Authors: KC Klein
Tears streamed; my nose ran. My hands were fisted in his shirt. Fabric ripped beneath my fingers. “Screw you! Is that what you want me to say? That she never said goodbye. That she freaking left me! LEFT ME! My mother left me when she promised. Promised that she loved me!”
I fell sobbing to the ground, sharp rocks imbedding in my knees. He followed, holding me tight to his chest. “And then YOU were leaving me. You
wanted
to leave me. How could you ConRad?”
“I love you.”
“Shut up. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP. Don’t. Lie. To. Me. You were leaving. I saw you turn your back and walk away.”
“I wasn’t leaving. Not really. I would’ve been back. Even if you didn’t chase, I would’ve been back.”
“LI#00div heiAR!” I screamed. My hands fisted in his ripped shirt and pulled it tight around his neck.
“Marry me.”
If he took a gun and shot me, I would’ve been less surprised. I crumpled and buried my face in his lap. “You are so cruel. Why are you so cruel? Don’t say that to me. You can’t mean that. Nobody can. I know what I am.
I know.
I’m damaged at best, broken at worst. You can’t want me.”
Silence. The truth was out. I said it. I didn’t lie. For once I didn’t lie.
“You’re right.”
A kick in the face. A knife in my heart. I looked up. He was giving up on me? That was it?
He laughed. And it wasn’t that hoarse laugh I’d heard before. But one that came from the heart, one that came from a place of joy. “You’re such an insane mess, but you’re a beautiful mess. You’re my beautiful mess. I’d never let you go.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. I didn’t know how I felt about being called a mess or crazy. “Well, you’re no bed of roses yourself.”
“Atta girl.” He smiled at me.
A few words of praise and my skin hummed. We were inches apart. His hands moved over my neck, his thumbs stroked the underside of my jaw. And then I knew. He filled the emptiness. Made it smaller, easier. And I was okay.
“I love you.” I rushed the words not wanting to lose courage. My declaration hung heavy in the air, but my relief was greater. Finally, my heart was laid bare, there were no more secrets. “It’s the first time, you know. I never said it before.”
The liquid blue in his gaze burned hot as it trailed slowly down to my lips. “Me either,” he whispered.
My lips opened in invitation. Hunger flared in his eyes; my only warning.
He crushed his mouth to mine—open and wet. He drank from me like I was his personal savior, and I let him. I opened myself to him, dropping all my barriers, exposing as I’d never done before. No more games. This was real.
I ran my fingers through his hair—
finally, yes
—and grabbed on for leverage, pulling closer, grinding my hips to his. He sucked on my tongue, drawing me into his mouth, then pulled back, gently biting my lip. The taste of him—so unique it branded and claimed me as his forever.
ConRad groaned deep, the sound resonating on a primal level within me. His hands cupped my bottom and traveled lower to stroke my heat. I moaned, resenting the clothes that separated us. He grabbed me and pulled me onto his lap. I wrapped my legs around his back.
Our hips meshed and ground together, an inciting tempo that only we could hear. He pushed up my shirt, exposing my breasts to the chilled air. They puckered instantly. His mouth, hot and wet, pulled on one nipple, creating a heat that seared a path from his lips to down deep between my legs.
His mouth was brutal, sucking, pulling, nipping. Emotions rippled off him, and I felt them like they were my own—punishment, redemption, need. Ah God, the need—it hovered on the edge of pain. Tears flowed unhindered. I loved this man. I wanted to take all he had to give.
ConRad’s mouth came back to mine, crushing, forcing his way in. The saltiness mixed with the musk of him and created an aphrodisiac for my palate. ConRad must’ve tasted my tears. He pulled away and gazed at my face.
His breathing was ragged. He touched his forehead to mine and rested. I could feel him fight for control. A deep sigh. An illusion of calm. Then he caressed his cheek against mine, brushing my tears away. His lips—quiet, gentle—kissed me. His eyes leveled with mine, and I saw ConRad. Gone was the wall of solid steel he had forged around himself for protection. And inside was a man, a man who had never loved, one who had never been loved before.
ConRad trembled.
I understood completely. Vulnerability is terrifying. The complete exposure of one’s soul is gut-wrenching.
ConRad broke eye contact and nestled his face against my neck. It was too much. He wasn’t ready to go there with me yet. I stroked his hair as one would a small child. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” he shook his head. “Give me a moment.”
