Xenomene leaned over the desk, poring over orders and summaries of Dlad City and its fortifications. Her candles burned low, and the crisp cool air of hushed night rustled through her window.

  At least I got an upgrade!

  At the start of the war in Cape Gythmel, the Krey lived in tents, but after the retreat to Dlad City, she improved their living conditions. The Krey were allotted a small four-story inn near the north side of town. To be forthright, the building lay furthest away from the Grand Royal Army, which suited both sides. In fact, Xeno appreciated the savvy tactic.

  The smartest move the army’s officers made thus far.

  Once again, the tasks of daily camp life and fortifying the defenses reverted to the army. Only she, her second in command, Tiny, and the Mind, were allowed into the camp proper.

  The building, called Traveler’s Respite, stood almost taller than its length. Xeno took the entire fourth floor and the squad bedded down on the second, leaving the third floor as a buffer between them. The first floor stood as their mess hall and the third for storage, but for items not readily needed, like their fallen brothers’ armor recovered during the accord struck between the dark lord, Xilor, and the warlock Judas Lakayre. True to his word, which surprised her, Xilor allowed them to collect their dead unmolested.

  Monsters have honor?

  She turned her attention back to the detailed maps and accompanying orders. Most seemed straight forward, but every time she voiced her opinion, it had been turned aside like she hadn’t spoken at all. Did the problem arise because she was female or Krey?

  Probably both. The thought tasted bitter in her mouth.

  Thinking about the men who shunned her advice and those she despised, Bitcher’s face raced through her mind.

  Damn him to the Underworld!

  Nearly a month ago, he took her in Islander fashion at Cape Gythmel. She retaliated, seeking revenge and justice for his transgression, but her thoughts dwelled on him. It wasn’t that she harbored resentment; on the contrary—and surprisingly—she felt affection. He had opened her eyes to acts she’d never experienced. Much to her chagrin, it fortified the Krey’s way as well. They never turned their nose up at anything, least of all experiences of the flesh. Their close neighbors in Ralloc would’ve shunned them had they walked in on them. Her fellow Krey, however, would've pulled up a bench and cheered the performance.

  And they would think no different of us. They would accept us. Her cheeks flushed with color.

  Both she and Bitcher were stuck at a crossroad in their relationship.

  Relationship? What the fuck? I am actually thinking of this as a relationship?

  If it was, it was one-sided. Bitcher sulked since his punishment. In her mind, the deeds were done and over, but he perpetuated his penalization by avoidance. He never looked her in the eye the few times they exchanged words, and when she did approach him, he searched for nearby people for protection in numbers. Even Tiny, Xeno’s second, commented on the odd behavior, “He’s less bitchy.”

  Tiny wasn’t privy to Bitcher’s punishment, nor the fact that Bitcher bedded her. There were things in life to be grateful for. She liked Tiny, her rock, and faithful supporter, perhaps a friend, but Tiny fostered aspirations for romance. She couldn’t crush his hopes by saying it wouldn’t ever happen, let alone tell him she slept with Bitcher. The scene kept replaying in her mind. As much as she hated it, she enjoyed it, too.

  “Have you come to ‘bury your face in it'?”

  “That, among other things.”

  She shook the thoughts away and returned her attention to the documents. The smallest leaf of parchment sat folded, and she picked it up again, much to her annoyance. She unfolded the paper and reread the heir’s message.

  What the fuck is wrong with you, cunt? You refused each pair of replacements I sent you. You better fall in line, or I swear by the Lord of the Underworld I will come down there and strip you of your responsibilities. I don’t give two shits of a fucking prostitute if they look funny, stink, seem too small, or too young! They are Krey, and so are you, so fucking act like it! You will take these two I sent, and if I hear another word of protest, so help me by the dwaven gods, I will suck out your soul after I let your squad rut you into oblivion!

  Xeno laughed the first time she read the message. Each time after, a smile crawled over her face. A quiet chuckle rumbled in her belly. The heir was always humorous, but he didn’t understand her. She implemented each pair he sent, five in all, and none fit. They disrupted the meld. Perhaps a little dysfunction was normal but debilitating? Krey needed to function as a seamless, cohesive unit.

  Have you come to bury your face in it?

  She ground her teeth at the stray thought and wadded up the heir’s note. A small knock sounded on her door, but it was expected. She tossed the paper into the corner behind her desk.

  “Enter,” she snapped more forcefully than she meant. The man at the door was blameless for her less-than-jovial mood.

  Tiny entered, the towering man with a thick shadow of stubble on his face. He bowed his head so he wouldn’t hit the threshold. He, like her and the rest of the Krey, dressed in camp attire, a simple black tunic with ties on the side and shorts. Xeno, however, cut the excess length of her britches and the sleeves of her shirt. She smiled, remembering that Mauler had done the same.

