Page 11

Hell’s Warden

Handy sat on the metal examination table, feet planted on the edge, elbows resting on his thighs. He didn’t move, didn’t fidget. He just breathed. Breath that was all his own, lungs that were his own, in a body that was his own. No interference. No foreign signals humming beneath his skin. No ghosts rattling in his skull. Just silence. Just control.

Quantum moved around him, methodical, expression unreadable. Handy tracked his movements with crisp, exact clarity. Before, he had always been half a second ahead, sensing Quantum’s intent through the haze of borrowed perception. But now? Now he wasn’t looking at Quantum through anyone else’s mind.

The world felt different. Not sharper—truer. Before, everything had been filtered through the collective. Colors too vivid, movements delayed or doubled. Sensations were either overwhelming or completely numb. This was balance.

The cold air on his bare skin felt exactly as it should. Not like static pressing in, not like an electric hum crawling across his nerves—just cold.

His fingers curled over the edge of the table, testing his grip. The sensation was immediate, direct. His muscles flexed beneath his skin, and when he breathed, his ribs expanded in time with his lungs.

He blinked once, slowly. It should have unsettled him.

Quantum reached for the cluster of wires connected to Handy’s body, adjusting the nodes at his temple. The cool pads adhered cleanly to his skin, and the sensation registered instantly.

“How’s it feel?” Quantum asked without looking at him.

Handy rolled his shoulders, testing them. The joints moved smooth, controlled. “Quiet,” Handy muttered.

Quantum nodded. “I imagine it would be.”

He checked the monitors again. The numbers flickered across the screens in precise, steady patterns. Handy caught the readouts at a glance. Everything was stable. Stronger than stable. Optimized.

Quantum adjusted the scanning parameters, isolating different parts of Handy’s nervous system. The machine clicked and whirred. Then he frowned.

Handy waited.

A few seconds later, Quantum tapped the screen with two fingers. “Something’s still syncing.”

Handy’s jaw flexed. “I can feel it,” he admitted.

Quantum exhaled through his nose. “Not unexpected. Your neurological pathways are rewiring at a deeper level than I anticipated. The imprinting process with Poppy—” He stopped himself, correcting the thought. “It didn’t just bond you to her. It stabilized you in ways I hadn’t accounted for.”

Handy didn’t react. Because he already knew. The moment he had woken up, he had felt the shift. Felt her. Not inside his mind—not in the way he had shared thoughts with his brothers before. But in his bones. In his blood. Like she was a part of him now in a way no one had ever been.

Quantum pulled up another diagnostic. “Containment grid is holding, but…” His fingers drummed the console. “Something’s different.”

Handy didn’t respond because he already felt that, too. The containment had always been chaotic. Restless. Always pressing at the seams. Now it was calm. Too calm. Not like it had been fixed. Like it was waiting.

Before Handy could consider that further, the door hissed open. He knew who it was before Harlow spoke.

“You need to hear this,” Harlow said to Handy.

Handy didn’t move. “I’m a little busy being a science project.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, well—Augustine just lost the woman he loves.”

Everything snapped inside Handy as silence fell. Still. Cold. Weighted.

Augustine.

Handy hadn’t thought of him as separate before. None of them had. They had lived inside him. Before, memories had been collective. They had all known what had happened to him. Now, for the first time, Handy was remembering alone. And it hit him like a blow to the ribs.

DARPA hadn’t just broken Augustine. They had unmade him. Stripped him down to the raw pieces of faith and flesh, carved into him until nothing was left but survival. The scalpels. The drills. The prayers turned to screams.

Handy’s fingers twitched. He had been part of it. Had felt Augustine’s body as if it were his own, had understood the agony of it, the way pain had become a second skeleton.

They had all vowed to escape for him. To avenge him. And now, for the first time, Handy was feeling that vengeance alone. Not a shared instinct. Not a group decision. His. And it settled into him like it belonged there.

The monitors spiked.

Quantum looked up sharply. “Your adrenal response just jumped—” He scanned the readouts. Frowned. “This isn’t just stress. This is—”

“Hunger,” Handy said, inhaling slow. Even. Controlled.

Harlow folded his arms. Watching. Assessing.

Handy finally looked at him. “I remember him.”

The air in the room shifted.

The monitors beeped, too fast, too sharp.

“I remember what they did to him.”

His jaw flexed. His fingers curled into a fist.

“What he had to do to survive.”

For a second, the silence felt thicker.

Then—Poppy.