I nodded, trying not to let the pain of his withdrawal show in my face.
Instead of walking away, ConRad reached for his pack and undid his bedroll. He spread the blanket on top of dried piop walne needles and fallen leaves, and knelt down. He raised his hand and clasped mine, tugging me toward him. We knelt there facing each other, my hands wrapped in his, resting both on his heart.
The lines on his face deepened, furrows creased his brow, his eyes simmered. “I pledged my protection to you once before and failed. So I pledge the only thing I have left: my life. As an exiled man I cannot legally ask to be your husband. But with God as our only witness, I devote myself, my heart, my soul, my life to you until the day I die.”
His chest heaved. Hands shook as they clasped mine. “Do you accept?”
My breath hitched. In the span of a quick inhale I was humbled. I didn’t deserve this fierce, strong, proud man. “You asked for honesty and I gave you lies. Lies that almost killed us both. I make a vow to you that from now on only truth will be between us. I give you my heart, my soul, my life until the day I die. Please, ConRad. Let me be your wife.”
He sighed, just a whisper, but I heard it down in my soul.
This powerful man wanted me. Amazing.
My hands trembled as I lifted my shirt. Most of my cuts and bruising had healed. Only along my ribs was there a slight yellowing.
He traced my colored flesh with the pad of his rough thumb. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh—no more. All that’s behind us now.”
No more hesitation. His shirt fell beside mine, and he gathered me into his arms.
The skin-on-skin contact rushed through me. My breath came in shuddered gasps. My nipples hardened, pulse quickened. His arms were strong and corded, his strength barely contained below the surface. I felt his stomach quiver against mine.
I skimmed my hands over his biceps and shoulders, up his neck, and rested one hand on each cheek. The feel of his week’s growth of beard was rough and slightly painful to my sensitized skin. With my thumbs I outlined his lips, full and slightly parted. His mouth opened more and gently teased the pad of my thumb and then soothed the skin with his tongue. I was mesmerized by his mouth—white teeth, pink tongue. A groan formed deep in my throat. I wanted that mouth on me—my lips, my breasts, my everywhere.
A rush of heat sent my attention, my want, my need there. I needed him
I pulled his mouth closer. His tongue mated with mine mingling our tastes—metal, musk, heat.
He broke the kiss, locked his hands in my hair and arched my back, offering my breasts up like the sacrifice on an altar. His mouth sucked one peaked nipple and then the other, sending currents straight to my center. I rubbed myself against him, needing friction, needing relief.
I tugged on his head, needing him lower. He moaned and with startling speed picked me up and lowered me onto the blanket. He made quick work of my boots and yanked on my pants, not even bothering to undo the snap.
I was naked. Then his body flowed over mine like rich cream into hot coffee. His mouth was hot and wet against my concave belly—then headed lower. His fingers stroked the inside of my thighs, the pad of his thumb tracing the palm-sized “S” branded into my skin. All motion stilled.
“I’ll kill him.”
My trembling fingers settled over his. “He’s not worth it. I’m yours now. My body’s branded with your name. Not his.”
He lowered his mouth and kissed the mark that joined us in more ways than one. “You humble me.” His tongue bathed the scarred flesh, and then blew cool air to torment my senses.
And from one second to the other I was embarrassed. He wanted everything. I wanted to give him my all, but I was afraid. Letting him make love to me this way exposed me, shattered my last defense.
His gaze snapped up and pinned me with the clearest of blue. He shook his head. “No, don’t. Do this for me. I want all of you.” He pushed himself up and kneeled before me. “Kris, look at me. It’s time to
trust me, time to let go.”
“Open for me,” he said in a whisper. He brushed the back of his fingers along my thigh, caressed my hip. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. I trembled, but not with fear. The power in letting go and trusting completely had my breath coming in gasps. My back arched. Small whimpers escaped and in minutes I was bursting apart from the sheer intensity. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted him—all of him.
I reached for him. Both of our hands met at the button of his pants. Mine frantic, his shaking.
ConRad pushed his clothing down toward his knees, to impatient to remove his boots and be free o andth=f his clothing all together. Then he was there, above me, over me—thank you God—inside me. My legs wrapped around him. I bit his shoulder. Drew my nails down his back.
