Page 52 of Bonded By Savages

I let out a huge breath.

I nearly snapped.

I nearly damned my battle-brother and my Mate with my rage.

I held on by a thread, and she’s saved us all.

20

Athena

I’m trembling, and Tarak grabs my arm, holding me steady.

That was close. Too close.

One of the women is sobbing behind us. A guardian Aurelian soothes her, running his hand over her forehead tenderly.

“This is acceptable to you, my Mate?” Damian has a strange formality to his voice. Every muscle in his body is taut, his rage still deadly.

“Yes. If it’s fine by them,” I say, looking at the five, terrified women. Jola nods, and the rest follow.

“Thank you,” says Jola. She was always smart. She knows how close we came to disaster.

“I’m setting our Reaver down outside to take us outside,” says Damian, and barks an order into his smartwatch. “Come,” orders Damian, his aura still tumultuous.

Damian is still boiling with rage as he storms out of the room, his robes swishing with his movements. The silver chain nearly goes taut before I rush to catch up, my heart pounding from the exchange. Tarak stalks behind us. His aura is wary as he guards the rear.

Damian turns abruptly down another hallway, his combat boots stomping. Two automatic doors open in front of us as we rush into a huge courtyard. There are no plants of flowers, just a square of space in the middle of the hospital where two small transport ships have touched down. They are both black and bear the mark of Obsidian under their viewports.

A shadow comes over me and I look up. The huge Reaver we left at our estate glides over the hospital building and comes down slowly in the middle of the clearing. The door hisses open before it touches the ground, the AI combat ready to make an evacuation. I wonder how many times they have run into the Reaver like this, come back from a mission and ready to return. The Aurelian warship has a violent beauty, graceful in destruction, the angled cockpit making me think of a deadly hawk swooping down.

I never saw a hawk. Only on holo-vids, but this is very real.

Damian strides into the Reaver and I rush to follow. His boots clank down on the metallic floor, and he turns, reaching out his hand. I take it, and he pulls me into the alien warship.

I’ve never been in one before, but I’ve heard all the tales of Aurelian warships swooping in to save captured women from slavers and Toads. For a split second when I was first taken, I imagined the beautiful marble warships coming in to save me.

They never came.

These two men did.

Inside, everything is serene and white, lit up by the warm glow of artificial lights set to solar settings. Damian stomps down the hallway to a set of doors that hiss open, thick, armored doors that could slow down a boarding party. Tarak follows us into the cockpit. The Reaver is already taking off, soundlessly rising, powered by an Orb that must be the size of a bowling ball.

The cockpit has three seats. There’s a captain’s chair at the front, a revolving, huge white chair that looks out through the main glass viewport and shows the walls of the hospital as we rush upwards. To each side is another smaller viewport with a gunners chair where the other two members of the triad can man the Orb-Guns. I’ve heard of the deadly power of those weapons that can level buildings.

The walls of Obsidious couldn’t stop a single Reaver. For all the imposing beauty of the capital city, unless the Separatists can stop the Aurelian Empire from breaching the atmosphere, there would be nothing to stop a massacre. Tarak takes his seat soundlessly to the left, his hands on the Orb-Beams.

Damian glances to the right to the empty second gunners chair. He pushes down the grief so quickly, I only sensed it because I was locked onto his aura, trying to get a better sense of the leader of the triad. He’s gotten so good at hiding his pain. He’s gotten so good at controlling emotions, even the white-hot rage that nearly made him snap.

Nearly. He held back. He stalks forward, sitting in the captain’s chair, looking out at the dark city as we race towards our estate. Other Reavers are darting through the sky. I can’t read the Aurelian. His face is blank, reflected in the reinforced glass, and he stares out, lost in thought.

I stand by his left side, the leash running from my neck to his wrist, and put my hand on his bare arm. “Damian. You told me good and evil don’t matter. They do. Good matters, and it needs strength to protect it. That’s what you are. A shield.”

He stares forward. “I should have killed them all.”

I pull back as his anger surges, bringing my hand up to my collar and feeling the cold silver of the ring around my neck. It’s tight, but it doesn’t cut off my airflow, as if it is molding to my skin. The pleasure dress is cool and dormant against my body, the Bond calm in my mind. I run my hand over the chain until I get to his wrist. “Then I would have died. You would have cut those men down, but they would have sent more. You did perfectly. The two of you. Tarak, your ploy was masterful.”

Tarak is intent on the view through his viewport, ready to fire at any moment. “I didn’t know if it would work. It was a risk. And I don’t like taking risks when it comes to your life.”

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