Chapter 4
Breaker [ brey -ker ] noun
The hereditary line of Talents able to destroy objects on which they focus their will. Denoted by a red halo around their irises, Breakers are prone to bloodlust, a genetic predisposition for violence and extreme emotions. Self-governed by a strict hierarchy, they make ideal soldiers.
– Excerpt from A Treatise on Talents , Third Edition
“Once their halos fully develop, all Talents are to enter the Creche for instruction on how to best utilize their ability. Service is mandated therein for a period of fifteen years. (ref. Sec. 8, 12) During this time, submission to daily reproductive suppression treatment is required. At the conclusion of their service, a summons to commence breeding will be issued.”
– Section 4, Clause 9.c A Talent’s Contractual
Obligation to the Source .
Flynn’s arm tightened around the delicious weight against him, filling his lungs with the subtle perfume teasing his nose. With her. Skin, sweat, and something… His eyes fluttered behind closed lids. He didn’t know what the hell it was, but damn, he liked it. A lot. He pulled her closer, nuzzling behind her ear. She made a little murmur of contentment, arching her backside against his groin. His hips rocked forward, erection pressing against her. Hand spread across her taut stomach, sliding upwards. Fingertips brushing the underside of her breast… Mmm… This time it wasn’t a dream?—
His eyes sprang open.
Shit. It wasn’t a dream.
He scrambled out of bed.
“Flynn?”
Motherf—Her voice was syrupy with sleep, and that perfume… He scrubbed at his face, unable to look at her. “Yeah, sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
“Come back to bed, s’cold.”
Behind him, the mattress shimmied like she was snuggling back down. The fuck? Christ, this was the part where she was supposed to freak out because he was some ugly perv groping her. Didn’t she get what he’d almost…
Fuck. His breath came out in puffs, the room so cold it hurt to inhale. Didn’t do anything to alleviate the predicament in his pants. His mouth went dry. That dream he’d had in Diytan—shit, that’d been— wise it, asshole. Wasn’t her. That’d been some random Binder his subconscious had inflicted on him, thanks to Cal’s fucking decree.
Christ, that felt like a lie.
The last few embers were burning in the stove. Flynn threw in some tinder, sitting back on his heels and waiting for it to catch, shivering through his heavy coat. If he’d been smart, he would’ve fed the fire again last night.
He snorted. There wasn’t a damn thing smart about last night. He should’ve slept in the barn. Had he seriously almost kissed her? When she got close, that freaking scent of hers lit him up, and his self-control tanked. The dream on its own he could ignore, but that along with the pull he felt to be with her… Shit had to be true .
Could it be true? Were they soulmates? His insides ached. If what’d happened out there on the road hadn’t shattered the headlight, he wouldn’t have believed it. Still didn’t…but he couldn’t ignore it.
Her.
She was fucking perfect. His literal goddamned dream woman made flesh. She knew books, wasn’t intimidated when he was a prick—Christ, he’d expected her barricaded in the bathroom after he’d lost his shit, but she’d been asleep, back to the door and knives on the table.
Trusting him.
Flynn pinched the bridge of his nose, not knowing how far he could trust himself.
That was definitely a lie.
He couldn’t. He’d come way too close to doing something he’d regret last night, and just now… He needed to get her the hell out of here. God damn, his head said that, but?—
No buts.
The tinder caught, and he shoved wood on top of it, then headed for his recliner. He’d keep his distan?—
“Please, come back. It’s so cold without you.”
Christ, she sounded lost. He let out a slow breath. Calm the fuck down. She’s not begging you, asshole. It’s just manners, remember those? God, she smelled so—he pivoted like he wasn’t the one calling the shots and climbed back into bed. Cursing himself, he moved the covers back around them. It was too fucking cold.
The excuse rang hollow, and he didn’t give a shit.
He did hold his breath. Yeah, it was fucking stupid, but whatever.
She snuggled against him, pulling his arm across her waist. Like he’d never lost his shit and stormed out. Like he wasn’t a mashup of Frankenstein’s monster and some chainsaw massacre. Shit, it was like she didn’t see any of that. Woman had zero reason to cozy up.
Unless she felt the pull, same way he did.