The thought struck without warning.

She was still in his bed. Safe. Wrapped in sheets that smelled like them both.

She was his anchor.

Like Augustine’s woman had been.

The idea of losing her—

The monitor’s alarms went off.

Quantum cursed, hands flying over the console. “Handy, you need to regulate.”

He clenched his teeth and forced his breath steady. The numbers slowly leveled, but he could feel Harlow’s gaze.

Handy exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he met Harlow’s stare.

“When do we leave?” Handy asked.

Harlow’s mouth hardened with his own need for vengeance. “As soon as we can.”

****

Poppy woke to the scent of him.

It was everywhere. In the sheets. In her skin. Deep in the pillows where his body had pressed into them.

She shifted under the covers, and the dull, aching fullness inside her sent heat flashing through her veins. A reminder that he had been here. Had taken her. And she had given herself to him completely.

Her fingers curled into the sheets—his sheets—gripping them for something solid, something real. The morning replayed in her mind in flashes. Then came their first time. How he’d held her open, pinned her against the wall. The sheer, unrelenting need in his touch.

She swallowed hard, her breaths escaping.

He hadn’t wanted to do it. Not at first. She remembered that, too. The way he had fought it. The way he had hated himself for needing her. But she had seen past it. Past the resistance, past the war inside him. She had let him take what he needed. And in the end, he had needed all of her.

Poppy exhaled shakily, forcing herself to move. The sheets tangled around her bare legs as she pushed herself upright. She felt… wrecked. But not broken.

She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers catching in the knots. Her body hummed with the imprint of him. Heat flushed through her chest, through her stomach. Through her core.

She needed a shower.

Maybe it would ease the ache of wanting him again. Maybe it wouldn’t.

She slid out of bed, moving slowly. Carefully. Her legs were still weak, her muscles sore in ways that sent another rush of memory flooding through her.

God. She had felt him everywhere. And she wanted to feel him again.

She crossed the room, stepping lightly, her ears straining for any sign of him. But the apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

Her stomach clenched. Where was he?

She reached the bathroom, pushing the door open. Steam curled into the air as she turned the water on, letting it run hot. She stepped inside, shivering as the heat cascaded over her skin. She exhaled, tilting her head back as she relived the feel of his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing.

A sharp need curled in her belly. She missed him. It hadn’t even been a full day, but she felt his absence like a wound.

She dragged her hands down her body, trying to soothe the longing. Trying to shake the feeling that something had changed between them forever. That she wasn’t just his. But that maybe… maybe he was hers, too. And maybe… she didn’t want to let him go.

The steam curled thick around her, draping the bathroom in heat. The water pounded against her skin and down the curve of her back. She exhaled, tilting her head, letting the sensation soothe the ache deep in her muscles. Her fingers trailed absently down her stomach. The ghost of his touch still lingered there—the rough drag of his palms, the press of his mouth, the way his body had demanded hers.

She hadn’t resisted. She never would.

She turned slightly, reaching for the soap. A sharp gust of cooler air slipped into the shower and she stilled. Heart hammering, she turned her head. Her breath caught at seeing him standing just inside the doorway.

His broad frame filled it, black shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his chest. His stance was rigid, his fingers curled into loose fists at his sides. His face—God, his face. Hard-edged and all over her. So much hunger. Dark, raw, undeniable.

The air turned molten. “You're back,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the water.

Handy didn't answer. He moved. One step. Then another.

The sound of his boots hitting the tile floor was followed by the rest of his clothes. She barely had a second to react before he was in the shower with her, fully naked, his body radiating heat even against the scalding water.

Her back pressed against the slick tiles as he loomed over her, his chest and body a wall of uncompromising strength. The space between them was gone as his breath ghosted over her lips.

Poppy swallowed hard.

His fingers came up, slow and deliberate, skimming up her thigh. She shivered. “Handy—”

His palm flattened against her stomach, pressing firm, possessive.

Her pulse jumped.

His fingers slid lower.

She gasped, her back arching against the tile as pleasure bloomed, sharp and dizzying.

His mouth brushed her ear. “Missed me?” he murmured.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder. “Yes,” she whispered as his fingers swirled with a teasing pattern along her folds. “God, yes.”

His breath hitched, just slightly as his fingers slid inside her.

Her head tipped back against the tile as sensation rushed through her like wildfire, hot and consuming.

Handy growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating against her skin as he watched her, his hand steady, relentless, working her over with a focus that had her trembling.

