Page 29 of The Commander

Bastian kept Kitten talking while he tried a new series of commands to access the map. “How did you get to Dalewood from that other town?”

“Springfield?”

“It is more than a day’s walk,” he clarified. All the human towns were separated by design.

“Andy and his guys had a car with a corn engine,” she said.

He hadn’t considered it before, but he recalled her mentioning a ride to Dalewood. A frustrated growl escaped him as he pieced together the timeline. Kitten hadn’t been in the area long, and he’d disabled a corn engine some time ago. Undoubtedly, the grunts had defied his orders to eliminate the rest of the makeshift transport, further proof of pre-programmed sabotage. How much trouble had Control used them to inflict while he staggered through his haze of constant irritation?

It occurred to him that the duty, discovering Kitten’s DNA status, might have captured her under orders, kept her alive so he would scent her, and dragged him across his senses like bait. They had wanted their turn with her, but who knew what promises the priestess had made to motivate them?

He’d been manipulated. He should feel more outrage, but his only regret was not taking the time to rip out Eld’s jugular before he left her behind.

After they left the scattered trees around Dalewood, the road opened into miles of flat, unremarkable landscape. Leftover stumps of a few cities lay ahead, interspersed with the other settlements he’d controlled. The nearest base with another acting Prime

Commander was hundreds of miles off. He didn’t expect interference from that direction. If Control bothered to send a recapture team, they would come from the sky. This open road left him feeling like a target.

Kitten distanced herself from him, both in mind and body, leaning toward the door as she looked outside, her mouth set into a straight line of distress. “Do you hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you ask me to help you?”

“Would you?” she asked back without missing a beat.

“Of course? You are my mate.” Her irritation reminded him of the double mindedness of Sarrian females. She wanted help. Expected help. Would never ask for help.

“I don’t know. What would you do?”

“The autopilot is currently offline, but as soon as it is safe I plan to check your wounds, get you nutrients.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. Her blood and her disrupted physical systems stained the air.

Resisting the impulse to touch her, make her look at him, and pull her into his arms caused his hands to clench on the steering wheel. “We are tied, Kitten. Bonded. It is a young tie. I know you don’t understand it, you are not Sarrian, but I can’t betray you, won’t leave you, and will do all I can to see to your health and wellbeing.”

“I know. I feel that. I feel it—the tie thing. It’s like a cord pulling me to you,” she answered, not sounding very happy about it.

Having observed her trying o carry all the responsibilities of her fellow humans on her shoulders and then proceed to wear them like one of her layers of clothing, he had no idea how long she would be upset about the town and how they had to leave it.

Too many clothes. Too many layers. All for people who did not deserve it.

“You said Brenda was your only friend. You had no family. Your father died You’ve always been alone?”

She shook her head, not answering.

“Use words, Kitten.”

“Do you know my name?” Her head snapped towards him, green eyes blazing with a sudden intensity as her mood shifted again.

Bastian met her gaze, his tongue tracing over the points of his teeth. Her eyes flicked away, but not with fear. They’d passed that point. She was fierce, this one. Since their mating, she faced him with defiance as natural as breathing.

She’d run, fought, resisted his commands, yet underneath it all, there was trust—a trust he could smell and feel, as tangible as her skin. He relished the savory notes of that complex paradox.

“I gave you the name of Kitten because of your cute little claws.” His gaze flicked to her hands, remembering the feel of those blunt points against his skin.

“That’s not my name. My Dad always called me Cara. Cara Mia.”

“When did he call you that?”

“When I was a girl,” she replied, a soft sadness touching her voice.

“You had your dad, yes? That’s good, a good memory. But that was long ago. You’re a woman now.” Bastian growled. A low, possessive sound.

Her eyes moved over his face, his mouth. Her pupils expanded as she physically responded to the lowered timber of his tone. Hurt, in shock, grieving, his little mate couldn’t resist him.

She probably hated that.

“You’re mine. My Kitten. You were his dear, but you are my breath, my purpose, my reason.” He reached out, lightly tracing the line of her jaw with his fingertips.

“I don’t know what that means,” she whispered under his caress.

“Then you’ll learn.”

