The two virgins the heir sent turned out to be not-so-useless after all. Xenomene was impressed, even with Smokey, despite his ecstatic announcement regarding her backside. He was actually good, but his choice of weapon was odd, a war hammer with an extended hilt wielded with both hands.

  When they first entered the battle meld, Xeno and the rest of the original squad were surprised at their functionality with the newest members. They were like a well-worn shoe, almost as if they had always been a part of their group. Xeno had the Mind run them through drills and formations, switching the leader, and reshuffling personnel to their respective positions. Bitcher returned to normal, which everyone both hated and loved, like having a sick, detestable sibling return to full health. At times, he pissed Xeno off so bad she wanted to crush his throat with her boot.

  I can’t believe I slept with that asshole again! But the murderous moments were fleeting. Other times, she couldn’t wait to bed him.

  Xenomene tried to infuse herself into the War Council consisting of Warlock Lakayre, the ranking kernoyl, and all subordinate officers but was never accepted. Judas would listen and agree with most of her suggestions such as pits and fortifying the gates with interlocking arms of iron. The junior officers would distract their superiors with woes of supplies running low, the forge smashing out new armor, estimates of scabs out of service due to illnesses, or with their own ideas on fortifications. Not long after, Xenomene quit attending, her presence unwanted.

  They just want me to jump in front of them and fall on the enemies’ swords.

  The days consisted of drilling, mock-fights, building and running an obstacle course, and maintenance on their armor. Nights became regular with visits from Bitcher. One night, she entered her office and noticed the additions of several mirrors, no doubt confiscated from the third deck, a vacant floor for stowed gear. At some point during the day, while out of office, Bitcher staged them so she could watch.

  She reminded him to be careful least the others discover them. She didn’t necessarily care, but her antisocial nature preferred privacy. Who wouldn’t? She knew they would find out, but until then, she craved the intimacy of their secret.

  Unfortunately for her, the secret did not last long. Two nights after she dragged Bitcher from his rack and slapped sense into him, they were caught. The Mind swept into her office while they enjoyed the rhythms perfected by the gods, literally catching Xenomene with her pants down. Bitcher had either forgotten or intentionally left the door unlocked. The sudden entrance made both turn to regard him; however, they didn’t bother to stop.

  “Shut the fucking door!” she snapped.

  Instead of leaving, the Mind entered, closing the door, and locking it. He attended them for a spell, aroused by their display. Xenomene didn’t mind; none of the Krey cared about modesty much, something well established within their ranks and to the outside world. Having an audience only intensified the insatiable sensuality. Soon after, she turned her gaze from the mirrors and watched the excitement dance across the Mind’s face. She eyed the bulge in his trousers.

  Who invited him to join, she could never remember, but she desired it. The thought had crossed her mind before and now manifested. Zeal on the Mind’s part hurt her more than she imagined.

  After the Mind left, Bitcher, in an unexpected move, pulled Xeno close and held her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have offered you to him, but I saw you watching. I didn’t think he’d hurt you. If we ever invite anyone again, I’ll never offer what isn’t mine,” he promised. “I was trying to make sure you were satisfied. We’ll take a break so you can recover.”

  He didn’t say anything else; he didn’t have to. She was grateful that he wasn’t a complete asshole. He held her until she stopped trembling, and after a while, he shifted to leave.

  “Wait,” she called to him. “We do this practically every day, and I don’t know your name.”

  Bitcher’s brow flickered downward. “Does it matter?”

  “To me. I want to know.”

  “It’s Jakeb.” He left.

  True to his word, they took a break. Dewgrass, the multipurpose herb for pain, swelling, fevers, and chills, quickened recovery. Three days later, at her behest, their conjugal sessions resumed.

  Xenomene, despite the worst of her exchange with the Mind and Bitcher, enjoyed the congress. The new experience launched her into throes of passion she had never experienced. She rode them both, but her favorite moment came when Bitcher mounted her from behind and she lay pressed between them. Both took her however they wished, rough or soft. Since Cape Gythmel, Xenomene had slipped free of her shell of modesty. In truth, she enjoyed it, if possible, too much. Liberation from unrealized, clinging manacles brought excitement to her life.

  She spied the Mind the following day after their tumble; they shared a smile, but both kept their distance.

