The Sun Sword Read online

“I can’t.”

  Pulse growing fast, he closed his fists harder around her wrists, glaring at her. “Can’t what, Kala Rei?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  The fire in Torin’s groin erupted at her blunt confession. He gazed down into her face, felt her heart thumping behind her breast, a rapid beat that sent waves of vibrations into his body. Pulling in a sharp breath, he tasted her sweat on the air. Tasted the musk of a desire he never dreamt possible there too.

  He dropped his stare to her mouth, to the lips he’d longed to claim for what felt like an eternity. The tip of her tongue flicked out, wet them, the action so quick Torin doubted Kala even knew she’d done it. Fresh blood surged into his cock, turned it into a rigid length grinding against her belly. She shifted beneath him, pushing her hips forward. Aligning her sex closer to his erection.

  Syunna, take her. Take her now!

  The deafening order roared through his head. He gazed at her mouth. Felt her body against his. Smelt her musk on the air. Tasted it on his breath.

  Take her!

  He shoved himself away from her, the abrupt absence of her heat on his flesh, against his body, was like an icy burn. Heart smashing in his throat, his balls and cock harder than steel, he turned his back on her, refusing to look at her face. By the gods, what was wrong with him? He’d given her his word. He’d sworn he would not touch her so. He’d sworn he would never—

  “Coward.”

  He froze, Kala’s flat whisper stabbing into him. Infuriating him. Igniting him. He spun, hands snaring her wrists before she could move, slamming her to the wall, his hips and thighs pinning her beneath his weight. He stared down into her face, denying the panic he saw there, every molecule in his body brittle, strained to breaking point. “I am no coward, Kala Rei.”

  Her lips parted. To say what, he didn’t know. Or care. Not when she felt so soft and firm against his body.

  He couldn’t fight himself any longer. He crushed her mouth with his, forcing her legs apart with his knees before rubbing his right one against the junction of her thighs. Her soft heat scalded his flesh through the course leather of his trousers and he growled, the sound rumbling up his chest into his throat. Kala’s lips parted to the noise, her low whimper flooding his groin with potent need as she met his tongue with hers.

  His head swam. He dragged his hands down her arms, down her ribcage, plunging his tongue deeper into her mouth as he grabbed the cheeks of her arse and yanked her sex to his straining cock. She arched against him, sliding her arms around his shoulders, tangling her fingers in his hair. Another whimper escaped her and she rolled her hips, pressing her spread sex firmer against his knee.

  Torin groaned, raking one hand from her arse to cup and squeeze her breast, the fire in the pit of his gut, his groin, his chest, borderline frantic. He captured her nipple, the subtle snakeskin of her vest doing nothing to hide the puckered hardness from his touch.

  Another wave of raw giddiness flooded his head. His touch. He pulled her closer. He was touching her. Really touching her.

  Stop it. Now.

  He shut the voice out, dragging his mouth from her lips to score a line along her jaw, up to her ear. She rolled her head, offering her throat to his mouth. He nipped the delicate flesh beneath her ear, pressed his tongue to the wild pulse there. She groaned, a low hitching sound unlike any he’d heard her make before and she closed her hands tighter in his hair, as if she feared letting him go.

  “I will never let you go, Kala,” he murmured into her ear, nipping at her earlobe with his teeth. “You are—”

  Mine.

  The word whispered through Torin’s head, possessive and dominating.

  Uncontrolled.

  He froze, the inferno in his core extinguished immediately. Syunna, what was he doing? He was Sol, keeper of the Sun Sword’s truth, not possessor of the One Who Burns. His job was to train her, prepare her, not use her for his own carnal gratification.

  He lifted his head and stared down into her heavy-lidded eyes.

  Eyes that grew wider the farther he drew away from her. Eyes that shimmered with confusion, disbelief. Pain.

  Anger.

  He took a step backward, his whole body—not just his groin but his gut, his chest, his throat—aching from what he was doing. What he was about to do.

  His solemn oath from six months ago came back to him: “I will never stick my dick between your legs.” The words haunted him. An oath he’d made the first time he’d pressed his body to hers, before he’d known who she was. What she was. His gut churned. “Kala…”

  She stared at him, an emotionless mask falling over her face.