The diagnostic panel finally flashed. He ran his hand over it, searching for their route, but it still wasn’t there. The external sensors were also gone, along with any system connected to the machine’s ability to tell him where the fuck they were or where the fuck they were going.

Without guidance systems, they’d have to navigate the old ways.

“Before you were in Springfield, when your dad taught you how to hunt—did he teach you any other unusual skills?” Beyond the road and a few scattered trees, an endless flat landscape stretched all the way to the horizon. No obvious landmarks. At least, not yet.

“What skills?”

He waved a hand over the blank screen. “Tracking. Mapping. Not getting lost. Because it looks like the EMP destroyed my maps.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean you don’t know where we’re going?”

“We will be safe; I know the general direction. Southeast. I can smell the changes in vegetation, track the sun’s position. But specific roads and a direct route, that is lost.” He’d studied the map and had a good idea of where he wanted to go, but the best route, with the fewest obstacles, was gone.

“We’re lost in alien occupied Fallen Merika with no GPS.”

“Not lost. Temporarily navigationally challenged. I won’t drive us into a river, woman. Humans managed without satellites for centuries. You can show me what else you learned from your father figure. Guide me.”

Kitten straightened. “Fine. I can help. What direction are we going? East?”

“Southeast.”

“Keep going this way for a bit. We need to find a sign. There are some corporation cities still standing between here and there” Forgetting herself, she gestured to the road with her hand. Bastian saw her wince from the corner of his eye.

“Control should have leveled the cities and turned them into mulch.”

“There were people there.” She shot a glance in his direction as if to check to see that he meant what he said.

“It would have simplified matters. Not only are the places full of environmental poisons, but they are also shelters for rebels and a draw for scavengers. The city is where I believe Mackie found the power cells.”

He resisted the temptation to turn and grin at her. In spite of all she’d been through, his mate still valued a bile filled humanity. Mister Danov’s underhanded tactics served to support Bastian’s belief that humans were vermin. All of them except his Kitten.

“We needed those power cells,” she said.

“They did come in useful, yes. Not all the areas between here and old Kentucky are passable,” he redirected the conversation.

“I need to look for signs, something that tells me where we are. Routes to cities like Greater Louis are still the best marked. There should also be plenty of old guideposts. Have you seen any markers? I haven’t been watching.”

“Guideposts and markers? You mean the painted buildings and roofs?”

“Yes. The red is for radiation pockets, the green arrows for towns, that sort of thing.”

Bastian knew of those. His predecessor had ordered them painted over or demolished, but he saw no need for that.

In his mind, humans fell into two categories: those who sought the safety and comfort of Sarrian-managed towns, and those too lazy or stubborn to recognize the benefits. Sometimes humans moved between the towns, trading goods, skills, searching for better work or partners. For those, the guides were a benefit. He assumed those who didn’t want to live in the towns were rebels, and the guides would keep them away from Sarrian occupied areas.

“Why didn’t your father want to live in a township?” Bastian asked, casting a sidelong glance at Cara. She’d said they weren’t rebels, but he still didn’t understand the motivations.

Cara’s expression softened at the mention of her father, the pinch between her brows disappearing. “He was a stubborn man. He believed in independence, in not being controlled by anyone, not even if it meant a hot meal and a roof over our heads.”

Bastian grunted. “Independence like that is an idea from the past.”

“Maybe.”

“It can be very lonely,” he said.

Cara fell silent, her gaze shifting to the ruined landscape outside. Bastian let her be, focusing on navigating the desolate terrain. He spotted a faded red wall on a crumbling building, a bleak reminder of the radiation that still plagued the Earth. He drove them clear of it, his mind drifting back to Cara’s words.

“I can get us to the Appalachian Mountains. I think,” she said as they passed it. “We hid there when I was a kid. There weren’t any aliens, no muzzle heads. No one like you, for sure.”

Her voice gained an airy quality that made him think she liked the idea of fewer alien kinds. That was fair. As long as she understood her place was beside him, the biggest alien in the room.

“Why aren’t there any muzzle heads there?”

“A combination of magnetic issues and mineral deposits interfere with many of the Sarrian power cells running the core data interface systems. Why did you leave?”