She clung to him, gasping, whimpering his name as he dragged her to the edge. “Please,” she begged.

His hand stilled and his body went rigid.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze, locking onto hers.

Her breath shuddered. “Please,” she whispered again, voice raw. “Make love to me.”

For a split second, everything stopped. The water. The heat. The world outside this moment.

He stared at her, something undeniable burning behind his eyes.

His mouth covered hers before she could breathe, devouring, claiming, consuming. She barely registered the way his hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her effortlessly.

All she knew was him. His heat. His power. The way he filled the space between them like he was made for it. And then he filled her.

A broken cry flew from her lips as he buried himself deep, pressing her back against the slick tiles, holding her in place as he stole her breath, her thoughts, her everything.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged. His hips moved, slow at first—deep, thorough, like he was memorizing every inch of her.

Poppy clung hard, tightening around him, her fingers tangling in his soaked hair. She found his lips and drank him in, whispering his name, over and over, like she was afraid he’d disappear.

Handy’s forehead rested against hers, his breath ragged, his muscles trembling with restraint and a measured reverence. He was holding back. She felt it in every careful thrust, in the way his fingers flexed against her hips like he was containing something dangerous. And he was. She could feel it. The barely leashed power beneath his skin. The tension coiled in his muscles, thickening, tightening, like a storm preparing to break.

But she didn’t want his restraint. She never had.

Her arms wound around his neck, her body arching into his, urging, pleading. She forced out the words in a whisper… “Don’t hold back.”

His body locked before a violent tremor ripped through him.

The leash snapped and a deep, guttural snarl rumbled from his chest as his hands tightened on her thighs, yanking her down against him.

Poppy’s breath vanished as the controlled rhythm dissolved into pure, reckless force.

He slammed into her, brutal, unrelenting, the wet slap of skin drowned only by the ragged growls tearing from his throat.

Her head hit the tile, a sharp cry breaking from her lips. In shock. In ecstasy. A heat spread through her veins like fire, searing through every nerve, pulsing, igniting. Her breath hitched, her nails bit into his shoulders. Adrenaline. It had to be. It surged through her like a shockwave, like a drug straight to the bloodstream. Her body didn’t just take him, it rose to meet him. Where she should have been overwhelmed, shattered—she wasn’t. Because he was giving her something more. His body wasn’t just built to dominate her. It was built to make sure she could take everything he gave without breaking.

And God, he was surely putting it to the test. His rhythm was primal. Savage. His muscles flexed and bunched, his entire body driven by pure, animalistic need. The slick heat of the water made every movement filthier, sharper. His breath ragged and wild, his mouth everywhere at once—her throat, her shoulder, her lips, kissing, biting, claiming.

Her muscles tightened as her pulse roared. She clawed at his back, pulling him closer. More. She wanted more. More of him, of this monster she’d brought into existence. Her body wasn’t just taking him, it was syncing with him. She could feel him inside her, beyond the physical, beyond the pleasure—like something in his body was reaching into hers. Binding and changing.

Poppy let out a choked moan, her vision going white. A roar ripped from his chest, his rhythm turning into desperate, merciless slams, his entire frame shuddering as he buried himself as deep as he could possibly go, the very pinnacle and peak, where everything ceased to be for immeasurable seconds.

Then stillness.

Neither of them moved as the pounding water and frantic, uneven gasps filled the small space. Poppy’s entire body began to tremble, her legs still locked around him.

His forehead pressed against the tile beside her head, his breath ragged, body shaking. Spent. Wrung out. Yet still wrapped around her, holding her so tight she could feel his heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Slowly, his grip loosened.

His arms slipped lower, gathering her against his chest and tucking her into him like she was something fragile. His mouth pressed to her temple, her cheek, her jaw—soft and lingering.

His hoarse whisper broke the silence. “Are you okay?”

Poppy barely managed to breathe. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Because she wasn’t okay. She was changed. And she would let him change her again. And again. And again. Until there was nothing left of her that didn’t belong to him.

“I love you,” she forced from her burning lungs. “I love you, Meo Eterno.”

****

8-Bit dialed Cat as he headed out the Hack House.

No fucking answer.

He climbed on his swamp dragon right as the voice mail beep hit. “Cat, listen to me,” he ordered, his entire body shaking. “Do not go into the dungeon with Big G or AL, do you understand me? Do. Fucking. Not. I’m headed to Rukem about this dream bridge. Fucking call me when you get this message,” he ordered, hanging up and cranking the dragon.