  A second before she smashed her fist into his jaw.

  ***

  Zroya Gr’h stood over the naked female cowering at his feet on the floor of her bedroom, his gaze tracing the bowed curve of her spine, the toe of his boot tracing the swell of her compressed breast. His dick grew hard in his trousers and he chuckled, dropping into a crouch beside her sniveling form. “Tell me where the Sun Sword is, cunt, and I will not hurt you.” He skimmed the palm of his hand over her trembling shoulders, the heat from her body warming his flesh. She shuddered, flinching from his closeness. He tsked, moving his hand up to her head, following the delicate curve of her skull. She was a pretty young thing—small, petite, her creamy brown skin like smooth velvet, her thick black hair like a cascading river of midnight ink. Tilting his head to the side, he snatched a handful of that glossy curtain and smashed her face into the floor.

  She cried out, fighting against him, scratching at his hold, but he pressed harder on the back of her head, ignoring her feeble attempts to escape. He tsked again, giving her a pitying smile. “Tell me where the Sun Sword is, False Fire, or I will break every bone in your body and fuck you until you drown in your own blood.”

  The stupid female screeched and bucked and thrashed. “I don’t know. I’m not… I’m…” She blubbered on and on, professing ignorance, her cries growing choked and gurgled as the stone beneath her head turned bright red.

  His cock stiffened further and he flicked his gaze down the line of her back to her arse. His mouth filled with saliva and he grinned. “I shall take you in the arse first, I think. Pump you full of my seed. Would you like that? Bury myself in your arse until you scream for mercy.”

  She sobbed and bucked again, scratching at his hand. “Don’t…gods, please, don’t, don’t!”

  “Enough!” a dry, low voice cracked.

  Zroya jerked his stare from the female’s backside and snapped his attention to the old man standing in the doorway on the other side of the dimly lit room. He frowned, chest heavy, holding his tongue even as he held the fistful of cool, silken hair in his grip.

  The old man took a step forward, white eyes narrowing. His tongue flicked out in rapid succession, tasting the air. He stood motionless for a long moment, a cloudy fog filling his eyes, his expression blank. Empty. “She is not the one, Zroya.” He cast the sobbing girl a look devoid of connection. “This is not the False Fire you seek.”

  Zroya bared his teeth, the proclamation sending a jagged spear of sheer fury into his gut. Not the False Fire. Which meant the useless female would not know the location of that destined to be his.

  Fuck.

  He studied the old man before him, the rage at his wasted time twisting through the abject reverence and fear he felt for the prophet. “What shall I do with her, master, if she is not the one we seek?”

  The old man turned, his long black coat stitched with intricate silver thread flaring into a wide arc, revealing a glimpse of fine silver-mesh trousers and two skinned, bloody rabbit corpses hanging from his belt. “I care little, Zroya,” he answered over his shoulder. With a limping gait, he stepped from the doorway into another part of the female’s home, lost to Zroya’s sight. “Enjoy yourself.”

  The last command floated to Zroya’s ears and his lips spread into a pleased smile, his stare returning to the almost lifeless woman�
��s naked form once again. “Yes, master,” he murmured.

  With infinite care, he removed his hand from her hair, gently sliding his fingertips past the bloody mess of her face to tuck them under her wet, tacky chin. Raising her head, he gazed into her swollen eyes. “Pl-please,” she sobbed, snot and blood pissing from her shattered nose. “Please don’t…hurt me.”

  Zroya showed her his teeth in a wide smile. “I must do what my master tells me to do, pl’yat.” He smashed his fist into her nose, grinning at the fountain of blood erupting from its ruptured hole. “I will enjoy myself.”

  He rose to his feet and slammed his boot into her neck, sending her backward in a limp arc, following her progression with his gaze as she slid across the floor with a thud. In two steps he closed the distance between them, standing over her, his dick hard, his breath even. “Until my master tells me he has found the False Fire, the cunt who dares pretend to be the wielder of the Immortals’ blade, who dares hold what is rightfully mine, I will enjoy myself.” He lifted his right foot and placed it on the other side of her body, against her hipbone, looking down at her with another pitying smile. “With you.”