  The last thing I want is for my men to start treating me like the team whore. The cons far outweighed the pleasing advantages.

  Days peeled by in mock combat; most of the members tested the virgins and their unorthodox weapons. Surprisingly, the recruits held their own quite well. Xeno even engaged them, smacking them down with playful disdain, insulting them with superior mastery.

  Mauler had inflicted the scar on Xenomene’s face, but Mauler was no longer in the same league of swordplay as the do-don. Xenomene’s skills surpassed most in the House Eti—the House of the Sword—if not all.

  While she battled the virgins, a rolling peal of laughs slipped from the members of her former squad, but more than entertainment, she tried teaching the newest additions. If they didn’t learn by the end of their first battle, two new faces would replace them. She taunted their faults with japes and slaps of the blade but drove the point home with sharp words and clipped tones when left exposed for a killing blow.

  After an hour with both of them, she let the other Krey take turns. When finished with mock combat, attention turned to weapon and armor maintenance.

  It would be shitty timing if we had just left our gear to fix later and a fight commenced. Going into battle with broken gear will kill you just as fast as an arrow through your eye. Guilt wracked her. The deaths of her brothers-in-arms at Cape Gythmel still haunted. Two-Tons fell with an unlucky and fatal shot, but he wasn’t the only one who perished.

  Raven, their do-don, died when a troll had snuck up the mountain of bodies. She and her squad responded in kind, sending the troll tumbling down the hill in seven pieces, but the damage was done. Xenomene could accept a death by the sword, but death by an arrow was a stain upon them and smacked of dishonor, not for the Krey who fell, but for the coward who wielded the bow.

  With armor maintenance behind them, they enjoyed their midday meal and took an hour of reprieve. Xenomene used this time to catch up on correspondence with the heir and whoever else deemed her worthy of letters. She even received a short and formal parcel from Consul Meristal Raviils, offering condolences for the fallen Krey, and praise for their efforts against the dark lord’s invading army. The letter closed with a saying, 'Thank you for saving countless lives with your service and sacrifices.' Xenomene had never met the woman but was drawn to her. She’d taken the time to write the letter herself instead of having a minion pen it.

  She received correspondence from the warlock also. He kept her apprised of all the proceedings of the War Council held in her absence.

  After their reprieve, the Krey spent the next several hours conditioning, maneuvering their obstacle course, running a set distance, or lifting heavy objects for repetition. Xenomene was the weakest in weight training, other than the Heart. Even Mauler, who boasted more mass than Xenomene, lifted circles around her. To everyone’s surprise, Mauler could lift more than the Heart, Xeno, Wrath, and Patch.

  Where Xeno floundered in one aspect of her training, she excelled at the other portions, such as the obstacle course and running, loving the former but loathing the latter. In battle, she relied less on brute strength and more on agility. A sharp blade made her untouchable. Dexterity played a huge part; speed, both in short bursts and long distances, allowed her to strike in the blink of an eye.

  The Krey would break for dinner after an afternoon of sweating and conditioning. Whether by bad luck or planned shunning, the Krey were served last to keep their ranks from crossing paths with members of the Army. This added precaution ensured that fights wouldn’t occur. The Krey could enter the bloodlust and annihilate a quarter of the Grand Royal Army before the Mind could bring them under control.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Whenever Xenomene traversed the camp, her second, Tiny, and the Mind, went with her. The A’uri joined the squad as they ate. After they had their fill of fresh vegetables, grains, and freshly butchered meat, the Krey returned to their building and buried themselves in their cups, or retired early, or in the case of the two virgins, practiced their technique.

  Xenomene took this time to finish correspondence and file the nightly report for the heir. Each evening, the Heart would carry her letter to the heir by teleportation. Her limited power provided an additional problem: she lacked the prowess to carry company. Letters would’ve to suffice.

  Every night, an hour before the suns set, camp hands delivered scalding bath water. It cooled while she read and wrote reports. Afterward, she soaked the day’s sores away. Meticulous scrubbing became a necessity, not that she was careless before, but in expectation of Bitcher’s arrival later.

  One night, the Heart returned early from her trip to the Hive. She teleported outside Xenomene’s door and knocked. The red-haired do-don bade her to enter. The Heart swept into the room to find Xenomene still bathing. Xenomene looked up as she scrubbed. The Heart didn’t avert her eyes as some people of Ralloc would’ve. She began talking as if she were clothed.