A pang he didn’t want to examine too closely went through him, and he exhaled, his reservations going poof on the inhale with her in his arms. It felt…damn. It felt right. Flynn’s chest got tight, his eyes tracing the way her lashes rested against the curve of her cheek. Her fe atures were delicate, and there was something fragile about her as she drifted back to sleep. An innocence. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. She murmured something, wetting her lips. His breath hitched then slowed, matching hers, the warmth between them lulling him toward sleep.
Did it matter she was a Binder? She didn’t have anything to do with the shit that’d gone down at the Source. Christ, what was she, late twenties? She would’ve been a kid… Hell, he’d been a kid…
His dreams weren’t pleasant.
He awoke to a hand sliding down his chest, then lingering on the ridges of his abs. Fingers teasing the waistband of his jeans, curving around the back of his neck. Her breath against his throat, scent thick enough to taste. It was fucking honey on his tongue. Flynn groaned, his hips flexing…
Shit. He scrambled away from her, and she recoiled like they were being raided.
“No, we’re okay, it’s—fire. I gotta stoke the fire.”
Screw the fire. He wanted to eat her, and they were definitely not okay.
Christ. What the hell was he doing? Fuck the pull and all that soulmate BS. Even if she was, woman was too good for him. Soon as she found out what a sick piece of shit he was, she’d run screaming. Sorry Kara, I’d love to fuck you, but I’m a sadistic motherfucker and get off on some seriously dirty shit, all of which is gonna hurt. You or me, doesn’t matter, but one of us is gonna bleed.
That was a lie. He wanted to lap up what was in her veins.
His cock throbbed just thinking about it, and his stomach cramped like he was gonna puke. He’d promised. Sworn off women.
Ok, whores, but who else would have him? His mind flicked to Tracy, and he shuddered. Yeah, not happening, and what was waiting for him in bed wasn’t either.
The room was warmer, but only just. He grabbed more logs, jamming them into the stove. The frosted tap in the bathroom dribbled and spurted water into the kettle. Did everything have to remind him of his dick? He put the kettle on to heat, his breath making quick puffs as he stood there, staring at the recliner .
“Flynn? Are you alright?”
Not in the fucking slightest . “Yeah.”
“Then come on. It’s freezing.” She’d sat up, holding a hand out to him.
He turned away from the recliner.
Crossed back to her.
Moth to flame.
Motherfucker.
Kara shivered as he climbed into bed, bringing the cold air with him. He lay on his back, dazed. This was so fucking wrong. If she knew—he went to get up, and she cuddled against him like they were lovers. Flynn blew out a shaky breath, swallowing the manic laughter burbling up his throat. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? Christ, did he care? He slid his arm under her head, her cheek nuzzling his chest. Yeah. He cared, but the part of him that did was losing ground, fast.
No. He wasn’t gonna mess with her. He just wanted… His arm tightened around her shoulders. Holding her.
Damn, she felt good…this felt good.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so cold,” she murmured against his chest.
“It’s colder up north.” Christ, why did he offer up that tidbit? Idiot.
“You’ve been farther north?”
Shut her down, asshole . “Some.”
“I read about the Northern Lights in a book once, but couldn’t find anything on them in the databases. It’s like the world just stops Outside. Are they real, do you think? Colored lights in the sky?”
He shrugged, thinking about the flowing bands dancing above Meddleton. Kara shivered, snuggling closer, her leg sliding up his, hugging him with her whole body. Flynn’s pulse jumped. If that leg moved another half inch, she was gonna get a hell of a lot more than she bargained for.
Would that be a bad thing?
“There’s so much I don’t know about out here.” Her fingers had found his, following the scars across his knuckles like they fascinated her. He closed his eyes. Yeah. It’d be a bad thing, but Christ, he missed being touched…
“I’m sorry if I upset you last night, I didn’t mean to. I’m kind of out of my element.”
“Ditto,” he croaked.
She rolled onto her belly, propping her chin on her fist to look at him. He made himself meet her eyes for all of half-a-second. His pants got tighter. Jesus, her halos were huge. Seeing anyone flash their colors so brazenly was indecent, and that second weird ring… Talent didn’t present brown. Was she some kind of a twist? Who knew what the Source was breeding.
That sinking feeling was back, along with a dull ache in his chest. Fucking Cal. She bit at her thumb, and Flynn’s stomach flipped.
“You’re not a big talker, are you?”
