Lycan Alpha Claim 3 (111 page)

CHAPTER 20

Clara could see the rest stop just ahead, nothing more than a distended crescent along the sphere wall. It afforded a bench, a towel, and a spigot fed by the underwater copper piping that had been laid by the Guardians over a hundred years past.

As she and Charles approached, Clara was grateful for the sight of the slender, copper pipe, its goose neck posture a welcome view.

“It will be divine to have another spot of water,” Clara said gratefully. Her sides burned, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Charles nodded, gaining his bearings as he looked Outside. Everything looked as it always did. The Great Forest was familiar. Turning, he dug for the water bottles again, and filling them, he saw that the cleanse had been recent. The water from the spigot was still chilled.

Clara accepted her water with a smile and careful not to gulp, consumed about half. The glorious water slid down her throat like a salve.

Vaguely, Clara became aware of approaching footsteps, but was unconcerned since they came from the neighboring kingdom. It would be at least another hour before additional guards were sent to see why Clarence was in a sleep from which he could not wake. And what of it? She and Charles would be well and away Outside.

Clara felt the first stirring of excitement swell inside her. Even as the circumstances were dire, it would still fulfill her fondest wish: to see the Outside.

Charles set his water down, concern riding his face. “I do not like this.”

“It is fine, just people traveling on trade day.”

“But we must concoct a deception and dispatch them immediately. We cannot afford to appear...”

“We will not. Do not worry.”

Charles looked down at her face, and she squeezed his arm, the brushed cotton of his shirt a familiar texture beneath her palm.

The group rounded the corner, and Clara's heart fell to her feet. It was Prince Frederic and his royal guard.

****

Bracus and the others lined up at the swell of the hill where the forest met the open valley, quivers filled and riding high on their muscular backs, the bows strung at their sides.

It was some distance, but he thought he could make out the tunnel leading from the main sphere, the place that the
sphere-dwellers
used to trade goods with one another and to travel.

Philip turned to him. “Why do we go here? Should we not acquire her at her chamber? That is where you have seen her before.” His face was set in puzzled, hard angles.

Bracus shook his head. “No, we enter at the place that has the least of them.” He pointed to a point one-third from where the main body of the sphere met the travel tunnel. Steam escaped in lazy spirals. “We will infiltrate here.” He unsheathed an arrow, pointing to a place that bowed out slightly from the tunnel.

Matthew summarized the plan. “We will enter there, retrace our steps, overtake their lone guard, and enter the main body.”

Bracus nodded.

Stephen said, “We may meet resistance.”

“Yes,” Joseph said. “But Bracus has said we will escape from her chamber, and that they would be reluctant to follow, being too busy with filling the hole we will create.” He held up his flask with the salt mixture. Each member had one. Things might occur out of the scope of their expectations. Better to be prepared.

Joseph was of sound mind. They all were.

Bracus nodded. Time to be about it. The Band carefully looked about them, and Bracus gave the special call. The war call.

The shrill, ringing tone carried on the light breeze like music on the wind.

CHAPTER 21

“Well, well... my little Princess and her
friend
are here. How convenient for me,” Prince Frederic said, a knowing smile overtaking his face.

Charles pulled Clara behind him with a firm hand on her wrist.

Clara told herself that they were doing nothing wrong, that the Prince knew what they were about. She had told him they traveled this day for trading with the Kingdom of West Virginia. But his face... his face told a different tale.

“Did you think me so stupid that I would not check on your plans? Your travel plans with this fool,” he said in a voice that shook with rage.

Charles stiffened.

Clara tried to step around Charles to address the prince, but Charles said, “Do not.”

“Prince Frederic, you knew of the Princess's plans to trade this day. What has provoked your ire?”

Clara bunched her hand in the fabric of Charlesʼ shirt, the heat of his body seeping into hands that had grown cold.

“We left a sentry behind,” Prince Frederic said as explanation.

Clara's thoughts turned to Clarence. One of the Prince's guard must have come upon Clarence.

Clara, once so adept at containing her expression, had allowed some of what she was feeling to show on her face.

The Prince smiled. “I see by your expression you understand what I mean. Search them.” He waved a dismissive hand in their direction.

The salt.