  He moved his hands to the buckle at his waist, his smile turning into a serene grin. “Until it is the False Fire beneath me, submitting to me, you shall accept my wrath. The wrath of the One Who Burns.” He gave the pathetic blubbering female a slow wink. “Aren’t you lucky.”

  The Sun Sword

  Chapter Two

  The bastard didn’t fall.

  Kala glared at the cursed Sol warrior, her knuckles burning with white pain, her shoulder throbbing with dull heat. She shook her head, biting back the bitter sob threatening to escape her. The hardest punch she could throw and he didn’t even flinch. Sour self-disgust and contempt curdled in her belly. She turned her head, unable to look at him, to see him—the cause of her humiliation—any longer. “I am leaving.”

  He didn’t respond to her flat statement, at least not aloud. Kala pushed herself from the wall, chest feeling like it was about to be crushed by an imploding quasar, her throat so tight she could barely breathe. She turned back to him, risking one last look before she got the hell off his ship. She was done with this shit.

  He stood before her, motionless, expression revealing nothing, his eyes unreadable. The only sign something bothered him was the coiled steel in his muscles and the bunching of his jaw.

  Something? What, like rejecting you? He is the last command warrior of the Sol Order, Kala. Keeper of the Sun fucking Sword’s truth. Do you really think he cares he’s just ripped your heart from your chest and crushed it beneath his heel?

  Hot hate cut through her and, fists clenched, she shoved past him, scooping her sword up from the floor and storming from the training room. Her body ached—not from the physical beating Torin had given her, but from the physical hunger he’d denied it.

  Christ, Kala. You are a bloody fool.

  Gut twisting, she headed for her quarters, willing the ache deep within her core to go away. She needed to gather her things and—

  A cold emptiness flooded through her and she faltered to a halt, her lips prickling with numb grief. Her things? What things? She didn’t have any things. What she stood in now was all she possessed in this world.

  The heavy weight in her hand drew her tormented attention and she lowered her head, gazing at the training sword still in her grasp. She snarled, throwing it aside, the coldness in her being turning to icy disgust. It didn’t belong to her. All it was was a poor imitation of a weapon she was never intended to hold, a ludicrous myth spoken of in hushed tones by idiots who believed the worlds of man had once been better than they were now.

  The Sun Sword. A weapon as powerful as the sun itself. Kala shook her head, the bile in the back of her throat hot. As if such a sword existed.

  As if she—an abandoned earthling with no memory of her past before puberty—was the one born to wield it.

  And yet, you’d almost begun to believe Torin’s bullshit. You almost believed you had a purpose. Worth. That your existence meant something to someone.

  Biting back a growl of self-contempt, she started walking again, heading toward Helios Blade’s hull. For six months the deep-space class vessel had been her home. She knew every inch of its interior, every item within its structure, including the small inter-star skip nestled in its bowel. The streamline short-range shuttle may only get her one hyper-jump away from Torin Kerridon, but that was one hyper-jump farther than where she was now.

  Far enough to forget how stupid she’d been. How monumentally naive.

  And if he follows you?

  Kala curled her fists. A lifetime of pain and fear, of being hunted by the animals calling themselves men on Earth’s surface had taught her one thing—how to become invisible. If she didn’t want him to, the Sol warrior would never find her.

  Who are you kidding, Kala? If Torin Kerridon wanted to find you, he would. If he wanted to find you.

  Dull pain blossomed in her chest at the thought and she quickened her pace, shutting all emotions down as she hurried to the shuttle bay. Emotions were a weakness she couldn’t afford.

  The shuttle bay door was locked when she arrived, the passageway leading to it dark. Floor lights flickered into muted life as she stepped onto the grid, casting a dull yellow glow around her feet that barely penetrated the blackness. She fumbled with the locking mechanism, her heart hammering in her ears. The back of her neck itched, as if someone watched her, his stare unseen in the shrouding darkness but felt all the same.

  Torin?