“Without aliens, where do you think most of the rebels are? Dad didn’t trust them. I don’t trust them. There were a lot of men like Danov and Andy out there.”

“I’m not worried about humans, Kitten. We will make a place for us until matters with Control have settled.” He didn’t tell her that he had enough weaponry with him to take down a town, or five, the size of Dalewood.

“What does that mean? When my people are all dead and your Control decides it’s not worth it to punish those responsible?”

“Keep talking like that, my pet,” he warned.

She released a hiss of air like steam off a pot.

Glancing down, Bastian checked to see if the autopilot was available. The screen stayed unresponsive. Perhaps the lack of a map had disabled it. He’d have to stop, then.

“Your arm needs attention.”

“It can wait.” She smoothed a hand over her sore arm, her body stiff all over. She couldn’t hide the hurt, even when she tried.

“It has waited long enough.” Before she could argue further, he cut her off with a low growl. “My mate. My responsibility.”

Cara muttered, “I’m not some helpless kitten.”

“No. You are my Kitten. There’s a difference.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are such a Dude.”

“Are you mocking me? Injury or not, I won’t tolerate disrespect. Perhaps I should teach you the ways of mate discipline.”

“Mate discipline?”

“Indeed. Rope and paddles might be involved. Or perhaps another game of chase.” He waited for her reaction expectantly.

A small line appeared between her eyebrows, and she bit her lower lip, as if holding back a retort. At the same time, a new arousal response tickled Bastian’s senses. Her reactions to him awed him. From their first encounter, despite her hesitations, she couldn’t resist their compatibility. Licking his lips, he recalled how her compatibility tasted on his tongue, how he drank it down and fed on it.

“That’s barbaric,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“Barbaric, perhaps. But you cannot deny the thrill, the excitement. I can smell it on you, Kitten. Just as you cannot deny our bond.” He inhaled deeply for emphasis.

Cara’s cheeks flushed, her breath hitching slightly.

He couldn’t decide what he wanted more: to give her time to run so he could hunt her again or tie her to the bed and make her admit her desire for him over and over. Both would have to wait, but as soon as it was safe, he would take his chance to get another taste.

The old highway stretched before them like the cracked spine of a giant snake, its concrete vertebrae broken and shifted by decades of neglect. They drove until he found an outcropping of buildings that looked like it might provide cover.

He pulled off the highway, the tires crunching over gravel, and turned off the engine, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the engine’s constant sibilant hum. When Kitten started to open her door, he stopped her.

“You stay there. I’ll get what I need and then we will be on our way.”

“There might be a road sign at that crossroads, a marker to tell us where we are.” She pointed to where the road bisected.

“I’ll check after.”

“Can’t you give me some of that stuff that made Mackie so high? It feels like something is out of place.”

“The regenator will keep you awake for hours. I’d rather you rested, healed as naturally as you can.” Although he knew healing stimulant worked well on human physiology, it had side effects they should avoid if they could.

“Stay here,” Bastian growled as he climbed out of the truck, senses primed for the slightest threat. The air held nothing but the rhythmic click of insects in the distance, no sign of Eld or red hats. He retrieved the supplies from the truck bed, sweeping the area with his gaze once more before heading back to her side.

“What are you going to do?” Cara shifted as if about to step out.

“Don’t move.” He adjusted her seat to face him, her startled expression almost amusing as the mechanism jerked beneath her. He knelt to bring himself level, positioning her arm carefully for what came next.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” The heat radiating from her skin concerned him. Her fever had climbed slightly since they’d started driving—not critical, but nothing he would ignore.

The blood on her arm, dried to a stiff brown crust, clung to scratches inflicted by those red hat bastards. His jaw clenched, fury simmering at the thought. The wounds didn’t seem deep, but the angry red swelling around them suggested infection. The ointment would clear it up, but the stuff wasn’t doing her any good in its tube.

He had left the driver’s side door open in case they needed to bolt, expecting the truck’s shielding to protect her inside while he handled the chaos outside. He’d miscalculated. The grunts went for her. And now his mate suffered because he’d underestimated them.

“You’re going to hurt me,” she warned, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, definitely.” His smile barely hinted at humor.

“I’ve heard resetting a joint feels like someone’s ripping your arm off.”

