Page 35 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Hands stroked up and down her legs.

Kora moaned softly as they travelled up, gripping her waist, lifting her shirt to expose her stomach. It was still dark, and the cool air swept in to brush against her bare skin. Those hands quickly followed, tracing her curves, and the strong wall of her core, before cupping her breasts. They were rough, and she wriggled at the twinge of pain.

Blake was here.

He was touching her, caressing her. Finally. They’d get their moment in the desert. It was daring, and her defiance sizzled at the risk of exposure.

His hands became earnest, tugging at her clothes, and she winced as they pressed hard enough to bruise. He placed his knees down the middle, pushing her legs open with a grunt, and fisted her waistband, fumbling with the ties.

Blake leaned forward, his tongue flicking up her neck, inhaling deeply. She turned her head to capture his mouth with her own, eager to breathe in the scent of him. The scent of—

Kora’s eyes flew open as she grimaced at the stench of sweat . . . along with a familiar foul odour. Callan grinned, his hands pulling at her waistband as he rushed to remove her clothes. He’d discarded his gloves, revealing mangled, twisted flesh in a burning shade of red. His fingers ended in rounded, calloused stumps, his nails burned clean off.

“You!”

she seethed.

“Get the fuck off me!”

She pushed up, but there was barely enough room for them both in her tiny one-person tent, and his head bobbed against the roof as he perched between her spread legs. She shoved against his chest, and he laughed in response at the feeble attempt.

“You were enjoying it,”

he crooned, his teeth flashing in the dark.

“Just lie down, dear. I’ll take you on the ride of your life.”

The audacious prick.

“Get. Off. Me. Now.”

Kora shoved against him again, only to knock him a few inches. Callan was a solid wall of muscle. As a royal guard, he had to be the strongest, the fittest, the fastest to defeat their enemies. She had no doubt he would easily overpower her, and his grin suggested he knew the same.

In the confines of the tent, she didn’t have enough room to move her legs to close them, or even drag herself away from him. Her knees touched the sides of the bolted-down tent, and her heart raced as a sickening heat crept over her body.

“Aye, I plan to.”

Callan raised a hand, and his backhanded slap across her face was like a bolt of lightning. She fell back, her vision dazed, cheek smarting with pain as he shoved her shirt up to her neck and greedily lapped his tongue all over her skin. The very touch of him repulsed her, and panic bubbled, seeping in at the edges, taking over her body.

“No!”

she cried. “Stop—”

A large, grimy hand clasped her mouth, muffling her cries, as his other disfigured hand trailed down to between her thighs. Tears sprung in her eyes as he gripped at the apex of her thighs, clenching, and rolling his palm painfully, a hiss snaring from his clenched teeth.

Kora manically writhed under his grip, her nails scraping his thick arm, trying to pry his hand from her mouth. She dragged it lower down and clamped her teeth down hard.

“You bitch!”

Callan slapped her again, knocking her head into the ground as his blood leaked from her mouth. Stars danced in her vision from the impact, the world tilting, and she distinctly heard him rip her trousers, then rapidly pulling down his own. She only had the saving grace of his twisted hands struggling with the ties.

“Help!”

she screamed.

“Someone—”

Please, Blake, please hear me!

He forced her shirt into her mouth as a gag after pinning her arms beneath her own weight. Kora cried against the fabric, and his gaze dropped to the talisman. With a smile, he gripped the chain in his fist, yanking it to the side and into the ground, choking her.

She gasped. Coughing at the crushing chain straining against her windpipe, cutting into her flesh. Her legs flailed either side of Callan as he smeared his blood over her stomach.

“I bet you’re a virgin.”

He leaned down, inhaling at her neck. The sheer strength of him was unimaginable. He was nearly as strong as the Flint twins. Her nimble, swift nature wouldn’t get her out this.

“Damn . . . I hope you are.”

He licked up the side of her face, following the curve of her scar. His tongue left a lingering trail of burning pain, as if her flesh couldn’t bear the touch of him.

“I’m going to mark you like whoever did this to you. Ruin you for other men. No one will want to touch you once I’m through with you.”

He reared back, chuckling as he removed the last of his trousers, his hard length springing up. Her mouth dried at the sight, her heart and soul emptying out.

It was happening.

No one was coming to save her, no one heard her cries—or they did and didn’t care. It wasn’t their job to stop abuse. To stop rape. She was a female; chattel for males to do with as they please. It was a male’s world after all.