“Strange women cozying up to me in bed have that effect,” he rumbled.
Kara laughed, putting a tentative hand to his cheek. “You get a lot of those?”
“None like you.” Try none at all. He curled a tendril of her hair around a finger.
“You prefer blondes, huh?”
Fuck blondes. Flynn snorted, glancing up at her and froze. God, she wasn’t teasing. As in completely oblivious to how fucking perfect she was. How was that possible? Women from the Source—Shit, he had porno mags full of the prima donnas all high on themselves, bragging about the dirty shit they’d do, how much cash they brought in, but Kara…her cheeks flushed, and she dropped her eyes like she was defective or something. The fuck?
“Hey.” He tipped her chin up, and his heart broke at her expression.
Kara laughed, wiping her eyes. “Sorry. Not in my element, remember?” She ran her fingers through his beard, following the biggest scar. “When you found me, I thought you were a Breaker until I saw this. No one in the Source has extraneous hair, it’s a side-effect from the meds.” Her face blanked at the mention of the genetics facility, and his irritation at the first part of her statement evaporated on a high boil, replaced by burning fury. He wanted to exterminate every last one of those assholes for whatever they’d done to make her retreat inside herself like that.
“I swear I’ll get you to the next drop as soon as I can. You’ll be safe up north.” Especially from him. His gaze had slid to her lips, filled with this need to—He scrubbed at his face, scooching away.
Her hand dropped, and she gave a vague nod, sitting up with her hands in her lap, and forcing a smile. “Sorry. I know I’m babbling, I just haven’t had anyone to talk to since I-I left, and you…” She looked at him like he was—Whatever it was, he wasn’t it, and the lack was a fucking bullet to the chest. “You make me feel safe.”
That hit harder. His head went light. That’s how she saw him? Safe? Christ, he was a piece of shit cozying up to her like she was some cheap?—
He needed distance.
Flynn swung his legs out of bed, adjusting himself as he rose. Motherfucker. The kettle had barely started to steam. He didn’t give a shit.
“Tea or coffee?” he forced out, limping over to the table.
“Either, as long as I don’t have to get up.”
He made her a mug of tea, adding a generous dollop of honey. She took it eagerly, sitting in her cocoon of quilts, and Christ, her eyes… God, she was killing him.
That was a lie. Not being good enough for her was killing him. Knowing he wasn’t what she thought he was, and never could be. He sat by the window nursing his lukewarm coffee. Mussing his hair, he watched her reflection in the glass, pissed. Fucking Cal. He owed that son of a bitch a call.
“So, what do they do in the North when it’s this cold?”
“Fuck.” Shit. Did he really say that?
She blushed into her mug. Yep. Damn it. He got up and jammed his boots on, ashamed of himself. But at least that was an emotion he knew how to handle, and the sooner she figured out he wasn’t some white knight the better. God. Then why did he feel like someone was ripping his chest open ?
“Sorry. Look, your virtue’s safe. Scout’s honor.” He’d cut his own hand off before he touched her again. “I’ll be out in the barn.”
The ground crunched beneath his boots as he limped across the yard. He swore, thinking about the look on her face when he’d left. Christ, he was an asshole. He stomped, pain lancing through his knee. He was gonna have to take something to stay mobile.
Because that’s what he needed, to be sweating over her and doped up. And goddamn, she made him sweat. He needed to sit in a fucking snowbank.
There were plenty to choose from. Everything had a thick coating of rime on it. He wedged the barn door open and squeezed past. Light streamed in through the loosely boarded walls, throwing dust-riddled stripes over everything. The generator was in the corner under a tarp. Thing was gonna be a bitch to crank up.
It didn’t disappoint. His shirt was soaked by the time it clicked on and began to hum. Flynn powered up the handheld transmitter and punched in his code.
The line crackled immediately.
“Took you long enough,” Cal’s voice snapped at him.
“Weather’s been an issue. Where’s the drop?”
There was a pause, and his stomach sank.
“Thought you might take this as an opportunity for the prodigal son to make his return.”
Flynn grimaced. This again. “No.”
Cal took a long drag through the static. “Figured that’s what you’d say. Then you can hand your new friend back over to Jake.”
