention. Left hand cocked to the left of the wheel, doing the work of steering while the right lay braced on the armrest between us. Fourth finger picking at his thumbnail as if anxious for what came next.
“So what’s my big punishment?” I asked, quiet in the gloomy silence. “Or are you waiting until we’re alone?” Lip curled, I sneered, arms crossed beneath my breasts to cover the shiver of nerves I couldn’t quite repress. “Afraid to let anyone see what you actually are?”
He glanced at me, brow cocked. “You’d rather I fuck you before an audience? Because that can certainly be arranged.” He laughed, low and bitter. Knuckles going white around the wheel. “I’ve got nothing but time, after all. Now that I’m off duty. Who knows? Maybe I can distract Tilcot’s interest in you by turning you into my personal whore. We can perform nightly shows for the men under the guise of boosting morale. Maybe then he’ll only want a turn, instead of plotting how he might take you for himself in the name of the empire. I’m sure he’s penning a letter to the Capitol even now, citing your blatant disobedience as just cause.”
He threw the vehicle into park. Exiting without a word, he disappeared from sight only to pop up at my door, wrenching it open hard enough to make the hinges squeal a mechanical protest.
“What’s the difference?” I asked, and took his hand without complaint. Jaw tight, shoulders bunched with tension as he herded me up the steps of his stolen residence. “You both mean to use me to kill, and so I hate you both equally.”
The captain snorted and plunged us into darkness with the snick of the front door clicking shut. “And what exactly can you do to stop it, priestess?” he hummed, looming over my shoulder, at my back, where his words could be felt against my jaw.
I flinched, but to this, I had nothing to say. Not yet.
Marching me past the hall-stand, he slipped his hands around my ribs and lifted me without another word.
I gasped, ready to fight until I heard the distinct crunch of broken glass and plaster beneath his boots. My bare feet touching down on the hardwood clear of slicing danger—feet that paced beyond the small kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall, and into his personal quarters.
“Stay,” he snapped when I stood outside of his private bathroom. Disappearing to the sound of running water splashing in a basin.
Unable to so much as fidget, I turned my focus instead to the uncomfortable hum living in my wrists and throat. Watching the subtle glow illuminating my veins with a new perspective. One that whispered of dangers I couldn’t see lurking inside.
An empath.
Dangerous.
Too volatile be allowed free reign amongst the priestesses or the elites.
Eyes burning with some unknown, distant pain, I blinked.
Clenching my fists until my nails pressed deep into the meat of my palms, I tired to touch that unspoken hurt lashing at my heart. To know what it was.
“Here,” the captain said, moving on feet silent enough to startle. “Sit.”
I blinked up at him in the gloom. “Where—”
One damp hand landed on my collarbone, pushing me back without bothering to exert his influence. Pushing until my thighs hit the mattress and I sat without meaning to.
For a moment, he loomed above me. Inky eyes gleaming with the spark of ravenous flames. Tense and watchful all at once.
And then he knelt.
Bumping my knees apart, he settled between my thighs and let his fingers trail down. Over the swell of my left breast, smirking when my breath caught, though he moved on too quickly to do more than make my cheeks flush. His touch drifting over the ridges of my ribs, tracing the entire length of my thigh until he reached my knee. Until his fingers found bare skin.
But still, he didn’t stop until he’d caught my ankle in the heat of his palm.
Something warm and wet slapped over my foot.
A wash cloth.
Wiping away the mud caked on my skin, he worked the rough fabric between my toes, paying careful attention to the spots that made me flinch and squirm.
Frozen, I could only watch. Unblinking. Shocked still and compliant as he worked.
When he’d finished with the left, his fingers shot up. Gripping my calf, he threw my ankle over his shoulder and left me spread. My skirts stretched taut, hands thrown back to brace, I couldn’t speak. Not with my heart clawing at the back of my throat, hammering away at my senses in an erratic flail that robbed me of all sense.
Without a word, his attention moved to the other side. Thumbs tracing maddening little circles in the arch of my foot, he wiped away the worst of the mud. Eyes fixed to his chosen task, he left me to shiver in the dark.
To watch as he worked and try to gather my wits.
He tossed the soiled cloth over his shoulder, letting it land with a careless splat.
And then, for the first time, he glanced up. Inky eyes catching on what lay in shadows, he paused at the gap between my knees.
Nostrils flared.
Lips parted on a silent inhale.
Almost unable to draw breath, belly rigid with the tension to hold myself upright with the bulk of my weight braced on my palms, I shivered. Flinching when both of his hands slid over my hips. Rising up, bunching my skirts as he dipped in close. His nose skimming up, between my breasts, over the hollow at the base of my throat, and settled behind my ear.
Rough hands rolled over my waist, fingers spanning the narrow dip between hip and rib, he squeezed where I was soft before the calloused rasp traced the entire length of my spine. He drew me close. Fingertips skating up with a purpose until his fingers found the tie at the back of my neck.
He pulled.
Black silk spilled over my chest, baring me to eyes gone bottomless with greed.
I yelped.
Flopping back, my left arm shot out to cup one breast. My forearm smushing the other, secreting it away from inspection. And with my free hand, I pressed against the expanse of hard, male chest that surged over me. “Asher—”
“Just can’t help yourself, can you?” he drawled, and caught my wrist. Claiming the space I’d tried to force him to abandon, he pinned my right hand high above my head and set his gaze on the only scrap of protection I had left. “Can’t help but fight your nature, no matter that you’ve already well and truly lost,” he murmured, eyes tracing the fatty swell I hid beneath my palm. Under my forearm. “But most of all,” he said, and drew my fingers back. One at a time, plucking them free of that final, guarded treasure until I lay bare before him. “You can’t help the way you ache for more, can you?”
I swallowed, hard. Back arching when he stretched my left hand high above my head. Securing my wrists to the mattress in one palm, he pinned me with his weight. Settling between my thighs so he might admire the pale skin gleaming in the darkness.
Even through the fabric of his uniform, I felt him lurch against me. Felt a length of blunt, steely flesh kick and fight for the freedom to ravage.
But I didn’t beg.
Didn’t cry or whimper.
I didn’t have to, for it was that moment my stomach yowled in protest. Days of neglect whining in shameless submission, pleading mercy for all the meals I’d missed in the chaos following my capture.
He laughed. Free hand falling to the hollow between my ribs, where my stomach bubbled, he grinned at me in the dark. “Hungry for something more than cock, pet?”
“You’re a pig,” I whispered, but my stomach snarled again, against his palm.
Forehead dipping, he sucked in a breath that trembled, paused long enough to gather himself, then untangled us. He left me there, all but naked, spread on tidy sheets. “Such a pretty picture,” he said, stuffing one hand down the front of his slacks, adjusting the length that promised to leave me in ruins. “Stay put,” he cooed, and let his influence surge to life one more. Keeping me still, even as he turned and disappeared from sight.
It wasn’t until he was gone that I took my turn to draw a ragged breath. Heart slowing in his absence, the exhaustion flooded in.
And, unable to scrub at the burning itch that made my eyes water, I simply squeezed them shut. Blocking everything out.
The hunger…
The slippery ache…
The storm of elite havoc rampaging through my blood.
All of it lost to the blackness behind my eyelids.
I was asleep before he returned.
My last thought not to wonder at what I might be, but a dreadful realization.
With my help, the Elorans had claimed their injured man from the field, but in doing so they’d left the shield in Caledonian hands…