Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(64)

“He has a whole list of them, actually.” Sanders panted for a moment, light headed. Then went on. “If you are trying to get in his pants, you have a lot of competition. He is a bit of a ladies man, if you know what I mean.”

Another blast, but this time much less potent. A mild finger prod instead of a sharp needle prick.

Black Shirt swayed wildly, falling into the wall. The pain cut off as he muttered something to White Shirt.

White Shirt waved him away, staring at Sanders with a patient air.

“Staring contest, huh? Just as bad. I’ll sit this one out.” Sanders hung his head, wishing for another nap.

A shuffle had him glancing up, noticing another guy in a black shirt, this one the size of a woman but lacking the br**sts. He took the place of the first.

“Oh good, we have enough for a party,” Sanders said flippantly, wondering how many torturers they had. “I hope you guys dance.”

“How is the government set up?” White Shirt asked.

“You need a name,” Sanders decided. “I like to get names of those I am intimate with. I will call you Betty. And your friend there will be Martha.” Betty raised his eyebrows, his smile dwindling. “Our government is set up with members who care. Bleeding hearts, some of them. Dull lot of—“

This time the pain was all around his skull in a throb. It was kind of a dull ache. It was the worst headache he’d ever had, basically. Less awful than the eye scrub. Small miracles.

“Seems Martha has different talents,” Sanders wheezed. “Not fair taking turns, though. There is only one of me and two of you. But I guess we know who has the most stamina.”

“Do you have reason to believe your Captain will come for you?”

“Oh no, why would he? He and I rarely see each other. He’ll probably send some other troop, if he sends anyone at all.”

Martha said a couple words in their choking language.

White Shirt smiled in a placating sort of way. “You are lying.”

“Yup. But about which part? Him coming, or him and I seeing each other?”

Martha shook his head. There was another exchange and suddenly it felt like his head was being split down the middle. He wanted to reach up and see if his brain was oozing out the sides.

He missed Junice. He didn’t want to die down in this hovel and never see his baby. The selfish part of him did hope the Captain came. If anyone could get him out, it was the Captain. Or Shanti.

When the pain receded, Martha was swaying.

“You boys don’t last long do ya?” Sanders rasped.

“They will regain strength. Will you?”

Sanders tried to shrug. He tried not to let his head hang. He managed neither. Thankfully they were out of torturers for the moment. They apparently didn’t believe in physical labor, which was fine by him. He closed his eyes and let sleep take the pain away.

Chapter 32

Later that night, Shanti found herself sitting cross legged under a large Elm tree, balanced and relaxed, making peace with the undercurrent of power alive in her body. Cayan sat across from her, also cross-legged, dressed in loose sweats. It was slightly disconcerting having such a large man, mostly a stranger, so close without weapons handy, especially after the last year of being alone and hunted, but she was determined to attempt this. She needed to see where her future lay, and he was pivotal in that. Plus, there was no embarrassing personal mess outdoors, and there was much more room to scuffle or run away, so this was probably a better situation.

Cayan sat peacefully, focused on Shanti, his hands on his thighs. He’d slept in her bed all afternoon while she’d slept in a copse of trees, cursing him. Finally, when he left, she headed back and stared in disbelief at the disturbed sheets. He’d crawled inside. He’d also moved her strip of purple undergarment to the table with the candle supplies. It was crossing the line, but she was too embarrassed to complain to Lucius about it and ask about retaliation protocol. Instead, she’d stripped the sheets so as to have Molly wash them of his smell, which was some sort of mannish musk. It wasn’t unpleasant but…still.

He’d met her in the trees at dark, as she’d asked. She hadn’t told him where she was, knowing he’d find her regardless. And he had.

“You need to ground yourself,” she started, not sure where to look but not wanting to meet his eyes. “Feel the trees around you. Feel the ground under you. Feel the air, notice if it moves, notice how it interacts with the leaves. Center yourself in the world around you. Try to clear your mind.”

A quick glance revealed that he was looking at her.

“It helps if you close your eyes when you’re learning…”

He held her gaze for a moment before closing his eyes.

“Let me know when you feel balanced. When you let go of all your worries, and all the things you have to do, and whatever else that goes on in your head.”

She could just make out a dimple deepening in the moonlight. It meant he was smiling. Or smirking. Probably thinking she sounded ridiculous. Which she kind of did. She was used to working with kids.

“Ready,” he said quietly in his deep gravel.

“Now you need to open your mind like a flower.”

She watched him, noting a crease between his eyebrows as he looked inward. She took this opportunity to assess him without interruption. His masculine face looked like it was chiseled from stone, then sanded by a great artist. His bone structure was defined and symmetrical, with dark bushy brows that gave his eye sockets a striking depth. When he wasn’t busy being so serious and in control, he had a pleasant vibe about him—a charisma that exuded a sort of animalistic primal quality. He was one well-made, handsome bastard. And judging by all the women batting their eyes at him, he was in demand. Some men just had it all.