Kora pleaded with the gods, with Calypso, Thanos, any of them, in that moment. She hadn’t prayed to them in so long, in such a desperate way, and she begged with her heart, her soul, her life. She beseeched her faithful voice, who watched over her, who guided her. Despite her inability to respond to it, she implored with everything she had in the hope it could hear her now.

All was silent.

Callan pumped his length, the tip wet as he tightened his grip on her talisman. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to die. Her fingers flexed beneath her back, but there was no water to summon, no liquid nearby to manipulate. Her water beast was hidden deep within her, too afraid of the monster before her.

Please.

I need you.

She wasn’t sure who she was begging now. Who she desperately sought help from. Her mind cried viciously as Callan exposed the last of her body, her own trousers discarded, and a shiver shuddered through her.

Her body shut down, her mind escaping into a dark corner, away from the impending violation. She hadn’t experienced this since the Darkoning Trials, where she learned to remove herself from the present . . . from the pain she couldn’t control as she’d been beaten within an inch of her life.

Nobody was coming.

His finger ran up her slit, and she barely felt the sensation as she burrowed deeper into herself.

No one would save her, and she couldn’t even save herself. What good were her powers, her water beast, if they couldn’t prevent atrocities like this? The chain painfully cut into her neck as Callan flushed his body against hers, murmuring everything he was going to do to her.

Halting, his face contorted into a frown. His body quaked, his muscles rippling, and he released the chain. Kora sucked in a deep breath, panting, gulping down air, as Callan fell back, his hands clutching at his body.

“What is this?”

He glared as he tore at his flesh, rubbing it, scratching until his caramel skin turned a similar shade of pink to his scarred neck.

Kora covered her body with the scraps of her shirt, now able to move . . . to be present. Callan trembled, his hands roving frantically over his body.

“What are you doing to me?”

he snarled.

A blue hue encapsulated the tent, basking his face in a deathly glow, and his eyes widened in horror as she smiled devilishly, raising her shining hands, letting the light bloom. It was a minute amount of power, but it was enough.

She would save herself.

“You’re a mage!”

he hissed, and her smile broadened as his skin visibly rippled, his veins writhing beneath the surface.

“Stop it!”

His lisp thickened as that familiar pulse returned, racing across her bones, coalescing in her core before bolts of energy surged out, elevating her until she felt untethered from the world.

With his limp cock hanging out in the open, Callan dragged his churning body out of the tent. She delighted in the veins bubbling along it, coated in coarse sand. He whimpered as she followed him, one hand clutching the fragmented remains of her trousers.

“You’ll . . . be hanged . . . for this,”

Callan spoke between panting breaths. He stopped and rolled onto his back, glowering in pain.

“I’ll tell them all.”

“Dead men tell no tales.”

Her throat burned and her voice was hoarse as she twisted her hand, imagining his blood churning in his body until he vomited, clenching his stomach. He moaned and begged, and she placed her booted foot on his neck, cutting off his speech—his air. Raging red bloomed as he choked, coughing, desperately trying to flood his lungs with air.

“Not so fucking nice, is it?”

She glanced down at his limp dick and flicked a finger towards it, urging the blood to redirect itself. Callan shrieked as it shrivelled.

“Captain!”

The blue hue died from Kora’s hands as Blake sprinted to them, a familiar palomino mare by his side. Moonlight bounced from his sword, his alert green eyes glaring in the darkness.

“I was on watch and heard a scream. Cadence was running towards—”

He halted to a stop, staring at Callan convulsing in the sand, her foot still on his windpipe. His eyes scanned the details—Callan’s bleeding hand, his exposed length, her torn clothes, and tearful eyes. A dark shadow swept over his face.

“Tell me he’s getting what he deserves.”

Blake’s tone could have frozen the whole desert. Even Callan shivered.

“It’s all her fault!”

Callan rasped.

“What’d you expect me to do? She practically invited me into her tent.”

Kora almost laughed at the blatant lie.

“I very much doubt that,”

Blake snapped.

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she nuzzled her cheek against his warmth. Callan’s eyes widened in response. He’d not only attempted to rape a captain . . . but an involved captain.

“You two . . .”

Callan wheezed, choking down air.

“Insubordinate behaviour . . .”

he spluttered beneath Kora’s weight.

“Let him talk, asterya.”

Blake smiled wickedly. Oh, it was time for a game. She stepped back and Callan rasped, greedily breathing in air.

“You’re together!”

Callan’s shock was so satisfying.

“Yes, so don’t try to pull any more I-asked-for-it crap. He knows better.”