  “Are you ready to see them?” Tiny asked.

  “Yes, send them in.” The big man turned to leave when she called out, “Oh, and Tiny? Wake Bitcher. He can standby outside until I’m done with the two virgins.”

  Tiny smiled at the nickname all Krey carried until they bloodied themselves in battle. In Cape Gythmel, just a month prior, Xenomene was a virgin herself.

  “Is that wise?” Tiny asked.

  “Are you questioning me?”

  “Not at all, but since you two…”

  “He can’t hide forever. Whatever is between us must be resolved before battle.”

  “As you command, Do-don.” Tiny left, and the two virgins filed into the room. Her second closed the door, his footsteps growing quieter.

  “Oblus Eti,” they courtesied.

  “Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti,” she returned their informal greeting with a formal one: Live and die by the sword.

  “So,” Xenomene started, standing and coming around the desk. Both men glanced at her legs and crotch, noticing the modified attire.

  Men, she rolled her eyes. When they brought their attention back to her face, she narrowed her eyes.

  “You are the two new virgins? What are your names?”

  The one with the meticulously kept goatee and green eyes spoke up, “I’m Slurp, Do-don. He’s Smokey.” Xenomene couldn’t help but stare at the former. Slurp embodied the pinnacle elements of attractiveness for her: pale skin, blond hair, an athletic build, and just a few inches taller than her. She fought the urge to imagine him without clothes. Smokey, by converse, had thick curly facial hair—a beard flecked with dark blond and brown—reaching past his collarbone. His pot belly rivaled that of Two-Tons. Smokey mirrored Slurp in paleness but with blue eyes and hair a shade or two darker. Xenomene stared at the contrasting men for a moment before returning to her seat. “Where do you hail from?”

  “From the Isles,” Slurp supplied. Xenomene hesitated for a fraction of a second before she reclaimed her seat. Bitcher’s declaration and the salacious act that followed flashed through her mind.

  “Good,” she gave a small smile. “Another member of our squad is from the Isles, so you’ll at least have some companionship as you recall your homeland.”

  “We may,” Slurp said. “Then again, we may not come from the same area or island.”

  “True,” she conceded, looking over the two men. “Tell me a little about yourselves.”

  “I am from the main island, the big one,” Slurp offered, his words seemed a little forced. He jerked a thumb at Smokey. “He comes from the smallest island; I don’t remember the name. We always called it Speck, like a speck of dust because it’s so small.”

  Xenomene glanced at Smokey. “Are you a fucking mute?”

  “I speak,” Smokey said, his accent thick.

  Xeno almost retorted, “Better if you don’t.” However, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to poke fun and embarrass them. “Tell me, is it true what they say about Islanders?”

  “I’d fuck your ass,” Smokey blurted, giving her a wink. Slurp rolled his eyes and shook his head, flushing brightly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I bet you’d fuck anything, even a turtle,” Xeno clipped back.

  “A turtle? That doesn’t—?”

  Xeno waved his question away, exasperated. “It’s the only thing I could think of at the moment.” She turned her attention to Slurp and raised an eyebrow.

  “Aye, it’s true,” he confirmed, ill at ease.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you care?” Smokey growled. “You’re not from our culture.”

  “Hey, I genuinely want to know why y’all prefer … that. Never heard it explained. You got to admit, it’s … different.” The thought of asking Bitcher crossed her mind, but he avoided her.

  Slurp seemed both defiant and abashed. “The truth? We overpopulated our islands. A king, I don’t remember his name because it happened so long ago, decreed that all intercourse was to be done in this manner to curb our growing population. The men of our islands are not renowned for showing … restraint at the crucial moment. It’s been that way ever since.”

  Xenomene nodded, hearing his words. “How long ago was this?”

  Slurp shrugged. “Three or four legends ago.”

  The do-don did the math. “Thirty to forty thousand years ago?” she blurted. That was an impossibly long time. Whatever changes they made were as ingrained in their culture for good. Just to reverse the effects would take ages, maybe even a legend or more. Leaning back in the chair, Xeno changed subjects. “According to the heir, I have to accept you, but you,” she said pointing to Smokey, “I’d send back for your lack of tact. I don’t like you very much right now,” she teased. “Fix that.”

  “Aye, Do-don.” Smokey nodded.

  “Did you receive quarters?”

  “Yes, Do-don,” Slurp answered.

  “Very well, on the morrow, we will add you to the meld. I hope by the scrotum of gods you aren’t fuck-ups like the last few groups the heir bestowed. You may retire for the evening.”