“You’ll hate it.” His fingers tightened around her elbow, holding her steady.

“Is it worse than that scary chin thing you do?”

“Much worse. That is natural. This is not. I made an error. My arrogance cost you. I thought you would be safe inside the truck. Red Hats are stupid—a drugged blood frenzy does them no favors. They go for what is easy and accessible. Everything right in front of their faces is the first to die. I assumed there would be time for me to get inside the truck before they sought you.”

“It all happened very fast,” she agreed.

“I am faster. This is my fault. I apologize for these injuries. For this pain I’m going to cause you.”

Her full lips lifted at the corner as her eyes played over his face. “Did I hear correctly?”

If he’d had eyebrows, he would have raised them in question.

“The great Commander Bastian admitting a mistake?” Her sarcastic edge sliced at

him, a direct hit.

They were perfect for each other. He wanted to do that nose booping again, just to see her eyes cross. “Yes. That is what that was. And as proof of your acceptance of my apology, you’re going to allow me to cause you more pain. Are you ready, Kitten?”

“Monster,” she whispered.

“Exactly.”

“Do it.”

Watching her face, he gripped her arm just below the injury. She winced, mouth pinching as she prepared to hide any cries of pain, but she didn’t pull away. Their eyes locked—her green ones feverish, but resolute as always, daring him to do what needed to be done.

“I—” she started, breath shaky. Her words cut off into a sharp gasp as he moved with calculated precision, the pop of her shoulder realigning echoing between them.

“I told you,” he murmured, not unkindly.

For a second, they remained still, the intensity of the moment crackling in the tight space of the truck. Her ragged breaths settled into a rhythm, chest rising and falling. He brushed the edge of her uninjured forearm with his thumb, connecting with her smooth, human skin. He should have saved her from this.

“If this is what your arrogance is going to cost me, don’t do it again,” she muttered through clenched teeth, her eyes fluttering shut briefly as she breathed through the pain. “I’ll take it under advisement.” Giving her a moment, he gathered the rest of the supplies to make her comfortable. Ointment on the raw scrapes on her skin, nitrate bandages where necessary. He worked with efficiency, cataloging every wound, every bruise.

After gulping down the fever reducer and made for humans painkiller he’d supplied, she sipped her water, fingers trembling slightly.

“Finish all of that, Kitten.”

“I’m working on it, Dude.”

He really hated that term. They’d have to discuss things she could call him. Dude would not be one of them. Once satisfied she had whatever comfort he could offer, he stood and turned his attention to the sky, scanning the horizon. The setting sun stretched long shadows across the broken remnants of the road, painting the wasteland in deep oranges and purples.

Walking over to the intersection she’d pointed out, he found a rusted sign that read I-70, the most direct route to where he wanted to go. He took a moment to orient himself, the map he created flickering through his mind. This world had once been pavemented and crisscrossed by millions of roads and dotted by just as many communities. As the larger cities spread out, eating up land, the humans kept the many outdated motorways—some changes only came with extreme force. There were multiple ways to get where he wanted to go using the truck, but not all of them were open or safe.

Another mistake was not creating a separate fucking copy of a map.

Returning to the truck, he found Kitten leaning back in her seat, her freckled face pale beneath stray strands of bright red hair. Her eyes remained closed, though the rise and fall of her chest had steadied. She wasn’t asleep yet, though.

“What did you see?” she asked, voice soft.

“I-70.”

“Oh, this is fine, then for a little while. How fast does this thing go? I think we can go this direction for a couple of hours. Are we going to stop and rest for the night? What about pursuit?”

“We will stay in the truck as we drive, it’s equipped to keep you safe. And I told you, I doubt there will be pursuit.”

“But what if we get lost? Run out of fuel?”

“Not in your lifetime.”

She opened her eyes, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and exasperation.

“You’re bossy, you know that?” A hint of a smile played on her lips.

“Yes, I know. You’ll grow accustomed to it.” He showed her all his teeth creating a feral, possessive expression.

She didn’t flinch away this time. Her lack of fear made him want to stop, do more, take the taste he’d been craving. But he couldn’t while she had the fever.

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” she shot back, her voice betraying both defiance and a grudging touch of affection.