Charles's thoughts raced.
How could he extradite them from this situation?
Obviously, the sentry had come upon Clarence and communicated this to the Prince. And although he may not exactly know their plan, he must assume it did not include him or the kingdom that Frederic coveted.

Prince Frederic had four guards with him.

Charles knew he must protect Clara at all costs. He gave over the knapsack to the guard. The hilt of a hidden dirk lay at the small of his back. The element of surprise might be enough. He had been in training these many years to eventually be in the royal guard. He would need every ounce of that training now.

****

Prince Frederic approached Clara slowly, a shark testing the waters. She stayed behind Charles. The guards ransacked their things.

One of the guards lifted the flask. Opening it, he gave it a sniff, moving his palm back and forth over the top.

He lifted his head. “Salt, Your Highness.”

Prince Frederic came very near Charles and Clara. Charles’s eyes followed each step. “Now what, pray tell, might you want with salt? Diluted salt at that?” His eyes narrowed.

“To breach the sphere is to be executed, as you are aware, Princess.”

He looked her over very carefully, taking in her royal attire and her crown.

“Very wise to wear your proper royal garb. But it will not save you, for I know what you are about. Your costume did not fool me.”

And with that, he reached his hand out, wrapping it around Clara's wrist, moving the bones together within the steel band of his grip.

Charles shouted, “No!” He released her other wrist. Charles smashed the flat of his palm in the Prince's face, and blood sprayed in a graceless arc.

He did not hesitate, grabbing the dirk from the small of his back, slashing in a tight, backhanded arc toward the neck of the closest guard as the other guard grabbed his free arm. The first guard lay upon the ground, his mortal wound spilling his lifeblood upon the dirt floor of the tunnel. Charles grappled with the guard who has hold of his weaponless arm and buried the dirk in his upper chest. Staggering back, hand on the hilt, the guard gave a surprised, wide-eyed glance at Charles, who dismissed him. His full attention shifted to the remaining two guards. He was now without the dirk.

“I think we shall have some sport. Guards, detain this man and make him watch while I teach my betrothed the lessons herein.”

Clara struggled in earnest, knowing the beating she had suffered would pale in comparison to what she was afraid he meant.

Frederic shoved Clara down to the dirt floor, where she landed on her back, the wind whooshing from her lungs. She struggled to get up. Her corset stays were like unyielding bones that stymied her progress.

He slapped her so hard across the face that her vision dimmed and an impenetrable fog clouded her head. She was vaguely aware of Charles struggling with the other guards. She heard the meaty sounds of his fist connecting with their flesh. But the prince was a distraction as he lay atop her, lifting the hem of her dress to her knees, trying to work it higher.

He meant to rape her
with Charles as witness.

Clara bucked and fought.

He struck her again, pinning her wrists above her head with one of his hands, unlacing his breeches with the other. Clara lost all semblance of sanity, screaming wildly for Charles, blood trickling from her nose.

****

“Did you hear that?” Matthew asked the others.

Bracus nodded, changing his speed from jogging to sprinting. They moved toward the sphere tunnel in a lethal wall of menace, throat slits fully open in deep red slashes of flesh against their throats. Arriving outside the slightly bulbous outcropping of the sphere tunnel, they were not able to believe the sight that greeted them.

Bracus's breath caught in his lungs. A man lay atop the Princess, undoing his breeches with one hand while she screamed for someone and struggled to free herself. But even Bracus could see she was no match for the one who rode her.

Philip growled low in his throat. “Gather the flasks!”

Bracus nodded, shouting, “All of them! Throw everything on my command.”

“Now!” Bracus's shout penetrated the interior of the sphere.

****

Charles was prone on all fours surviving a well-placed kick to the ribs, crawling to help Clara when she screamed for him, the plea a stab to his heart. The abhorrent prince was trying to have his way with her. He must reach her. A powerful yell sounded from Outside.

Prince Frederic froze on top of Clara, his undergarment a thin barrier between himself and the Princess he wished to defile. Looking over the top of her head, he saw men, huge men, like the rumored Vikings of his ancestry. The gills in their necks looked like slashes from a knife, opening and closing with their breathing.

Charles and the guards were transfixed when water hit the sphere. A moment passed with the liquid cascading down the outside, hissing and smoking. A tear formed, and the fresh air of the Outside reached their lungs for the first time.