  They turned and left, half walking, half fleeing from her. She heard Slurp say, “I kind of like her,” as they retreated. Her door almost shut when Bitcher’s hand caught it, and he shuffled in, eyes downcast, steps timid.

  “Close the door,” she ordered. The light tone used with the two virgins fled; now, she used a voice of authority. Bitcher complied with wordless, meek movements. He stood a few paces from the desk, his eyes on the floor and distant.

  I fucking broke him, she realized. Bitcher had become a pitiful shell of his former self. Where is the fire in him? Belatedly she spoke, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Bitcher only shrugged and moved his eyes to a new segment of the floor. Xeno leapt from her chair and bounded around the desk, her pixie form moving with agile grace. Bitcher didn’t even flinch at her movements. She reared back and slapped him in the face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Bitcher’s cold, gray eyes found her emerald gaze for a moment, and then he regarded the floor. “You,” he whispered.

  “Me? Me what?” she almost screamed.

  “You … you cut off my fucking testicle!” he said, his eyes finding hers again.

  “Yeah, and I had the Heart put it back!”

  “You cut off my testicle!” he repeated, his voice finding his inner fire.

  Finally, something! She hoped for some rise out of him, some emotion that showed he wasn’t beyond repair. Instead of praising it aloud, she said, “You violated me! I told you there would be consequences. Did you think I was joking?”

  “If it was without your consent, you could and would’ve stopped me.”

  Xenomene didn’t want to concede the point. She let him take her, didn’t fight or resist, squirm or kick. She let him take her in Islander fashion, a first for her. A scream would alert Tiny and the Krey. They would’ve stormed the pavilion in a torrent of violence, tearing Bitcher apart. But she didn’t scream, didn’t resist, and she had punished him for his daring initiative. Bitcher didn’t see the punishment as done but perpetual, coddling his wounded ego.

  “Damn it, Bitcher. I don’t get you! What happened to the man who always complained about everything? Where’s the asshole we all know and love and hate?”

  “What the fuck would you know of love?”

  “Nothing,” she answered candidly, stepping back. “Love is frivolous and fickle at best, a notion for people who are dumb enough to believe. It isn’t the Krey way.”

  “Not the Krey way?” Bitcher laughed almost like his old self, but with a harsh mocking in his tone. “The Krey are all about love. The love of war and bloodlust, of death, drink, and sex. We take what we want when we want, because we can, and we love the power.”

  Again, Bitcher had a point, but she was not willing to avow to it aloud. “What would you know of love?” she countered, anger simmering because he was right and hit a nerve.

  “I loved someone once,” he choked out. He cast his eyes to the floor. “Then she cut off my balls.” He glared back at her.

  Xenomene’s eyes widened in disbelief. She shook her head, the proclamation sinking in. She stumbled to the desk’s edge, staring at the wall, trying to find her voice. “You love me?” She glanced at him. “How? When? Why the fuck would you love me?”

  “Loved,” Bitcher corrected. It was easier than saying, ‘I don’t love you anymore,’ but his words hit like a troll’s club to the chest. She hadn’t known, not in the slightest. He never spoke of affection, and she had always remained aloof, not only from him but the rest of the squad. As a loner, she relished the comfort of her antisocial behavior, but do-dons couldn’t indulge such luxuries. His revelation took her wind. Knowing she destroyed his affection compounded the guilt.

  Since when do I start caring about his fucking affection?

  Since you found out the truth, a voice answered back.

  She gazed into his pale gray eyes and saw hate and pain and mistrust.

  I did those things to him. I made him what he is. That epiphany killed her the most.

  She broke the man, a constant in her life, like her other brothers-in-arms. Each was a unique individual, but in the meld, they became one. Out of the meld, Xenomene could feel the disconnect between them, and always would unless she fixed it. She couldn’t erase the memory or the experience. Could the warlock? He’d find out what really happened. She wasn’t sure she wanted to undo the past. If they ever got more females in the squad, would he repeat his actions?

  When they had sex, he drugged her. He couldn’t deny that fact. Whatever liquid the bottle held did something to her. The effects came to mind with vivid clarity. An altered state she had never experienced, even when she crawled on her hands and knees to find her sleeping mat while drunk. The contents in question destroyed her inhibitions, or did they? Would she still do those things without outside influence? Either way, the liquid came after the fact. The moment came for her to stop him, but she chose not to.

  Have you come to bury your face in it?

  She shook her head, trying to clear the memory away. That was then, this is now. Or was it? After the first week, she obsessed over their encounter. Every detail, each time he took her, how his hands brushed against her skin, the way he cupped her breasts or smacked her buttocks, his exploring hands between her legs. She dreamed about their encounter and woke up in a sweat, tempted to call him and sate her desires. But the dream would fade and reality set in; he just wasn’t the same.