Flynn stared at the handheld, wanting to slam it to pieces. That mother fucking piece of—A growl rumbled past his bared teeth. There wasn’t a chance in hell that rapey prick was getting within a hundred miles of?—
“Thought you might feel that way.” Cal was way too chipper. Asshole always was when he was pulling the strings. “Car’s waiting for you in Greyburn. Usual place. Oh, and boy?”
Fuck. Wasn’t anything for it. Bastard had him trapped. “Yeah?”
“Keep your dick in your pants.”
Flynn snorted as the line went dead. Easy for him to say, the man was older than God. He scrubbed at his face, feeling every bit of damage to it. Penance. She was penance.
The coop was too warm after being outside. He ditched his coat and dropped into the recliner, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Cal was reeling him right back in, and once he got up there?—
“You alright?”
Flynn slapped his hands onto his thighs. Kara stood by the bed with her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing jeans and a clingy shirt. Damn. She was cold. Following his gaze, she crossed her arms over her breasts, the center of her brows wrinkling into a little triangle.
“I don’t have anything warmer until my stuff dries.”
He blew out a big breath and went to get out of the chair. Pain flared from his knee to his hip. He fell back with a cry, drenched in sweat.
She took half a step toward him. “Are you—Maybe I can help, I-I did my service as a medic—No, not like talent,” she explained at his glare. “I meant, wrap it up, or ice it. I can help. How did you hurt it?”
Flynn struggled to get his breathing under control. Penance… “I tore some ligaments a year ago.” It’d been eleven months and three weeks, the same day he’d sworn off women…whores… “I fucked up again yesterday.”
On so many different levels.
“Take off your jeans.” She rolled her eyes at his laugh, all business. “If it’s a ligament injury, a compress will help. I can’t treat it through them.”
That sobered him up. Christ. He was in enough pain to think about it. After a moment, he unbuckled his belt. Kara pulled out the big pot, dumping in her hair towel and the water from the kettle.
His knee radiated agony when he tried to stand. He blinked away the encroaching tunnel vision. “Shit, I can’t?—”
She didn’t turn. “Need help?”
God hated him.
“Yeah.” His voice broke like he was thirteen.
Kara came over and kneeled in front of him, pulling off his boots, then rose, leaning over him, a hand on either side of the chair. “Well? You going to unbutton them, or do I need to? ”
Heat rushed through him. Shit. His hand wasn’t what he needed to cut off.
“You know what? Never mind?—”
“Shut up. You’re hurt.” She yanked them open and gripped his waistband. Motherf—that didn’t help?—
“Kara—” He swallowed raggedly at her glare. She looked like she was gonna beat the shit out of him if he argued. His dick throbbed. Christ, he shouldn’t be getting off on this?—
“Count of three, lift your butt.”
Yes, ma’am, and hi, how are ya . Fuck. He swept a book from the closest stack and tented it over his erection. No way she’d notice anything was up. Pun fucking intended. Real smooth, Flynn. Christ, he wanted to disappear.
Kara kept one hell of a poker face as she got his jeans down far enough to ease one leg out, then the injured one. Maybe she did play cards. “How does this chair go back?”
He pulled the lever on the side, and she kneeled to take a look at his knee. It was sore as hell when she—her fingers hit something, and—oh, God—splinters of pain shot up his thigh?—
Flynn slapped the book flat as his cock bucked, stifling a groan.
“Right there, huh?”
Yeah baby, right there. He gave a curt nod, looking away, jaw clenched so hard it popped. Christ, he was a pig.
“How did you say this happened?” She wrung out the compress and wrapped the steaming towel around his knee. He grimaced, trying not to notice how lean her stomach was before the flare of her hips, or how tight the tips of her breasts were as she pulled her hair up…
Hair. Christ, what had she said about extraneous—Screw penance, this was torture.
“I didn’t.” And wasn’t gonna.
Her eyebrow rose. “Okay… They give you a brace or any meds?” she asked, dropping her hands to her hips.
Flynn swallowed, focused on the bounce.
“Ah, yeah. Dresser. That over—top drawer. Gimme four. Find yourself something warmer while you’re in there.” Jesus, he needed to dial it the fuck back. He ran through a montage of every shitty situation his dick had gotten him into. There was an abundance of material.
None of it helped.
Kara’s jaw tightened, and she started rooting around. She lifted out a bottle of pills, reading the label. He tried not to groan at her smirk. “Ben Dover? What are you, ten?”
