Page 44 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

The entrance hall to the bunkers is tall, with a rounded ceiling, a circular room with stone benches ringing it. Two of the barrels of wine tumbled all the way down the stairs and rolled through the hallway. One is smashed against the back wall, leaving a huge pool of red like blood staining the floor. The other is still intact.

Rachel jumps up on one of the stone benches. Her bare feet don’t even touch the ground. She fingers her collar.

“I need some clothes.”

“But you look so good like this,” I say to her, my lips curling up. Her eyes go wide.

“What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.”

I clear my throat. She’s right. There’s no time for enjoying my Mate. Not until I know the situation is safe on the surface.

Then a wave of panic, sharper than the burning agony when I was branded, comes from her aura. My blade is active instantly, and I look left and right, turning to face whatever foe she saw. “What! What do you see!”

I breathe in, trying to get the scent of a cloaked enemy, but there’s nothing but the wine, her smell, and the recycled air.

“Raneeda and Nash were in the spire. At the bottom. Are they…”

“Stay right here. Don’t explore yet. I’ll be back with them. They should be okay. The spire held,” I say, trying to reassure her, hoping that it’s true. “Don’t follow me! Stay seated, don’t go in the tunnel.”

“I will,” she reassures me, but when I turn, her breath catches, and there’s fear again in her aura.

“What is it? I don’t have much time,” I snap out.

“Orr… it’s…it’s your back,” she says. I reach back, blinking, and feel metal. I grip it hard and pull it out, but as I pull, there’s more than I expected. In the rush of saving my Mate and the adrenaline, I barely felt anything, but now as I hold the two-foot-long metal rod, half of it coated in my life’s blood, I stumble, agony searing through my back

15

Rachel

The huge brute of a man stumbles, falling to the side, his hand on a bench. The blood was coming out in a steady drip. Now it gushes out, and though he’s a huge man, I don’t know how much he can spare.

“Orr, no,” I gasp, surprised at how much feeling I have for him. He was brutal with me. And yet, seeing him weak, I know if he dies down here, I’ll miss him for the rest of my life.

He pulls the hilt of his blade from his belt and hands it to me. “What?” I ask.

“Command it to activate. Put the blade against the cut. Sear it closed.” He turns and kneels, his hands braced on the bench, as I hold the unfamiliar weapon.

It’s made of black, cold metal, a hilt with a guard, and inside is the evil eye of an Orb. The Orb seems to pull in my gaze, seems to suck in all the light of the room, this malevolent, blue-black sphere of energy that draws me into infinity.

“Do it!” he snarls, and I look down at the blood pooling on the ground, just like the wine of the cask.

“Activate!” I yell, gripping the hilt tight. Then I look into the blue-black sphere, and fury fills me, fury that thisthingdoes not obey. “Activate. Now!”

The blade extends. It is long, obsidian, razor sharp, and lightning crackles around it, black and blue, coating the sharp blade with energy. I rip aside Orr’s robe with one hand clumsily, seeing the damage.

The metal bar went in deep, and the fool thought it was nothing, pulling it out, opening up a wound in his back, where blood seeps down, staining his pure marble flesh. It looks like blood on a statue, but statues don’t die, and this man, no matter how big or strong he is, is mortal, just like me.

I bring the blade up, my hand shaking, and press it into the hole. Orr roars. He yells out, in fury and agony, as the stink of burning flesh fills the room, and I pull the blade back, slowly, as his flesh turns red and white, the hole cauterized.

He pushes himself up to his feet as the blade deactivates, and takes the hilt from me.

“You did a good job,” he says, but his voice is weaker than normal.

“Send someone else to get Raneeda and Nash. Please, you need to rest.”

He grins. Somehow, despite everything, he grins. “It smells of barbequed beef,” he says, and I take a step back, my eyes wide. How can he possibly be making jokes at a time like this?

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