  I have to fix him, but how?

  As she considered, the answer came unbidden. Like her memory, she resisted. The more she abstained, the stronger the compulsion. Swallowing her pride, she disrupted the quiet between them.

  “I enjoyed it,” she breathed. Full, disbelieving eyes stared back at her. “The Underworld may damn my soul if I’m lying, but I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “What cruelty is this?” Bitcher barked.

  “It’s not a trick, Bitcher. I refused to accept it at first. That whole first week I was still livid. As time wore on, I found myself fantasizing. It’s always with me.” She let out a huff. “You’re right,” she confessed at last.

  “I am? About what?”

  “I could’ve stopped you but chose not to. I could’ve said no, or screamed, but I didn’t. At that point, I honestly didn’t care. The battle,” she revealed, her voice catching in her throat, “wasn’t as I expected.”

  “Shades, you aren’t going to cry, are you?” Bitcher asked, sardonic.

  She smiled at that. “Fuck you. No, but I always fantasized that killing people would be different. We’ve trained every day for years. Fuck, even my dreams couldn’t compare. All those bodies I cut down…”

  “We cut them down," Bitcher rectified. He took a step closer. "We all did. We followed our training, and will do so again, many times over. Afterward, all who lived will be merry, and we’ll drink until drunk, and fuck pretty girls and whores. In Smokey’s case, maybe a goat,“ Xeno chuckled at that, chasing her inner turmoil away. "The point is, I’m sure everyone felt the same. You shouldn’t focus on the deaths, but the lives you saved.”

  “Bitcher,” Xeno said, her voice soft, “that’s very optimistic of you. Almost—” she searched for the word, “—kind.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined.”

  She smiled again, as he started to return to normal. Xeno bowed her head to hide a lone tear from him.

  Snap out of it, you’re squalling like a child without her dolly.

  She wiped the tear away and glanced up at Bitcher again, their gazes locked. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?”

  “I said, ’I’m sorry.’ What I did was out of embarrassment and resentment. The punishment was too severe, it didn’t fit the crime.”

  “What are you talking about? Some could see it closer to rape than not.”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. I may not have consented verbally, but I definitely didn’t try to stop you. To be honest, I was curious …” she trailed off. He knew she was talking about the battle’s aftermath. “I’d do it over if I could.”

  “Do what over? The deed or the punishment?” Bitcher stepped closer.

  She smiled coyly. “Both.” He reached forward and kissed her, quick and passionate before breaking away.

  Emotions flashed through her: aggravation, shock, embarrassment, lust, pain, and disbelief.

  Have you come to bury your face in it?

  That, among other things.

  He can do whatever he wants to me as long as it feels good.

  He paused, poised, waiting. She nodded her assent, and he launched back towards her, ravishing her like a wild animal.

  Xenomene awoke to the rooster’s call. An arm draped over her. Bitcher’s body spooned her naked form. She smiled, remembering the night prior. Many times, she reassured an uncertain Bitcher and gave consent. Sex in a proper bed was better than a pallet in a tent, but the possibility of them being discovered heightened the enjoyment, a sense of thrill. Behind a locked door, they were able to do so much more.

  Blinking a few times, she noted the mess on the floor, the contents of her desk lay scattered. Vaguely, she recalled throwing everything off as he bent her over the surface.

  Great, just more shit I’ve got to clean up. Worth it though.

  The rooster crowed, and Xeno’s eyes snapped to the window, the sky noticeably lighter.

  “Fuck!” she uttered, rushing to her feet. She searched for her discarded clothes and found the tatters at the foot of her bed. Bitcher awoke with the near-shout and hurried to gather his trousers and dressed. “What are you going to say if they catch you coming back in this late?”

  He grunted, “Are you daft, woman? I’ll tell them I went to use the chamber pot.”

  Good! He thought of the excuse well in advance.

  “You will need to wash me off you. They’ll smell the sex.”

  “This isn’t the first time to let my sword fly from the sheath,” he rebutted. “I’d rather not wash you off me.”

  “Do it anyways.” He swept from her room, mocking her with bows before shutting the door behind him.

  What the fuck did I do? Do I want this?

  A smile came to her face. Yes, she did. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, and though he irritated her with banal banter, he wasn’t always an ass. Bitcher made her feel alive, something she hadn’t felt since Mauler’s blade lacerated her face. How could she equate her sex life to a moment when she came close to death? The obvious answer stared her in the face. Both were thrilling.

  I can’t let anyone find out that we are sleeping together. A half-moment later, she recanted the sentiment. Who cares if they find out? If Krey aren’t fighting or training, they’re fucking.