“Yeah. I’m big for my age.”
Her eyes went to his lap, and he flushed. “You know, Ben, you only need an anti-inflammatory. Four of these will leave you comatose.”
Kind of the point. “You my mother?”
Kara pulled on a worn flannel. It fit like a bathrobe. Thank God. “Nope, just the one holding the bottle.” She tossed it back into the drawer and dug around in her bag, coming up with a couple of little white pills.
“Take them.”
He wanted to say no just to see what she’d do. Her eyes narrowed, and he scowled back, making a show of obeying.
“Thank you.” She said it like he was the one that should be grateful, throwing him one of the quilts. “Hungry?”
He snatched it, trying not to watch her rifle through the cupboard, or smile. It’d been a long time since a woman had given him shit. “There’s flat-tack and peanut butter on the bottom somewhere. Jam’s at the top, or there’s honey.”
She made the field ration sandwiches with an intensity he found endearing, bringing them over with a fierce look of pride.
“This is the first edible I’ve ever prepared.”
“A definite improvement from last night, but I’m gonna need like six more,” he said, crunching into one.
“That will kill the peanut butter.”
“There’s another jar. Damn, this is really good, Kara. Thank you.”
“Yeah?” She beamed at him, and his heart about stopped. She was so beautiful. Dimples. How the hell could dimples be so goddamned sexy?
“Yeah.”
Damn, they were about a mile deep as she tried to bite back a grin and set to it, making another stack of PB wood smoke, sweat?—
Sex.
No. That was all her, courtesy of the myriad of fantasies she’d been playing out in her head. Thank goodness Flynn couldn’t read minds. She’d humiliated herself enough panting after him like a bitch in heat, thank you very little. He didn’t even want her to touch him. She yanked her ponytail out of the collar, fuming. Too bad her imagination didn’t suck as bad as her physiology.
She followed the path to the barn’s overhang and stopped, soaking in the quiet. The Source was a constant, rumbling seethe of humanity. Here, she could’ve forgotten it existed…if not for Riegel’s burning leash in the back of her brain, taunting her. She could feel the monster be ating the hell out of someone right now, which just served to exacerbate her lousy mood.
And her desire.
Kara scowled, grabbing a big armful of wood instead of hitting something. The physical exertion felt good, and she needed it. As if wanting to climb Flynn like a tree wasn’t bad enough, a muscle in her calf was spasming. If she was sedentary much longer, the twitches would set in. She needed to move. The prospect of being debilitated by all her muscles seizing from inaction led her to re-stack the woodpile in between trips inside.
Where she refused to even look at Flynn, all but naked under that stupid quilt.
Her jaw clenched. It was hard to remember he was a sub, especially with that build. The way she fit against his side, the curve of his pecs and abs, running her fingers over his scars… She bit her lip at how enticing they were. At the Source, a Binder would’ve smoothed them away.
It was so different here. Instead of spending her days in the Creche or attending some stupid function, she’d made food, was hauling wood… She smiled, the plebeian tasks oddly liberating. Was this how it felt to be a sub, to have a purpose other than breeding? Control over all these tiny aspects of your life? No more what to wear, where to be…who to be with…
She could choose.
The concept lit a fire within her. She’d said no to Jake, and there’d been no repercussions, well, aside from almost dying, but that’s how she’d met Flynn?—
And she was back to him.
Her breath plumed out into the frigid night air. What she’d seen in his eyes when he’d lost his temper… The heat at her core flared. She wanted to find out what satisfying that rush of lust would be like.
Not that it would ever happen. Ugh! Since when did she want it to happen?
She huffed, blowing a strand of hair from her face. It was stupid, but him shutting her down hurt. It didn’t make any sense. He was interested in her, she knew he was, and under that gruff bluster…it was like he cared, even if she was flawed.
Hah. Fat chance. He couldn’t even look her at her halos. You’d think she’d be used to that. Kara ran a hand down her face. She should be. Was. But that shouldn’t stop him?—
She laughed, wiping at her brow. Maybe the issue was that she sucked at flirting. It wasn’t like she was a virgin or anything, just not real versed in any kind of wooing. Until she’d met him, she’d had no interest in any of it. Not that she’d had the opportunity. Riegel hadn’t tolerated Talents approaching her, and subs outside of Albanach’s tower were culled for even looking at their betters—but out here it was different, wasn’t it? Maybe Flynn’s reluctance was some cultural thing she wasn’t getting.
