Chapter 6

Arana checked the logs and tapped in more numbers as she checked the patient related details. It had been only a few weeks since she started working as the manager’s assistant, taking care of the paperwork, recording the data, and even helping some critical ones with healing. The sick bay’s manager, Dr. Qizet, was happy with her diligence and let her work for as long as she wanted. They had become good friends, too. She would report to her during her coffee breaks and they would randomly chat and relax. Arana found that Qizet had a kind heart.

Arana was fairly satisfied and almost settled into her new life – her life away from the castle and the evil of her brother. But it was her night terrors that sometimes perturbed her. And the fact she couldn’t stop thinking about that traitor, Arathor. He would seep into her mind at night and she would find him irresistible even in her dreams: he would kiss her with a white-hot passion and even make love to her... The fact that her heart was still stuck with that man perturbed her so much that she would cry herself to sleep at night.

And there were many moments when she really wanted to talk to Qizet about him, but she couldn’t. What would she think? She felt it was wrong and pathetic. Why was she having a hard time moving on? She had only kissed the man, but he had branded her somehow... She wondered what would have happened if she had sex with him...

No, stop it, Arana, you will not go there, the voice in her head admonished. If she didn’t stop now, she would go insane. She hated herself for being so gullible. People moved on. But she was the one wallowing in his memory and wanting to see those beautiful eyes again... His intense gray eyes that pierced her very soul.

So, she started working long hours. Even after the manager had left, she would stay late at night working, trying to keep her mind busy. Tonight was one of those nights. She sat at the reception desk that night, idly fidgeting with her pendant as she went over the list of patients who had come in that morning. Her red hair tied in a bun, she wore the sick bay’s gray uniform. She took a sip of coffee and her face crinkled as the bitter liquid slid down her throat.

The doors to the lobby hissed open and someone entered. Arana was so engrossed in the screen she held in her hand that she didn’t notice the tall man who gazed down at her from across the desk. She looked up and did a double take as the coffee almost slipped from her fingers. A pair of intense, steely gray eyes stared down at her. And that stark silver-white hair...

Her heart skipped a beat as Arathor stood there, calmly watching her. With shaking hands, she placed the tab on the counter. “W-what are you doing here?” she asked as she tore her gaze away from his. He was in full human form. With his wings and horns gone, he seemed even more irresistible. Her eyes roved over his strong chiseled jaw, those sensually carved lips, the taut muscles that stretched beneath his shirt and his sheer youth made her want to reach out and touch him. He still wore that collar, she noticed. And the cloak of the Royal Chevalier of Tirron was draped across his shoulders.

“Hello, Arana...” he said in his deep, low voice that made her want to believe he was not a traitor, but a lover. And part of her, the part that wanted him, was relieved to see him there. “We need to talk,” he said when she didn’t reply.

Her mouth went dry and her stomach churned to knots, as her gaze caught the hilt of his sword that hung at his back. She forced herself to nod and got off from her perch on the stool. She needed to get away from him – as far as possible. Her heart thudded in her chest. “I’ll get the drinks,” she said, glaring at him as sudden anger welled inside her. She walked up to the far corner of the lobby and took out two glasses and placed them on the counter with shaky hands.

“Computer, dark wine please,” she wrung her hands while she waited for the wine bottle to materialize.

Arathor walked up to her and stood at her side, watching her. She wouldn’t look at him. And he saw the way her hands shook when she poured the wine into the glasses. She was terrified of him – as if he were some kind of monster.

She set the glass down. His chest constricted then, and without another word, he pulled her into his arms and pinned her back to the wall. She gasped and he silenced her scream with a kiss, claiming her mouth fiercely, devouring her, savoring her sweet taste. She tried desperately to push him away, but he pinned her arms above her head with one hand, as he cupped chin with the other... Finally, she yielded, moaning against his mouth.

After a while, he pulled away and gazed into those blue depths as she tried catching her breath. “I will not hurt you, Arana...” he released her hands but still held her there with his body, gazing at her, taking in her intoxicating scent he so loved. A myriad of emotions flitted across those beautiful eyes... fear, anger, hatred, pain... and then tears flooded her eyes as she slapped him hard across his face.

And he didn’t even flinch. “What was that for?” he feigned innocence.

“You betrayed me!” she said as tears choked her and streamed down her face.

“How?” His gaze seared her soul.

“I was helping you escape, and when my plan failed, you chose to work for the king,” she glared at him.

“I did not have a choice,” he began.

“You always have a choice, Arathor.”

“He would have killed me. I was tired of playing that useless game of his. He offered me freedom if I completed a few tasks for him. I have been an assassin before. It’s my job,” he said matter-of-factly.

“To kill people?” she said disgustedly. “You could choose other jobs.”

“I don’t know anything else... It’s what I have been trained to do since I was a kid. My duty has always been to serve and protect my king.”