  “The heir sends a message. He said for you to be ready to receive more Krey.”

  “More Krey? I thought we weren’t supposed to deploy in massive numbers. How many are we talking about?”

  “He said two more squads would join your ranks, and you are to assume command.”

  “Assume command?” Xeno grimaced.

  “That’s not all, he’s elevated you to the rank of ko-don.” The Heart beamed with pride.

  Xenomene was silent for a moment. Instead of rejoicing in the news, she said, “Aren’t others more senior?”

  The Heart rolled her eyes, “You know better than I how things work within the Krey. It’s all about how well you handle the sword.”

  “Ko-don?” Xeno frowned before laughing. “What? Did somebody die?”

  The Heart schooled her features. “Yes. Ko-don Bear passed in his sleep.”

  “Shades,” Xeno cursed. “The man should’ve died with a sword in his hand, not like some plush noble in Ralloc.” She sighed and stood. “Hand me my towel, please?” The Heart grabbed the cloth and stepped within arms distance before she stopped, dropped the towel, and backpedaled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The Heart heaved rapid breaths; her face flushed. “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “The lust … it hit me when I was near you.”

  “The lust?” Xeno echoed but remembered about the mages. “Oh, the lust … when you get into close proximity of someone, and the magic takes over?” Xeno chuckled, then teased. “Find me attractive?”

  “No,” the Heart blushed. “It was purely the lust. It’s also been known to emerge around those who are highly engaged in sexual activity.”

  Xeno bent over to pick up her towel. She toweled herself dry and wrapped the cloth around her body. A thought crossed her mind. “Does the lust work on the Krey?”

  “Yes,” the Heart answered. “Though the Krey’s is weaker than ours, you have magic albeit a different kind, but it works the same. Weaker was a poor terminology, it’s just different. I am surprised you guys aren’t having orgies more often with all the Krey and A’uri crammed up in the Hive.”

  Xenomene nodded and switched subjects. “So, Ko-don Bear is dead, and I’ve assumed his rank.” Xeno plopped herself into the chair behind her desk, her towel tucked tight around her. “Wonderful, I’m sure all the men here will be thrilled.”

  “Since when do the Krey care what others say?”

  “I don’t like it when you make sense,” Xenomene mock-scolded her. She wadded up a paper and threw it at her, then sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell the squad on the morrow,” she said as dismissal, but the Heart remained. “Something else on your mind?”

  “Yes … the night with Bitcher in the desert.”

  “We don’t need to talk about that, it’s taken care of.”

  “No, we do need to talk about it.” The Heart exhaled. “I can see that he’s returned to normal, and I assume that is your doing, but you broke your vow to the warlock. If he finds out, he’ll kill us both.”

  “He won’t find out, and, like I said, it’s taken care of.”

  “This is also my life you are playing with, Ko-don.”

  Xenomene let out a breath. “He’s of no consequence. He’s not Krey, not the do-don, the ko-don, or the heir. He’s not of the Black Tide and never will be. It’s not for him to decide who is punished and how. I admit, in hindsight, that the punishment was too severe, but Bitcher wasn’t permanently disfigured. You were able to heal him. I don’t see the problem.”

  The Heart was silent for a moment. She swallowed. “I’m not Krey, but I’m part of the Black Tide. I know what matters to us, honor, integrity, discipline, war, pleasures of the flesh. You dishonored yourself, me, and the Krey when you broke your vow. That’s as bad as being an oath breaker. Never again ask me to help you with your personal fancy, Ko-don.”

  “I told you, the warlock—”

  “—Is of no consequence, yes, I know! Until you set this right between you, the warlock, and Bitcher, you have the taint of dishonor on you. I’ll not be a part of it.”

  “Are you refusing to obey orders?” Xenomene narrowed her eyes.

  “Orders? No. To help you break vows? Yes.”

  Xenomene sat still, her ire simmering. The Heart was right about breaking the vow, but she didn’t understand the flip side of the argument. It wasn’t the warlock’s decision, it was hers, and she knew beyond a doubt that the heir would back her. This was another stress she didn’t need.

  “You’re dismissed,” Xenomene bit out.