  Kala’s throat squeezed tight at the sound of his name in her head, her sex fluttering in traitorous response. She threw a quick look over her shoulder, squinting into the dense shadows.

  The blackness devoured her sight and, frowning, she turned back to the locking panel. Torin wasn’t there. He would not expect her to be here. His arrogance would have him believe she had returned to her quarters after their exchange in the training room, sulking over what happened. His unending belief in the Sun Sword and her role as the savior of mankind would not allow him to imagine her words “I’m leaving” to mean anything but leaving the training session.

  Besides, she couldn’t detect his distinct scent on the stale, still air.

  She levered open the panel, the lack of light making the task difficult, the continuing itch on the back of her neck making her want to fidget. The sensation of being watched grew stronger, heavier. She shot another furtive look over her shoulder, almost expecting to see someone standing directly behind her.

  Nothing.

  Just blackness.

  “You’re going mad, Kala,” she muttered, scanning the lock’s internal components with her fingertips. The low thrum of Helios Blade’s engines tickled the soles of her feet and the pit of her belly, making the task more difficult than it should. The itch continued and she ground her teeth against its inescapable annoyance. Just her mind playing tricks on her, that’s all. Just her screwed up, masochistic mind trying to mess with her. Prevent her doing what she had to do—leave.

  Finding what she hoped was the releasing mechanism, she activated its function. A sharp breath of relief burst from her as the door slid open. She hurried inside, the shuttle bay lights automatically switching on as she crossed the short distance to the sleeping skip.

  Harsh white light flooded the bay and she blinked, her eyes reacting to the sudden illumination. Without thought, her body coiled into readiness. Close to two hundred days of Torin’s unrelenting training so much a part of who she was now, she was ready to fight before being aware of it. She dashed around the skip’s pointed bow on silent feet, the scowl on her face feeling strained, the weight on her chest and in her sex feeling numb. Reaching the vessel’s sole hatch, she rested her palm on its locking release.

  This was it. Two minutes to power up, thirty seconds to open the shuttle bay doors, two seconds to blast the hell away from Torin Kerridon.

  And then what? Keep running? Keep h
iding?

  Kala closed her eyes, her stomach churning. Yes. Keep running. What other option did she have?

  No matter how well you hide, he will find you. He will come after you.

  Pressing her forehead to the cold steel hatch, Kala caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Torin would come after her, but not for the reasons she wished he would.

  The pulse in her neck thumped hard, and she let out a groaning hiss. She had to go. She had to.

  But you’re not. Are you?

  Pressing her hand flat against the hatch release, she opened her eyes and stared at the side of the skip.

  Are you?

  Barely able to draw breath, she straightened away from the skip and turned.

  Torin stood directly behind her, his grey eyes haunted, his face carved from stone. “Don’t go.”

  She stared at him, her heart slamming into her throat. “Okay.”

  His nostrils flared at her simple response and, with the same preternatural strength she’s seen so many times in the training room, he wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her to his body, his mouth claiming hers with furious savagery.

  Raw and rapturous pleasure consumed her. She gave herself to the kiss, raking her hands up his strong, hard arms, the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in the thick softness of his hair. Every molecule in her body sang with joy. She pushed herself closer to his firmness, wanting to feel every inch of him against her. With a low growl and a quick tightening of his embrace, he slid his hands to her arse and hauled her from the floor.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, locked her ankles behind his back and rolled her sex over the length of his trapped erection. The friction sent exquisite ribbons of squeezing heat into her core and she moaned.

  Torin reacted to the low sound. His tongue plunged deeper into her mouth, flicked at her teeth. He bit on her bottom lip, sucked the bruise with gentle pressure, his hands cupping her arse, a low, primal groan rumbling in his chest.

  Yes yes yes yes!

  The inane word repeated itself in Kala’s mind, growing faster, more feverish with each hard caress of Torin’s hands, with every stabbing flick of his tongue in her mouth. She rolled her hips, bowing her back to grind her pussy to his cock. Its massive length punished her soft folds, even through the leather of their trousers and she reveled in the pleasure. He’d followed her. He wanted her. Not for what he believed her to be, but for what she was—a woman.