He buried his hands deep into my hair, holding me hostage to his pounding heat. I threw my head back to the sound of my name on his lips. And the world exploded.
H
ours later I lay warm and cozy on ConRad’s chest, wrapped tight against him inside his bedroll. We’d both fallen asleep, but upon waking I wished to prolong the afterglow. Tucked in a cocoon of peace and serenity, joy bubbled inside me. This was my wedding morning, none like I’d ever imagined, but I didn’t want the outside world to intrude. But the presumptuous rays of early morning sun and the insistent twitter of birds were the world’s evil reminders that life didn’t stand still, even for a time traveler.
One moment ConRad was sleeping and the next he was up on his feet, ready for battle.
“What?” I asked, still huddling down for warmth.
“Shh,” he said, cutting me off with a hard hand gesture. He stood feet apart, gloriously naked and dangerous, with a machine gun in his hands, his finger easy on the trigger.
“Commander, stand down. It’s Red . . . um, I mean 00273.” Red and Tank had gotten used to their new names during my recovery. There was a rustle in the trees and then the curly red-haired man with a full copper beard appeared.
“You alone?” ConRad asked, not lowering his weapon.
“No, Tank’s with me, but he doesn’t want to come out on account of the . . .” his voice trailed off but his head nodded in my direction.
ConRad’s eyes scanned the area, then grunted his consent. He set his gun down, within easy reach and turned to dress. I pulled the covers securely under my chin.
“We need to move,” Red said. “They’ve found the hut.”
“Where’s Quinn?” My concern for her safety overrode my embarrassment.
“They’re a mile or so south. We’ll meet up with them in about an hour.” Red’s eyes flicked over me nervously, then back to ConRad. Having a naked woman in his midst seemed to make him skittish.
“The Sanctuary then. We’ll catch up.” ConRad had finished dressing and was chewing a piece of jerky. He glanced at me and flashed a boyish smile. My heart forgot its normal cardiac rhythm and hitched. He threw me a strip of chewing leather. It plunked soundly on my stomach. With resolve, I placed the dried hunk of meat in my mouth to begin the softening process. A pang of longing for a five-star breakfast in bed and a real cup of coffee—the way my honeymoon was
supposed
to have started off—had my eyes blurring.
“You okay?” ConRad squatted closer to my eye level and stroked my cheek.
But in all my wildest wedding fantasies, I never got a guy like this. I smiled my tears away and nodded.
“Let’s go then.” He stood and started packing his gear.
“I’m not dressing in front of an audience.”
“Red’s gone,” ConRad said, without taking his eyes off his pack.
I glanced around at the empty meadow.
Within five minutes, ConRad had broken camp, and I’d barely gotten my clothes on. ConRad grabbed my hand, loosely lacing our fingers. The gesture was small, but possessive. I belonged to ConRad. I took a deep breath and swallowed. The thought still had the power to release a fresh batch of butterflies in my stomach.
We walked over to where Red had tethered the horse for us. ConRad helped me on and then mounted behind me. We started forward at a fast walk with ConRad letting the horse pick its way through small trails that wound deeper into the forest. Birds sang cheerfully and sunlight flickered through leaves, playing across my face. I rested my head against the hard plane of ConRad’s chest and closed my eyes. I sighed. I vaguely remembered a girl who avoided the sun for fear of wrinkles. Never again. I’d lived through a night that never ended. Daylight wasn’t something I’d take for granted again.
I could block out the world only for so long. I had to know. Gone was the girl who spent her lifetime ditching reality. Ignorance was death; it was time to start living smart. Resignedly, I opened my eyes. We were still a ways behind the group so I felt free to talk. “Who are they?”
ConRad didn’t need to ask for clarification. He knew what I was asking. “The Elders.”
“They found us?” I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my voice. Cold fear flooded into my veins. I sat forward, prepared to run, even if in my mind I knew it was illogical.
“No, they haven’t. We’re still one step ahead of them. Relax, sweetheart.” His arm came around my waist and then gently pushed my head back to his chest. “I won’t let them take you. I promise.”
His words were meant to comfort, but they didn’t. This was no fairy tale. This was real life. My body still showed the scars of how very real it was. “You can’t promise that.”
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” There was a long pause, then he inhaled deeply. “I wonder if you’ll ever feel safe again.” His voice was low, as if the comment was made for his ears only.