Her strained voice caught Blake’s attention. She could’ve sworn thunder danced in his eyes as he noticed the chain-like bruise forming around her neck.

“You were fair game,”

Callan seethed.

“I’ll tell them all. You won’t be able to stand on two legs after. Captains can’t be involved with their crew, and you’re a—”

“That’s enough.”

Kora pressed down on his throat, and Blake withdrew his cutlass sword, the tip hovering near Callan’s limp one. Callan snivelled, and Blake chuckled darkly as he twirled the sword in his hand.

“What do you think we should do?”

he asked, his tone playful.

“Hmm . . . hunting?”

she mused.

“I don’t like my prey sandy,”

Blake joked, wrinkling his nose at Callan.

“We could castrate him?”

Callan started crying.

“That’d certainly solve a lot of his . . . issues. And protect all women.”

“Shame they brought all that food. We could take a page out of the wenches’ book and, you know . . .”

Blake chomped his jaw, imitating eating. It was a dark move, even for him, but they were dealing with a monster on epic levels.

Kora bared her teeth at Callan, and she knew it was her deathly smile. The smile she used in the Darkoning Trials to deter her opponents. In fact, her and Blake had done this verbal torture game before on their captured enemies, dragging out their sentence, making them expect the worst before delivering them to the empire.

“It’s not my fault,”

he spluttered.

“She’s lying to you! Tell him who you—”

“What’s going on here?”

Theron’s voice cut through the hazy fog blanketing her mind, and Kora blinked as he approached, a smouldering presence against the black night.

“Why do you have Callan . . .”

Theron halted at Kora.

He flinched at the splatter of blood peeking through her ripped shirt, and his gaze travelled down to Callan, who began pleading with Theron, his voice now a hoarse whisper.

“Your subordinate tried to rape my captain,”

Blake snapped. His barely contained temper was palpable, and Theron cautiously stepped back.

“Theron . . . please, she’s a—”

Theron cut off Callan’s words with a sharp wave of his hand.

“I do not want to hear it! I am sick to death of you, Callan!”

His voice was like the boom of a cannon, echoing through the darkness of the desert night. Callan’s face slackened, shock permeating his pores.

Kora retreated to Blake, their bodies mere centimetres apart as Callan scrambled towards Theron. He stepped out of reach of Callan’s bloodied, twisted hands.

“This is the last straw. You are done. I want you out of my sight, out of my crew, my guard. Gone.”

“Where will I go? I’m your royal guard, you can’t dismiss me! Only the king can do that.”

“I do not care!”

Theron’s jaw grounded.

“Go into the desert, with the other exiles. You are exiled from Azaria. You are exiled from Aldara. You are no more!”

Callan sat back on his heels in disbelief, peering at the black expanse of the desert.

“But . . . it’s dark. And cold. I’ll die!”

“Be gone!”

Theron’s voice whipped through the air and Kora winced. He unsheathed an axe, his expression pained as he raised it, aiming at Callan.

“Don’t make me do this.”

The creep scrambled, pulling his trousers on, and shooting a deadly glare at Blake and Kora before darting into the night. His shadowed figure hurtled up the dunes, pausing to look back at them before disappearing down the other side.

She hoped to never see him again.

Theron sighed, sliding the sharp edge of his axe across his vambrace before re-sheathing it.

“I have no words,”

he swallowed his dismay.

“I cannot apologise enough to you. I am deeply sorry. I hope this doesn’t tarnish our relationship.”

Cadence snorted beside them.

Kora leaned into Blake, her hands clutching at her torn clothes, holding the frayed edges together. He let her weight press against him, and his hand went to the small of her back to steady her.

“My captain needs to recover from this,”

he spoke sternly.

“Callan’s actions aren’t your fault, nor responsibility.”

Rare fragility radiated from him, and a small kernel of pride flashed from her.

Theron nodded deeply, and that was enough to send her over the edge. To receive any form of a bow from a member of the royal court was of the greatest respect. Kora bobbed her head in return. Good gods.

“Will the king punish you for banishing Callan?”

she asked in a near-whisper.

Theron peered at Callan’s fading footsteps in the sand.

“Do not worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

His gaze followed the smattering of blood on her body before dropping to the ground in shame. Blake guided her to his own tent, fishing out a spare shirt and trousers from his pack, whilst Theron mumbled about taking the next watch rotation to ensure Callan didn’t return.

“We shouldn’t be sharing a tent,”

she hesitated as Blake handed her his clothes.

He shrugged in response.

