Colliding Worlds Trilogy 02 – Implosion (12 page)

“After we get out of here,” he muttered. “Things will be chaotic for several hours. We need to ensure your safety.”

Nalea eyed the other Draeken in the room. The young man looked scared, but she couldn’t fault him that. “You’re safer if you come with us.”

The man gulped, and then nodded.

She paused, then turned and headed back to Hillas’s desk. Bending down, she picked up the power cell and strode back to Roden. “Now we can get the hells out of here.”

A
whoosh
behind her brought both her and Roden around to see the wall open, and they found themselves facing the nasty ends of at least a half dozen blasters and several swords. Guardsmen filtered in and made room for an older Draeken to stroll through the middle. “Greetings.”

Nalea gasped.
Impossible.
She felt Roden’s frustration as strongly as her own confusion. “How can it be?” she whispered.

“Hillas’s body double. Don’t worry. You got the right one,” Roden replied, attempting to step in front of her to protect her, only to have her move to cover his front. “I didn’t realize you survived the trip, Otas.”

“I think I’ll go by Hillas now. And that’s Grand Lord to you. Or, Majesty, if you prefer,” the man sneered. The man motioned, and a shot was fired. The guardsman at Roden’s other side collapsed with a thud. “I should thank you, Roden. I’d been looking for the right way to make the change more permanent for some time.”

“The people will see through your disguise,” Roden countered.

“They haven’t yet,” Hillas smiled. “I believe my people will gladly continue to follow Hillas over you. Look around you. The Draeken people have been swallowed by chaos. They need something consistent in their lives. Even the Grand Lord’s guardsmen see the logic.”

“So you will reach out to the humans?” Nalea asked.

“Bah!” Hillas said, sounding eerily like the man Nalea had killed moments earlier. The man who spoke looked and moved exactly like Hillas. “Why, when they have so little to offer.”

Nalea shook her head. “The Grand Lord is dead. There’s no reason to follow his doomed plan.”

The older man took a step forward. He ran his fingers too casually down her neck, and she cringed. Then he backed up. “He knew what was needed to keep our people strong. The plan will work. It’s infallible.”

“The people won’t follow you once they read the communiqués,” Roden bartered.

“Ah, yes, the communiqués,” the new Hillas replied. “Fortunately, I learned of them in time to intercept your second communiqué.”

“But the first one was delivered,” Roden rebuked. “Meaning the Draeken people know that you have Nalea and me. If you kill us, you won’t like their response.”

Otas nodded. “I’m no fool. That’s why you are both players in my plan. That I wasn’t born Hillas Puftan won’t matter for much longer.”

Roden barked out a laugh. “You’re a fool.”

“I’d rather die than serve you,” Nalea shot out, trying to buy time to figure out an escape.

“Oh, you will do exactly that,” Hillas’s doppelganger replied with scorn. “You will serve me or die.” He motioned to the guardsmen.

Roden lunged forward to protect Nalea, but it was too late.

The guardsmen opened fire.

As soon as she awoke alone in the small cell, Nalea shivered. She’d been a prisoner yesterday, but today was different. This time Roden wouldn’t come for her. He was still alive, but she wasn’t getting any kind of a reading off him. He was likely still unconscious because it didn’t
feel
like he was dead. A pang of remorse flitted through her. Despite everything he’d done, she knew he tried to do the right thing by his people. He didn’t deserve to die. She glanced around the stark cell.
Not like this.

Maybe Apolo’s scout would find her. Yeah, like he’d risk detection to save the last living soul in the oppressive Puftan bloodline.

“
Suvaste,
” she muttered as she tried to tuck her head against her shoulder. Even with her eyes clenched shut, the bright light burned, adding to her headache and achiness from the stun blast. Protected only by the skimpy dress, her golden skin reflected the light, multiplying the effect of the lights installed on the ceiling, walls, and floors. If her hands weren’t restrained behind her back, she would’ve covered her eyes. Light nearly as bright as this planet’s star scorched her senses and seared her skin.

She knew the routine. First, the light. Then, the torture. She held no illusions. She wouldn’t survive this cell. Too bad. She’d so much to tell Sienna and Apolo. If only she could’ve gotten the power cell to Apolo, he could return to Sephia, to be with his
tahren
Krysea again.