I wondered the same. The question haunted me ever since ConRad carried me, half dead, from my concrete cell. There was an answer—not easy, but my life had taken a complete detour from easy. I thanked the fates that I wasn’t facing him. I’d never have enough courage to ask otherwise. “There is something.”
My tone must’ve spoken volumes. His body stiffened. The horse sped up in response to what it felt was a command. ConRad realized what he’d done, took a deep breath, and relaxed the pressure on our mount.
“I’m not having this conversation.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised he’d guessed what I meant. He knew me better than anyone else.
“I’m sorry.” I really was. I never thought I’d put this burden on anyone. “You’re the only one I know who can do it.”
At first I didn’t think he would respond, then . . .
“Don’t ask this of me,” he growled. I could feel the muscles in his arms tense.
“ConRad, I can’t sleep . . . couldn’t bear to take my next breath if I thought for one second that the Elders getting me was a possibility. You’re the only one I can trust, the only one who
knows
.”
“Man enough.” Thick emotion clogged my throat. “Man enough, so I won’t have nightmares. Man enough, so I can feel safe.”
“Man enough to kill you?” His voice rose, his arms lifting me and turning me so I could see the glaring pain written across his face.
There were no tears. I couldn’t cry. The fear of capture had frozen them inside me. I had to get him to agree—to understand. “Please, ConRad, they can’t take me alive. I can’t go back there. I need to know you’ll end it before it gets to that. I need your vow.”
His hands slid up my arms and cradled my face, his thumbs smoothing my bottom lip. “The only way they’d get to you is if I were dead. You have to know that.”
I shook my head. “It’s not good enough . . .” I swallowed hard, knowing what I asked went beyond the bounds of humanity; it went straight to the heart of pure sin. “You need to stay alive to make sure I don’t.”
The horror on his face shattered my heart and almost my courage.
“Kris, have mercy.” His voice was beyond a whisper, more of a shearing rasp. He had the look of a man burning alive. He released his hold, not wanting to touch me, and then scrubbed his face with his hands. “Ahh, God, woman, you ask for the last bit of my soul. I’ll make you your damn vow, but only because I know it won’t come to that. I’ll make sure it won’t. But I decide when, not you. Understand?”
I nodded, relief flooding through me. My body unfroze as blood began to thaw my veins. Moments of silence lengthened as I nestled back into the wall of his chest. He seemed as happy as I to drop the subject.
“What’s the Sanctuary?” I asked, more to break the quiet than for any real concern.
“A safe place,” he stated. Bitterness underlined his words. I couldn’t blame him.
I doubted there was such a place, but didn’t want to question. I found that for the first time since ConRad had broken me out of prison, I didn’t have the need to plan. I’d gotten my reassurance. I trusted him.
W
ithin half an hour we’d met up with the group. ConRad and I were the only ones sharing a horse. Quinn and Zimm stayed close to us, and Red was in front while Tank pulled up the rear. We moved quickly, our pace slightly below punishing. We stopped only when it was too dark to travel, and by then ConRad had to peel me off the horse.
It wasn’t better the next night, or any night thereafter. Exhausted from the riding, I would crawl from our horse to our bedroll face first. ConRad would massage my limbs and sore behind. It was the only way I could contemplate getting up and doing the whole thing again the next day. Unfortunately, it always stopped there. My honeymoon: ruined by a bunch of snoring soldiers and open sleeping arrangements.
On the third day we left off following a river, and within an hour broke through the forest to open land. Stationed on top a small hill was a brown stone fortress. Thick walls flushed the front and extended quite a way behind, encapsulating a good portion of land. The fortress loomed two or three stories, with a rectangular tower extending, like a phallus, from the center. Double wooden doors, edged with thick metal brackets decorated the face. Brown-colored glass lined the upper levels, barred with rusted iron and thick metal pegs.
The tree line ended close to a quarter of a mile from the stone fortress, allowing any approaching guest to be seen. Our ragtag group rode through the meadow and pulled the horses to a stop a few hundred feet from the entrance. ConRad continued to the wooden doors, and then halted our mount. We sat on the horse and waited. Trying to practice patience, I was impressed I waited a full three minutes before turning to eye ConRad. “Is this it?”
Without answering, ConRad slipped from his horse and turned to haul me down. Reaching for my hand, we walked to the side of the huge fortress and turned the corner out of sight of the group.