“I’ll sleep outside if you want me to.”

“I . . . thought it was you. I thought you’d finally decided to . . .”

she couldn’t finish the words.

Pain, followed by anger, flashed across his face before softening into pity, and her gut roiled. She didn’t want pity. She’d been defiled, but beneath that violation, was hurt. She was upset it hadn’t been Blake, and a slither of disbelief joined her torrent of emotions.

Her belief in their relationship cracked.

But she nodded anyway. She needed to know that he was near, that she wasn’t alone. Before she ducked into the tent, Blake gently gripped her hand. The skin-on-skin contact overwhelmed her, and she recoiled at the touch, backing towards Cadence who followed her every movement like a second shadow.

“I’m sorry I . . . I wasn’t there sooner. I should’ve been there like you wanted. Are you okay?”

Like she wanted? What did that mean? Did he not want her anymore?

His face creased with worry, but Kora shook her head, avoiding his expression as she turned away. After a quick rinse, desperately scrubbing her skin raw to wash away Callan’s blood, she curled up on Blake’s sleeper mattress and covered her curled body with a blanket.

A clop of hooves kicked against sand, followed by the familiar thud of Cadence taking up her residing spot outside. Such an intelligent creature, and more attuned to Kora’s feelings than her supposed partner.

Her body was violated.

She tightened up, closing in until her knees touched her chest. Closing her body off to the world. Her heart ached, and she wasn’t sure why. Her mind was numb . . . hushed. Silent tears threatened to spill, and she cried into the folds of the blanket as footsteps approached.

“What happened?”

Aryn’s voice drifted over. Without seeing him, she would’ve thought he was thrice his age just from his voice.

“Callan attacked the captain . . . the situation has been diffused.”

Blake’s voice had a sharp edge. She didn’t appreciate the tone directed at Aryn.

Situation.

Was that all it was to him? Just a situation?

“Why weren’t we alerted?”

Aryn snapped back. Heavy footsteps followed.

“Aye,”

Samuel conferred.

“Who was on watch?”

“I was.”

Blake’s blunt words somehow pierced her numb being.

“I was far out, a couple dunes over. I came running as soon as I heard the screams. Where were you two?”

“I was tracking Ivar,”

Aryn replied quickly.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,”

Samuel mumbled.

“Takes a storm to wake me.”

“Tracking Ivar?”

Blake’s interrogative tone surfaced, and Kora’s tears slowed as she frowned, her ears straining to catch their voices.

“I don’t trust him,”

Aryn continued.

“He snuck out . . . so I followed him.”

“And?”

“Nothing to report.”

Blake’s sigh was audible.

“Where’s Callan?”

Samuel asked, the sound of metal against leather broke through the night, and she knew he’d unsheathed his sword.

“I’ll give that scourge a piece of my mind.”

“And where’s Kora?”

Aryn pressed.

“Gone. Theron exiled him. The captain is . . .”

silence followed, then footsteps thudded in the sand, nearing the tent.

“Don’t go in there,”

Blake commanded.

“I want to check on her,”

Aryn bit back.

“Why?”

She held a bated breath.

“I have some medical field training, in case she has any injuries.”

Despite their friendship blossoming recently, Aryn had always been the first to offer medical assistance in the past, even before Koji.

“You can check on her tomorrow—”

Blake’s voice cut out as she shuffled on the mat, her knees protesting at being curled up so tightly. She froze at the sudden quiet that slowly became deafening.

“I want someone on watch with Theron . . .”

Blake’s voice faded, along with the sound of muffled steps in the sand as the trio walked away from the tent.

Kora squeezed her eyes shut, her hand clasping the talisman sprawled on the sleeper mattress and, as she slowly opened her eyes, her fingertips shone blue once again. The tears streaming down her face lifted from her skin, the individual beads of water pooling together to form one, floating, iridescent ball. No bigger than the size of a pea.

Her body didn’t crackle with energy, her core didn’t alight with pounding bolts. It was as if her power subconsciously was trying to soothe her, displaying parlour tricks of beads of water, swirling around each other.

“Run,”

the voice returned to her mind and she growled at it. The voice could get fucked as well.

She pictured a mental wall building around her mind, block after block after block of sheer blue ice, until she was secure in her shimmering glacial dome. She wasn’t sure whether it would be effective or not, but the voice didn’t return for the rest of the night. Neither did Blake to sleep outside the tent. At least she had Cadence.

No one would save her in this world. She would have to save herself.

And that would start with mastering her power.