It was bizarre, especially with that temper of his, but she’d meant it when she’d said she felt safe with him. Like, he made the anxiety that’d plagued her for as long as she could remember fade into the background, and there was just this…rightness.
On her end at least. He didn’t seem to want anything to do with her, despite what she’d seen before he’d slapped a book over himself. She fanned at her face, thighs clenching. Ugh, this stupid need to breed…why wouldn’t he…it wasn’t like he could actually impregnate her. Talents could only breed with Talents after they’d bonded one another.
No repercussions, no strings, it would be harmless.
That massive erection had proven she elicited a physical response from him, maybe if she—it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen women blatantly seduce men, that just wasn’t—she bit at her lip. No. It wasn’t her, and she didn’t want him to think she was like that.
Ugh! Why did she care? In another day or so she’d never see him again, and he’d made it very clear he wasn’t going to act on his urges. What did she think she was going to do, quote Shakespeare until he agreed to put her out of her misery? Might be worth a shot. He’d had Lewis Carroll down verbatim. He probably liked smart girls. The kind that had real world experience. Guy had to be some kind of a genius between the bathroom set up and all those books. Epic fail on that front, Kara. Maybe if she started yowling with her butt in the air he’d throw her a pity screw.
Yeah, way to woo. She hooked her frazzled hair behind her ears and tossed a log onto the pile. Woo. What a stupid word. Man, she hated being a cloistered genetic cocktail. Stupid physiology…but it wasn’t all that. At least, she didn’t think so.
The way he made her insides churn, second guess herself, it wasn’t just the lack of meds. It couldn’t be, but what else was there? Something, she was sure of it. His expression when she mentioned the Source… He’d wanted to protect her.
That predatory vibe—she shivered, sub or not, he moved the same way Breakers did when they were stalking into the arena. Gave off the same air of menace?—
What if what he wanted to protect her from was him?
She stared up at the stars and snorted. After that temper tantrum of his, she wouldn’t doubt it. What an idiot. Chivalry was supposed to be dead, yet here it was alive and well. Just her frickin’ luck?—
I’ll get you to the next drop as soon as I can.
She was delusional. He didn’t want her. Not to protect her, and certainly not to bed. No one wanted her, aside from her genetics. Her insides ached, but she had to face the facts. Her defects hadn’t magically disappeared when she’d left the Source. She should be grateful he’d been kind enough not to humiliate her over her pathetic attempts to flirt.
She wouldn’t embarrass either of them by trying anymore.
Riegel’s fist slammed into Sansky’s jaw, knocking him back. Blood spattered across the arena’s sandy floor as the other Breaker tried to recover, pushing out a cloud of bloodlust. It mixed with the mineral tang, ratcheting up Riegel’s own divine fury. A rictus grin split his face, black waves of rage surging up through him, as intoxicating as any narcotic and just as addictive. He fought against the seductive pull into madness, focusing on his opponent.
Too late. Sansky’s knuckles slammed up under his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. The Breaker pushed out a torrent of bloodlust, attempting to drown him beneath the storm of pheromones and capitalize on his momentary advantage.
The man’s pungency only served to feed Riegel’s wrath.
Madcap, he threw himself at the Breaker, dispensing with any formality of the bout. Grabbing Sansky’s arm, he twisted. The piquant sound of shattering bone crackled through the air, accompaniment to his agonized scream.
Riegel savored it like fine wine.
Discarding his broken plaything, his breath came in sharp bursts as he pushed out a wave of ’lust. Sansky cowered beneath the cloud in submission. He’d lost more than the use of his arm in their bout; Riegel had gained his rung, increasing his standing in the Breaker hierarchy.
Closing his eyes, he gorged himself on the hormonal tempest racing through his system. The black rage setting fire to every neuron with an intensity rivaling sex. He adjusted himself, his briefs tight. A visit to the Olly was in order after this.
Breathing deeply, he pulled up zero state, smothering the bloodlust beneath it. It didn’t recede easily, licking around the edges of his practiced calm. Lately it’d been increasingly difficult to separate himself from the blackness. There was very little doubt in his mind that he’d eventually succumb like so many Breakers had before him. He looked forward to the rage-filled madness of that end, but it would keep. Until then, he had things to accomplish. The air slowly cleared, and he became aware of the sand and sweat coating his skin.
