Page 68 of Broken Triad

“Ra’al would cut our heads off,” I snarl, because we are deserters, marked by stealing a Reaver and by the venom in our veins. There can be no explaining this away.

“No. He will allow us an honorable death. I know him. He knows us.” Krazak is certain. His aura is a volcano, green-red magma coursing up through his being, but his features are blank as if he is saying he is going for dinner or for a walk. He is in total control, the leader of our triad, and where he points me, I must go.

I turn to Bolden. His aura is stone.

“I’m tired, Khra. It’s time for all of this to end.”

27

LOLA

“Bastard who sold me this broken ship!” I curse, but I know it’s not his fault. Running simulations on my smart-watch surreptitiously during my servitude wasn’t enough. I didn’t listen to his explanation on how to fly this thing, and even if I had, Krazak and his triad have centuries of knowledge. If they managed to hack a high-tech Reaver to make it show that they were on their regular patrols while they slipped away for secret moments with me, forcing a little surveyor ship to touch down where they want it would be child’s play.

I press buttons on the dashboard, without any effect, finally slapping at the display and jerking the wheel so hard I’d put myself in a stall and crash if I regained control. Luckily, my brute force attempt doesn’t work.

It’s hopeless. I resign myself to watching the tree line thin as I’m piloted towards the mountains, the little icon of my ship on the display moving towards triangles that represent the peaks. My ship skirts around the peak of Ridgetown, touching me down right where the Reaver rested just last night.

When they told me they were going to put the venom in their veins, leaving me alone, it was one of my worst moments.

It was nothing compared to the horrors I witnessed in the cave, the triad turning cruel and monstrous, their eyes turned bright green with the violence of the Scorp.

Even that, I can accept. Even changed, I want them. They have no right to push me away.

The controls blink three times as I’m set down roughly on the ground. The console hums back to life. I’ve got control again, but I don’t know where to pilot my ship.

I wrack my brain as I sit, a sweaty, disheveled mess. I can feel their seed painting my inner thighs, inside of me, my sweat sticking my sweater against my naked skin. It’s rough material. My shirt was ripped to shreds, used to tend to the feverish triad.

I shift uncomfortably on the hard, leathery seat, expecting to feel disgusting and anxious.

Instead, I’m focused. My body is healthier than it ever has been. The sleepless night feels like a full night’s rest, my legs that should be aching have a pleasant burn of exertion, the same as in my arms where I clambered up and down the ladder. Determination is steeling my resolve.

Why?

Why did they go through all that agony, just to cast me aside?

I run my hand over the dashboard, reach out and touch the crack in the reinforced glass viewshield at the front of my cockpit.

They pushed me aside not because they don’t want me.

They fear that they can only make my life worse. That I’m better off without them. There was a new coldness in Krazak when he told me to leave, a deeper rage even than the first time I met him, a lifetime ago when he saved me in the cellar. The Scorp-Blood corrupted them, to the point they believe they can only hurt me.

No…

That’s not quite it. They were always brutal, but they had a possessiveness to them, wanting me so badly they couldn’t resist claiming me.

Obsidian.

He is the key.

I’ve heard a thousand tales of the demon God of their species. He felt so far away, just a month ago, nothing but rumors and dark horrors whispered, preferably in the light of day. He is said to be ten feet tall, with blood as black as oil. Some say he was born of demon spawn, raised by wolves, a violent storm that will wash over the universe. Others say he was born of an ancient General, centuries ago, the man that Queen Jasmine’s triad killed to take the throne.

I will not damn a child to this pain, a cursed offspring like Obsidian.

Krazak’s words ring in my mind endlessly. That is it. The General who sired Obsidian was Scorp-Blooded. Krazak thinks that if his triad gets me pregnant, they will create a monster. That the Scorp-Blood would pollute an innocent babe, turning his veins to black and destining him to endless agony.

I put my head in my hands. I want to hate them, so badly, but it’s no use. Why did they put that venom in their veins, if it was all for nothing? Were they really trying to kill themselves, to punish themselves for not saving that woman who was Fated for them? After all this time, do they view me as an unholy abomination?

Their lives would have been so simple if they had not met me. They told me they were grey inside. I’ve tortured them with a splash of color, color that should not have been.

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