He took the direct route, navigating over land and water, till he reached the back of their property. He aimed for the bank and hit the gas, his dragon roaring up the steep incline before he blasted through the short forest and headed for the parking lot at the rear.

He ignored the stares from students and even nuns roaming the grounds as his dragon's underbelly growled across the asphalt till it met the grassy edge at the far end.

He pulled his phone from his pocket after hopping off, dialing Rukem and hurrying for the door. “I’m here,” he said when he answered.

“We all heard,” he assured. “I’m on my way to you.”

“I’m at the back side of the main hall I think.”

“Headed there now. You have any more information?”

8-Bit shook his head as he set off at a jog. “I couldn’t find anything, no error, no breaks in the system. You?”

“Same. All the Kings are meeting with us. I see you, brother,” he muttered as 8-Bit opened the door and hung up his phone. “This way,” Rukem said when he caught up to him.

“What do you think this is?” 8-Bit asked as they walked.

“I do not know,” he muttered. “But the lights are different.”

“How?”

“The colors. They’re orange. They’re usually just white. Any idea what that means?”

“I didn’t catch that. It says extraction required. Do you think there are more colors?”

“No kingly clue,” he said, not happy with all the unanswered questions.

“I counted several thousand,” 8-Bit said as they turned down another hall. “How the hell are we supposed to bring that many in at once? I’ve run the numbers. Even with every able-bodied person, we can only manage a couple hundred.”

“Where is the Quantum King on his soldiers?”

8-Bit shook his head at that one. “I don’t put anything past him but with everything going on lately, if he managed a single damn one, I’d be damn shocked.”

“We need to get them on the line for this meeting,” Rukem said, opening a door where all the Kings were. Not sitting like the royalty he’d once remembered but milling about the room, looking high on souped-up gifts while tripping on hard dicks. Probably why they weren’t sitting. It would’ve been funny if he wasn’t in the same fucking boat without the bite.

The first five minutes were rapid-fire questions—how, who, what, when, where, and why.

“You said something was chasing them?” Nidev double-checked.

“That’s what it felt like,” Rukem said.

“So you’re not positive,” Skul realized, clearly not happy.

“Even if he’s not sure,” Dalk said, “we’d have to err on the side of caution until we learn more.”

“And how do we learn more?” Alerik asked.

“Drones,” Quantum said over the comm. “We send out drones to every location and see what we can see, then organize a rescue party.”

“What if it’s a trap?” Vex asked.

“Set by who?” Krovax wondered.

“How about that psychopath MOMMY prick,” Vex muttered.

“What would be the purpose?” Nidev asked, not convinced.

“We’re the one stronghold he doesn’t control,” Vex said.

“He’s right,” Quantum agreed. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

“He has our Belle Eveque,” 8-Bit reminded, getting all eyes on him.

“You think she’s doing this?” Thakx wondered, troubled or hopeful—8-Bit couldn’t tell.

“She could have something to do with it,” 8-Bit thought, eyeing their faces. “Any of you have gifts that might know what?”

“She received a bite from her husband,” a smooth voice said over the comm. One of the Triplets, he thought.

“Right,” Alerik remembered with a sigh. “I fear Zodak will never recover from being rendered immobile by her mere words while they took her.”

“So, she could be responsible somehow ,” Rukem said sharply. “We can’t use that.”

“Any closer to tracking her location?”

8-Bit shook his head. “She ditched her tracker.”

Every manner of frustration marked the Kings’ faces.

“I’ll get the drones ready,” Quantum said. “We’ll start with that.”

“I have, I believe, twenty-three ready for service,” 8-Bit offered.

“Get as many as we have,” Quantum urged. “We’ll get data and organize after. I’ll leave the remaining details with you gentlemen. Meanwhile, I’ll be building soldiers unless any of you require the use of the Delta Nexus Core.”

“How long will that take?” Nidev wondered for all of them.

Quantum calculated for all of two seconds before laying out his plan. “I think we’ll use the EX-23 Contingency Plan, which is a hybridized neural-sequencing model combined with accelerated genetic restructuring. It allows for rapid troop generation with imprinted baseline knowledge.”

“Interpret,” Alerik hurried, agitated.

“It’s basically a soldier with a simple pre-programmed directive. They would still require a female for human evolution, but it’s not mandatory for simple jobs. She’d be inheriting a machine with the social maturity of an infant rather than husband material.”