At the drop in pheromone levels, a buzzer sounded, then the heavy click of the portlocks releasing. Subs came in to prepare the arena for the next bout, a Binder right behind them. He didn’t attempt to hide the scorn in his gaze as he raised a hand to Riegel. His halos flared, reversing the damage Sansky had managed to inflict. The rush of talent snuffed out the last of the ’lust, and Riegel pushed past the man, sharing his disdain.
Though half his genetics were from their infernal line, Riegel viewed Binders with a special kind of contempt. His propensity had always been for violence, and the predilection was anathema to every last one of the bleeding hearts. Especially Nora. His dam had always been frigid toward him, despite the affection she lavished on Kara. The dichotomy had stung until he’d discovered he could vent his frustrations upon his half-sib with very few repercussions, and Kara just took it as her due.
He pulled at his crotch again, entering into one of the decon-stalls, closing his eyes, the ultrasonics pulsing over him. Pity Ielle had been rented out to service some emissary?—
Riegel grimaced at yet another insipid flash of juvenile insecurity and desire coming through his bond from Kara. The connection had been rife with it all day. It was maddening. He exited the stall to dress. He’d have to visit the Olly sooner than not. The thought of her having to experience his escapades in her current state amused him.
“Hey cull, heard you just took Sansky’s rung.”
Riegel flinched at the voice, cursing himself for it before turning. He became intensely aware of his silks and velvets facing the man in crisp grey fatigues. Pax leaned against the far row of lockers with a smug look on his face. The Peacekeeper was baiting him. Riegel inadvertently leaked a puff of ’lust.
Pax grinned as he scented it, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You must’ve had some of that chili down in mess. Can’t believe that’s what dropped Sansky. Some drippy little fart coming off a near-cull twist. Personally, I don’t think it happened.”
Riegel schooled his expression, carefully shutting his locker, waiting for the inevitable. Right on cue, his knees went weak, and he fought to remain upright. A coil of fear rose in his belly, and he broke out in a cold sweat. Damn him! Despite his best efforts, Riegel slid down the lockers as the noxious cloud Pax was pushing out enveloped him. Before he knew it, he was cowering on the floor, gripped by an overwhelming, irrational terror. He railed against the involuntary reflex, knowing it was futile even as he did.
The slow clop of Pax’s boots made their way across the locker room. His knees cracked, crouching beside him and petting Riegel’s head like a dog. “That’s better. Wouldn’t want you to forget your place. You might have the physicals to pass for one of us, but that’s only going to take you so far, twist. When push comes to shove, you’re never gonna be a real Breaker, so I suggest you content yourself with the desk job Daddy gave you and stop trying to fuck with the hierarchy.”
Pax grabbed a handful of hair and ripped Riegel’s head up, pushing out another dank cloud. The Peacekeeper grinned, watching him struggle to keep a straight face as he shat himself.
“That’s right. Now we understand each other.” He dropped Riegel’s head and stood, leaving the locker room, whistling a cheerful tune.
It took a good five minutes for the air to clear enough for Riegel to climb to his knees. He buried everything he was feeling in zero state, all too used to Pax’s animosity.
But he’d never been denied advancement before. Riegel stripped off his clothes, getting back into the decon-stall and seething. When the Commandant aged out, Pax would take his rung. Riegel had no illusions that he’d survive that transition of power.
He grit his teeth as the ultrasonics cleansed the excrement from his skin, the stigma of being the offspring of a duality hanging around him like a miasma. The ghosts of his past rose with it to deride him, that inane chant in his ears.
“… Breaker/Binder near-cull twist…”
Damn them all! The breeders had unequivocally decreed his Binder genes regressive. He was entirely a Breaker, no matter what line the bitch who whelped him hailed from. Another wave of insipid emotion came through the link he shared with Kara. Riegel turned in a rage, pulling talent.
There was a loud explosion, and when the smoke cleared, several rows of lockers had been all but vaporized. The warped remains closest to the floor glowed white-hot. Imagining Pax’s charred corpse in the center of it, Riegel donned another pair of briefs and returned to the arena.