“Lorcan is not your king,” Arana said shaking her head. “And killing is not your duty, Arathor. You can choose not to do it.”

“I spare women and children.”

“You can spare men too,” she said, beginning to feel tired. “What do you want, Arathor?”

Without replying, he let her go and grabbed one of the wine glasses. Taking a swig, he walked toward one of the nearby sofas and slumped down.

“How do I get rid of this collar?” he asked, ignoring her question. He sat back on the sofa with one arm around the back, and one leg over his knee. His other hand held his glass. And for a moment, Arana kept staring at him. It was hard for her to focus when he was around. Arathor couldn’t bring himself to tell her she was right.

Arana picked her own glass up and took a few sips, wishing to calm her erratic heart. The dark wine silkily slid down her throat, warming her. She stared into her glass, his silence confirming her doubts that he was here to kill her.

“You expect me to help you now?” she said dryly. He had some gall to ask her that. Who did he think he was? Some God who could demand anything he wanted of her? “I don’t know how to break the spell, and even if I did, I would not help you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Why?” he asked her in that calm, cold voice of his, as his gaze roved over her body and slim curves. She blushed and he didn’t miss it. He actually liked it – the way she responded to him when he looked at her like that. “You wanted to help me before?”

“That was different. I can’t trust you now,” she said moving to put her glass on the counter. She walked back toward her desk, overtly conscious of his gaze on her... She had to remind herself he was the predator.

“Look... I-it’s been a long day and I have to go,” she quickly picked up her bag and hurriedly walked out before he could reply. He didn’t follow her as she quickly made her way toward the elevators that would take her to her living quarters. Once the doors slid shut, she let out a deep breath... as tears again threatened to spill over. She could alert the authorities at the station, but the rules were different here. She was still a new resident and she did not have access to the highest security level there. So, alerting them was pointless. She would have to be very careful around him now.

“Computer, lock the door with level-1 security lock,” she commanded once she was inside her quarters. The doors locked and she changed into her nightclothes and slipped into bed. She needed to sleep and stop thinking about him, she told herself firmly, but her mind kept drifting toward those gray eyes...

***

Arathor quietly watched her receding back as she scurried out like a frightened squirrel and the doors to the sickbay slid shut. The door opened again as some nurse came in. He got up and started to leave as he didn’t want anybody getting suspicious. He walked back to his temporary chambers, brooding. “Computer, dark wine please,” he said as soon as the door closed. A headache was beginning to pound at his temples and he felt a heavy burden on his chest.

The wine materialized in the corner panel. He walked over and took the glass filled with the dark purple wine. It was the finest they had on this station. He took a swig and sat down on the nearby sofa.

She was right... He did have a choice. The image of the woman begging him flashed across his mind. The emissary’s wife, the fear in her eyes and the sound of the baby crying in her arms as he killed her husband, nagged at him.

He took another swig, draining his glass. Getting up, he took off his cloak and shirt and pulled down his pants, revealing sheer taut muscle as he stepped into the shower. He turned on the ice-cold water. The cold water was like a hundred sharp knives stabbing him on his back... The pain was almost unbearable, but he stood there for a long time. He needed to cleanse himself of all the blood that stained his soul. His soul was already torn, slowly ripped apart by each kill he had made over the years. It could not be healed. His only redemption was through pain.

She was right... He could have chosen not to kill the emissary. He could have let them escape and then told the King any story back home. Home – it seemed a lifetime ago. Since he was taken, his people must have gotten the news that he was dead. Killed. That’s what usually happens to spies and assassins if captured by the enemy.

It was strange how this human woman made him feel the guilt. He was never bothered by killing before. And he didn’t touch women and children... So why did he feel filthy like a monster now? What was the witch doing to him? He grabbed the wall in front of him as the pain became unbearable... and he still stood there. His body was beginning to burn... To a fire-breather, the cold was like slow death.

It was a long time after he stepped out. He suddenly felt more tired than ever. His body still throbbing with the impact of the ice-cold water, the collar further sapped his strength, sensing his weakness. It was mostly the guilt that gnawed at him. For the first time in his two hundred and seventy years, he was seeing himself in a different way. And he didn’t like what he saw.

He pulled on a fresh pair of pants and a white shirt as he raked a hand through his damp hair. He saw the man that looked back at him in the mirror.

It unnerved him that she had that effect on him. No woman had bothered him before... Maybe her Magi powers were at work here. But her powers still needed to be awakened. Her powers... She didn’t know her magic needed an awakening. He needed to tell her that fact and claim her...

And she was right, Lorcan was not his King. He couldn’t trust the bastard either. There must be some other way to get rid of the lethal collar.

Then it hit him... she was a Magi, and if he could awaken her magic, she could break through the dark magic that bound the collar. But there was a problem. Would she let him awaken her magic?

He would see about that. He went to the door and walked out of his chambers. He needed to talk to her.