I cut a glance to ConRad’s face, which held the familiar resigned look. I knew “that look.” “That look” never boded well for me. “ConRad, what aren’t you telling me?”
I rested my back against the coarse stone wall, while ConRad stood in front of me, his gaze assessing the open grassy area. He was always on alert, always on guard. Finally, he turned and made eye contact. “This is the Women’s Sanctuary. No men allowed.”
“No men? Then why are we here?”
“Kris, please, this is a safe place.” His eyes were hard, mouth in a grim line. “This is where men can bring their women. Where they can be protected. No one can hurt you here.”
“I’ll be safe with you.” Wings of fear Wit a gla began to bat against my rib cage.
He shook his head. “The arrangements have been made.”
Realization was slow, but when it came, it was like a physical blow.
He meant to leave me.
I whipped my head back and forth.
He grabbed my face between his hands and pinned me with his gaze. “Kris, stop. This isn’t about you. I’m not leaving you. You have to trust me.”
“I won’t go. I’m your wife. You can’t just leave me here. You made a promise! Or do you break them as easily as you make them?”
I heard his quick inhalation of breath, but I was hurt. To be abandoned so quickly after his declaration stung.
His fingers bit into the sides of my skull. “Damn woman! You wield your words like a weapon. No, I don’t make promises easily, nor do I break them. Apparently, not nearly as easy as distrust comes to you. I made you a promise to protect you with my life, not to never disagree with you. But I will give you a choice. You can either walk in the Women’s Sanctuary on your own two feet, or I can carry you kicking and screaming like a child.”
I’d seen the expression he wore before chiseled on his face. His mind was set, the decision made without my consent. “But I’m your wife.” To my shame, my voice trembled.
He sighed and his expression softened. His fingers relaxed into a caress. So he wasn’t as indifferent to me as he wanted me to believe. “I’m not used to having to explain myself.”
“Time to get used to it.”
“Apparently,” his tone dry, but there was a small lift to the corner of his mouth. “We’re being followed.”
I nodded. “The Elders.”
He released his hold and braced one hand on the wall behind me. His head bowed as if the patch of grass between his feet held the answers to the secrets of the ages. “It’s Syon. He has a group of men. Men loyal to him and his agenda. He wants to hurt me and that means everything that belongs to me.”
His eyes pierced mine, holding me captive as much as his physical body. “Syon will never cease hunting me, and that means hunting you to get to me.”
Cold sweat broke out across my skin. I splayed my palms against the back wall, fingers finding the grooves in the stone. “But why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me.”
Then his famous sigh again. “Word got out about you, where you supposedly came from, how we saved you from the alien. And, well . . . people, people started to talk about The Prophesy and how you might be The One.
“The Elders needed to show the people that you’re not the one to fulfill The Prophesy. They wanted to break you—control you, so they restrained Syon. But now you’re an escaped prisoner—a walking death sentence. And Syon couldn’t be happier.”
I hadn’t thought about The Prophesy in what felt like a thousand years. I was by no means convinced of its authenticity, but if other people and the Elders were, then my beliefs didn’t matter much. Regardless, my concern right now was for my husband. “What are you going to do?”
“Hunt him back.” His voice deep—low. And if I had blinked, I would’ve missed the flash of pure rapture in his eyes.
For one second my confidence rattled. How precarious was the line that ConRad walked, separating good and evil?
Then my ConRad was back, gathering me into his arms and kissing me gently on the forehead. His breath shuddered slightly as he inhaled deeply. “Kris, please believe me, I don’t want to leave you. But I can’t protect you.”
I shook my head not wanting to hear the rest.
“You’re a liability to me. You’re exhausted. You’ve barely eaten in three days, and I don’t have a horse for you. I can’t do what I need to do and worry about you at the same time.”
Everything he said was true. I could barely sit in a saddle anymore, but I wasn’t willing to give in yet. “No,” my voice broke. “I’m stronger than you think. Stronger with you.”
“Kris.” He shook me again, his face mere inches from mine. “I can’t protect you. And the goddess knows that it rips me apart to admit it, but I can’t.”
Pain clenched at my throat. I swallowed tears. “But Quinn, she’s not staying.” It was a childish plea, but I was desperate.
“No one is trying to kill her.” His final words secured the last bar in my prison.