Her only consolation was that she’d had the chance to experience the
tahren
bond, the most powerful gift of her people, before she died.
Funny thing about that.
She’d expected some sense of fulfillment, some sense of closure to that instinctive part of her, but other than the physical, soul-deep connection she now felt with Roden, the bond felt surprisingly … empty. Like she craved something
more
. But “more” was exactly what Roden wasn’t going to give up, not even if he wanted to. Not that either of them would get the chance.

Nalea sucked in a breath. In that instant, it was as though a spout had been turned on. Where a vacant hole existed before was now a flood of emotions.
He’s awake. And very pissed off.

Her jaw suddenly throbbed as though she’d clenched her teeth for hours.

“Uh!” Pain blasted from within her back, and she doubled over. It was as if a cluster of cells near her shoulder were soaked in acid all at once. Sucking in a breath, she leaned back against the wall. It was the second time tonight she’d felt that kind of pain. If she had wings, she would’ve been able to pinpoint where the pain would’ve been centralized. The phantom pain was exactly like what she’d felt when he’d been shot.

Her
tahren’s
pain.

Roden’s torture had begun.

And they weren’t taking it easy on him.

Another pain hit her right in the stomach, and she forced herself to breathe.
Bad call on giving into the bond.
For what seemed like an eternity, she focused on mentally willing herself to ignore the phantom pains. Her face tingled, her lungs burned, and her leg throbbed. Her stomach felt as though she’d had the flu for a week.

Then, as abruptly as they hit her, the sensations disappeared.

“
Fyet,”
she muttered, and then added on a “
Suvaste”
after realizing that she’d first spoken Draeken slang.
That really hurt.

She let herself slide down to the floor in a heap. Then she frowned as a new emotion emerged, one she hadn’t felt in a long time. It took her a moment to find the right name for it.
Concern.
Not since she was a child had she actually worried for a
Draeken
. Now she worried for a man whose leadership brought about the deaths of thousands. And her name could soon be added to that list.

A part of her still hated Roden, because he’d never given her a choice, really. Either way she would’ve died in a prison cell. At least this way, she’d had the chance to kill Hillas.
And I succeeded.

Only to have another one take his place.

As she waited for Roden to wake and for the next wave of his torture to hit her, her mind began to form a plan. She had a chance at survival, but the only way to make it work meant that she’d have to do two things. First, she’d have to betray her people, and, second, she’d have to make an enemy out of Roden Zyll.

“Fuck you, Otas,” Roden said, after spitting out a mouthful of blood, the splatter hitting the Grand Lord’s doppelganger’s highly polished boots. The prim older man glanced down at his boots in distaste and took a step back with a frown. Ironic, since Otas Olnek had been born a beggar. Roden may have done his share of hypocrisy, but this Hillas was by far the biggest hypocrite of them all. Everything Otas had accomplished was simply because he’d volunteered to look like someone else. A very important someone in this case.

Roden awoke this time to find “Hillas” standing over him. And knew they were about to have a “conversation.” The first round was just warm-up, as much to wear down Roden as to hurt Nalea. The knot in his heart tightened. She must’ve been in agony before he’d passed out. He breathed in deeply.
My pain. Her pain.
Repeated the mantra over and over as he blanked out the pain, emotions, everything, so that Nalea wouldn’t feel.

Otas looked down on Roden. “Things would be so much simpler if only you died back at your base like Hillas wanted.”

He chuckled, though the movement cost him dearly. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Otas motioned to the guardsman at Roden’s side. The man swung the heavy power cane, and it landed with an electric jolt on his already injured wing. He snarled, only to have his restraints retract, yanking him brutally back against the wall. His limbs were taut, unable to move in the slightest. He stood, spread out before Otas, naked except for his kilt, which this Hillas left on likely to reflect the real Grand Lord’s sensibilities and certainly not out of civility for Roden.

“You really think you can pull this off, Otas? You’ve done nothing original in your life. Everything you’ve done is imitating a once-great man. Hells, you don’t even have an original thought.”