“So, she’d… raise him, then marry him,” Lore muttered, sounding both disturbed and fascinated.

“A perk any woman would appreciate,” Kael thought.

8-Bit regarded the King, perturbed over the silky effect his voice had on his cock. The fuck kind of gifts did he have?

“How many of those can you create?” Vex asked.

“Around twenty-five in a week.”

“Like hell are we using fast-tracked go-go bots for emergency human extractions,” Skul shot out, getting all eyes on his pissed stroll next to the big table. The majority of them still stood, he realized.

“What about all those Vicki’s our marsh brother Bullets loves so much?” Dalk said. “I believe there are several hundred of them, if I remember correctly.”

8-Bit added, “His brother-in-law is the priest for one of their clans. He could tell us how many are capable.”

“Then the biosynths can be used for things we don’t want humans to do,” Quantum suggested. “Guard our borders, carry supplies, run into battle first, and take bullets so our people don’t have to. They’d be tools—nothing more, nothing less.”

“But can they shut off when you shut them off?” Skul demanded, back in the spotlight.

“What happened with Handy was an extremely isolated incident.”

Skul glared at the comm on the table. “Well, Roberta, this world of ours is filling up with exceptional incidents if you hadn’t noticed.”

Roberta?

“What happened?” Alerik suddenly demanded, joining the pissed party. “Is this about Poppy? Is she okay?”

The accusation in his tone devoured the rest of Skul’s fuse. “You tell me, oh perceptive one.” He jerked to Kael on his right. “Get your mental malfunctions off me, King Calm.”

8-Bit lowered his grin, in love with the rare occasions they fought. The only thing missing with these brothers was the laughter.

“Poppy is fine,” Quantum assured. “She is now the safest woman on this planet. Their bond is unbreakable.”

“I can attest, brother,” a low voice said over the comm. Sounded like one of the Triplets again. “Their link rivals that of me and my brothers. There is no need or desire she has that he will not use all of his powers to fulfill.”

Skul paused abruptly. “I will not stand here and pretend that your creations are not remarkable machines and tools, but they cannot and never will replace a human connection.”

“Nor would we want to,” the triplets said in that crazy vocal unison. “Humans often break what they love and fail their oaths. We do not possess that flaw. Our love is loyal, our purpose is incorruptible, our bond without error.”

There was a breath of silence then, “Sounds like we got bit by the wrong brother,” King Vale mused.

The longing in his voice hit 8-Bit’s funny bone and his snicker drew all eyes. “Hey,” 8-Bit defended at seeing a few hostiles. “You wanted a shortcut to a powerup, not me. But if it makes you feel better, we’re all scheduled to get it.”

“Brilliant,” Vale muttered. “We’ll plan a going away party for whatever civility and pride you possess.”

8-Bit chuckled, lowering his shaking head. “Kinda scarce on those already.”

Nidev took in a huge breath. “So, we send out the drones, gather data and go from there.” He looked around like a man who knew exactly what to do with his dick and was ready to get to doing it. “Dalk, call your Marsh Brother and inquire about his Viking friends. Do we have an update on the Marsh King?”

“Stable,” Quantum said. “His regeneration is on schedule to be complete in four days.”

“Good. Kael, you’re on Zodak. We need him ready to move out if we’re collecting people. He’ll be our last defense if this is some kind of trap.”

“What about their Seer?” Skul remembered.

“Haven’t heard from him,” Krovax said. “I’ll call his wife. Samuel asked me to keep an eye on things before he left on the mission.”

“We’ll need his gifts too,” Nidev said. “8-Bit. You mind getting a head count on the men from your swamp?”

“Can do.”

After agreements and sarcastic goodbyes, 8-Bit made his way to Skul. “You look like a man with a murder plan. You wanna share a drink and tell me all about it?”

Skul faced him with a momentum that made him brace. “You mean do I want to have a date with Mr. Asshole Anonymous himself? I thought you’d never ask.” He snatched his phone from the table and pocketed it. “Where are we having this steamy engagement?”

8-Bit grinned as they walked. “How about a romantic cruise on G-G?"

“Ah, my terror’s G-spot. Perfect. Why watch a horror movie when you can ride one?”

8-Bit had to laugh, loving his sarcasm. “I have a new drone I want to test. I’ll take us to the long bridge. Get a jump on having a look at some of these bridge beacons while you tell me all about your dick-glitches.”

“Only if you tell me yours,” he said. “My gifts say you’ve got stories to distract me. And I really need a fucking distraction.”