  The Heart was taken back by the hostility, but nodded, and left without a word. The door closed. Xenomene slumped in her chair and blew out a breath.

  This is all I need, another problem compounding all the other ones.

  She massaged her temples, trying to relieve her stress when the door burst open with a thundering crash. She leapt from the chair as Bitcher bounded over the desk, a hand clasped around her throat. He slammed her into the wall, her feet leaving the floor far behind, the towel falling uselessly away. From the impact of her head hitting the wall, she nearly blacked out.

  “You fucking cunt!” Bitcher howled. Xenomene’s eyes rolled as darkness threatened to take her. He released her, and she fell to the floor. As she struggled to rise, his right hand smashed across her face. She could feel each individual splayed finger tingling across her cheek.

  “Wait!” she pleaded. Bitcher buried his fist in her gut, driving the wind from her lungs. Clutching her abdomen while on her knees, she fought the dry heaves and to reclaim breath.

  Bitcher’s fingers snaked through her short, dark red hair, and jerked her naked body from the floor before slamming against the desk. “You fucking whore! How could you?”

  He spun her around and slapped her with such force that she sprawled to the floor. A boot caught her in the stomach and ribs, the latter cracking. She doubled over, sucking in to no avail.

  Bitcher jerked her by the hair, a series of slaps: once, twice, three times, and she crashed back to the wood-slat floor. Blood leaked from her nose and split lips, her cheek and eye swelled, threatening to close. He commanded her with absolute control, and she was helpless to defend herself. Another quick wrench brought her face up, and his hard knuckles met her soft flesh. An audible pop and a sharp, icy pain signaled her jaw breaking. Another heavy blow and her cheek crumbled.

  No more than a useless jumble on the floor, Xeno was at Bitcher’s mercy and anger. Blood pooled beneath. Another boot snapped out. Her face and head bounced off the floor. Blood smeared the deck.

  He heard everything!

  His hand seized her by the hair again, her scalp afire. Dragging her up to her feet, he slammed her face-first into the desk. Her hips drove hard against the edge of wood. The furniture slid from the quick movement and her weight. Splinters stung her naked hips. Quills scattered and parchment flew as her chest skidded across the top. Blood and sweat smeared her letters and maps. An ink bottle spilled, its black contents covering a portion of the surface, seeping into her hair and staining the side of her face. He turned her head, exposing the right side, and he pummeled with the meat portion of his fist, breaking her other cheek bone. Vision blurry, a blade of hot pain shot through her eye socket and her sight restricted.

  “You fucked with the wrong person, cunt! You fucked me over, were told not to disfigure me!” His weight slammed down on top of her, one hand yanking her hair, the other closed around her throat. His hand tightened like a rapidly closing vise. Blackness took her, but the pummeling knuckles of Bitcher’s right hand awakened her. The desk held her upright as she sagged against it, her legs hanging uselessly beneath her.

  A blunt force rammed into her backside and sex, a knee driving up hard into her, knocking the wind out of her. Her lungs seized, and her body shook in shock and rebellion. She sucked in a ragged breath, reclaiming the air knocked from her.

  “You’ll pay for this, bitch!” He kicked her legs apart, and she heard him opening his trousers. Bitcher rammed into her without grace or kindness. Xenomene thought she was dead to pain, her body numb from the inflicted wounds. She was wrong. She felt as if she had been split open. Rage drove his repeated thrusts, invading deeper each time.

  Xeno tried to fight back, to push him off, but another fist mauled her face, and she felt her bone shatter further. She sagged back to the desk, helpless. His hands returned to her hair and throat as he mercilessly raped her. Stars peppered her vision when he slammed her face-first into the desk, her nose producing an audible crunch, breaking.

  Xenomene dangled between the cusp of sweet unconsciousness and coherent states. Her body shuddered underneath Bitcher’s thrusts. Finally, her body stopped moving when his violating motions ceased. The hand clamped around her throat pulled her from the desk, suspending her upright. Her feet swayed as the darkness took her. Sanguine fluid caked the side of her face. Fresh blood and semen trailed down her legs from the darkness between her buttocks. She passed out from lack of air. Her back impacting against the desk snapped her awake. The desk collapsed beneath her, crashing to the floor.

  The last thing she remembered was the door closing and footsteps receding. And she passed out, knowing she was left to die.