He tensed his muscles for what came next. First the hit to the gut, slamming the air from his lungs. Then the battering on the limbs. Pulsing agony sent his body into spasms with each connection with the power cane. An especially direct hit to his shin brought a grunt. The sound was all the guardsman needed. He turned up the intensity meter on the cane, and more hits to his body ensued.

When he could breathe again, he ground out his next words. “That all you got, Meyt? I taught you better than that.”

He had no idea what the guardsman said. His right ear was ringing too loudly from being struck, his ear drum likely shattered. At least he could see that he pissed off the guard, and he’d take every win he could get. A few more hits and he’d pass out from the pain again, and Nalea wouldn’t suffer. It was the only thing he could do until he killed this bastard impersonator.

Meyt lifted the cane high above his head. Just as he began to swing, a hand grabbed the guardsman’s forearm.

“Enough,” Otas said before pulling his hand back. “We don’t want him to be irreparably damaged. Not yet. He still has an important role to play. You’ve done enough for one day.”

Meyt handed over the power cane and left, only to be replaced by another guardsman.

Roden glared at the guardsman from his base. “I knew it was you, Elng. The one who poisoned my rum. Tell me, what made you betray your people?”

Elng pursed his lips. “I’m looking at the betrayer of my people.”

“So you’d rather follow an imposter?”

Elng didn’t reply. His jaw was clenched too tightly shut. He’d chosen the wrong side, and he knew it.

Roden tried to keep his head lifted to watch as Otas walked over to the wall and pressed a button. A hum filled the room. Several pillars rose from the floor in a half circle around Roden, and he was forced to pull his wings even tighter to keep from getting skewered. The hum emitted from the pillars nearly drowned his ability to reason. He eyed Otas. Why now, in the middle of a torture session, had they cut off Nalea with a disjunctor?

While Roden was thankful for the unexpected mercy, the Hillas he knew thrived on knowing how pain caused to a
tahren
would be felt by their mate, regardless of distance. A two-for-one torture deal. Cutting Roden off from Nalea didn’t make sense, unless he had something different planned for Nalea.

The elder strolled toward him, the bars and restraints the only thing keeping Roden from biting out that man’s throat. Otas crossed his arms over his chest, putting his fat belly on display. “You will provide your staunch support to me onscreen. Your speech will be broadcasted across every Draeken channel tomorrow.”

Roden managed a sneer. “Why would I pledge my support to a pale imitation?” The restraints pulled at him, burning his limbs. An unquestionable
pop
sent a blinding pain into his shoulder. He sucked in a breath.
Dislocated.

“If you don’t play your part well,” Otas said. “Nalea will die a long and painful death. I’ll broadcast footage of you torturing and killing your own consort.”

The restraints slackened a little, and Roden struggled to stay on his feet, the muscles in his legs shaking, his lungs struggling for air. He forced himself to look up at the imposter. “I look forward to tearing the wings from your back, Otas. They’ll decorate the walls of my office.”

Red fury filled Otas’s cheeks. He spun around and stomped toward the door. In the doorway, he paused. “If you don’t help me, your consort
will
die.”

Roden refused to show concern, refused to let the other man see any sign of weakness for Nalea, knowing the best way to protect her was to distance himself.
He won’t use her against me if I don’t care.

After watching Roden for another long moment, Otas left the room, leaving Roden alone with Elng and the hum of the disjunctor. He sagged. His dislocated shoulder sent a screaming reminder, but he could no longer hold his own weight.

Elng watched him from across the cell.

“You’re a fool,” Roden muttered at the guardsman.

The door opened, and he inwardly cringed. Another torture session so soon?

A scuffle. An electrical charge filled the air, and then a loud
thud
.

Roden found the strength lift his head just enough to see Elng’s unmoving form on the floor, and Wync hitting several buttons on the wall. He smiled and winced when the movement aggravated his split lip.

Roden’s restraints retracted into the wall, leaving him free-falling forward. The disjunctor disappeared into the floor, and Wync lunged forward and grabbed him just before his head would’ve cracked onto the hard metal surface.

“Lea. In another cell,” Roden murmured as his surroundings went in and out of focus.