Clara was in a dim fog, her dress about her hips, the Prince poised above her when she saw a foot connected with his jaw. He flew several feet away from her. She lay stunned, a dull ache rooting her shoulders in the awkward position above her head as she watched the scene unfold.

Huge men flooded into the confines of the tunnel, working without mercy on the remaining guards, slitting their throats and dumping their bodies to the ground like garbage. The one who lay on his back with a  hilt sticking out of his chest like an exclamation point breathed shallowly while one guard came upon him, twisting the hilt while he screamed in agony. Finally, the man removed it and slit that guard's throat, turning his head to look at Clara while simultaneously wiping the bloodied blade on the guard's clothing.
It was him,
Clara thought with a shudder, the
savage
who frightened her.

He gave her a grim smile and walked toward where she lay. Her breath came in large gasps. She was frozen to the ground, unable to move. She would die here, surrounded by
savages
on the dirt floor of the tunnel.

She craned her neck. Her vision swam, and she saw Charles being approached by two
savages,
their thick thigh muscles bunching as they squatted in front of him.

She screamed, not caring for her own safety but thinking only of him, “Spare him! He is my friend. Please, spare him...” she cried in a pathetic whisper through a wash of tears.

A fierce face loomed in front of her vision. It was the
savage
she had seen through the sphere wall, the one who looked upon her with tenderness, as he did now.

“Fear not, Princess. No harm will come to you.” Bracus helped her arms down to her sides and lowered her dress. His expression was one of contained rage as his gaze wandered to Frederic, who lay unconscious beside her.

Her head swiveled back to Charles. Two
savages
knelt beside him, awaiting their leader’s command. Her eyes met Charles's, and he hung his head, realizing that their fate was in the hands of the
savages.

Bracus looked down at the Princess, and the black spot in his heart spread like spilled ink as he looked upon her injuries, which led his gaze to the large male who lay breathing a few feet away. He knew in his guts that this was the male who had committed the first abuse. The other, who lay on the ground near Stephen and Joseph, looked as though he had defended her.

“Bracus.” Philip stared down at him, but his eyes strayed to the Princess.

“We must go. Let us dispatch these two and take our leave quickly, before more arrive.”

Clara lifted a trembling arm, shaking from lack of circulation and laid it on Bracus's forearm, her touch light as a feather.

He looked down at the small hand, fascinated by its size, but his expression remained stoic.
This female was killing him.

The Princess said, “Please, I beg you. Do not harm him. He is my dearest friend. Take me, and leave him, please.”

“Clara no! You know not what their intent is!” Charles shouted, trying to get to his feet, but the guards held him in position.

“Do not harm her! She has done nothing,” Charles said to the group at large.

Matthew replied with a smirk, “That is not our intent,
sphere-dweller.
”

Charles and Clara both heard the note of disdain in his voice. He looked at them as if insulted that they would think he would harm the Princess who lay vulnerable and injured at their feet.

Stephen looked down at Charles. “It was our plan to take her, not you. It was happenstance that you were here... and the others.” He shrugged as though their deaths had been collateral damage, and not of great importance.

Bracus knew that time was short. He stood. Bending over, he hauled the Princess to her feet.

Clara was suddenly on her feet, free from her horrible position on the ground. But the movement had been too fast, and she swayed. As she felt her vision narrowing, her body filled up with heat. It began at her feet and rushed to her head. She knew she would faint.

“No you don't, Princess,” the
savage
said, swooping her right off the ground. Clara wasn't sure this was an improvement as her face lolled against his huge chest and his arms folded her into his body as if she were the size of a child. To him, she probably was.

“Do not take her!” Charles yelled, struggling against the guards. 

Bracus gave Stephen a terse nod, and he slammed his fist into Charles’s temple. His body slumped to the floor in a heap.

“No!” Clara screamed, struggling in the grip of the
savage
, but to no avail. He had terrible strength and stood immune to her movements.

Suddenly, the
savage
did not trust what was in her face. “Be still. You needed rescuing.”

Clara cringed back from him in fear, and Bracus's eyes narrowed. Her response did not make sense. Why was she so afraid?

“Cease this. We mean you no harm,” Bracus told her.

She stopped and looked up into Bracus's face. His intense hazel eyes were warm with sincerity, and it was all too much.

Clara slumped into unconsciousness.