A Warlord's Lady (10 page)

‘If you’re thinking that you’d have been safer with the government, think again.’ Faustus advised sagely. ‘We have intelligence that indicates they were preparing a battery of tests to assess your, ah, talent, once you accepted the offer of sanctuary in their Cerebral Management Facility. Really, Sabra, you shouldn’t have written that book. You literally told the world about your ability.’

Sabra groaned. The reality of exactly what was going to occur hit her with horrid force. She’d be a mother, to countless children, none of whom would ever know her. They’d be raised in loveless labs, or discarded like she was in foster care. She didn’t want that to happen.

‘Who will have my children? Do you have surrogates? Who will parent them? Whose sperm will be used to fertilise them?’

Neither Faustus nor Mags answered her.

With a gently-uttered spell, the leather straps slid from Sabra’s wrists and ankles and she sat up once again, rubbing the tender spot of the injection site. She swung her legs over the side of the bed.

‘Then what will you do with me after you’ve harvested my eggs?’ she asked softly.

Faustus turned his cold blue eyes onto her. ‘We’ll harvest them again.’

‘And again,’ added Mags.

‘And again,’ Faustus repeated.

Oh good Lord, no!

‘What happens when you can’t harvest any more?’ Sabra’s voice was a mere whisper.

‘Then we will investigate your powers. Don’t worry, we won’t get
rid
of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. If you can get a handle on your ability, perhaps you can be used to train others with the SABRA gene to use theirs.’

Sabra knew how the Magical Mafia ‘got rid’ of people — it was horrible, so she felt mildly relieved about that, at least.

‘How could I ever train anyone in this ability?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know how it even works myself!’

Faustus looked uneasy for a moment, but it was Mags who spoke. Her brown eyes were cold and threatening. ‘Sabra, my dear, that is the least of your worries.’

They were back in his den deep in the jungles of Laos. Disheartened and angry, Cain Dath stared at his guard. Jürgen had been a loyal employee and friend for more than 50 years.

‘This is bigger than your damned prophecy,’ Jürgen muttered thickly.

Cain looked up and met the German’s gaze. They met eye to eye physically, but ideologically, on this particular issue, there would be no agreement.

Cain glared at him. Jürgen was the only man who ever dared to disagree with him. A mass of bulky muscle, he had once been described as being as charming as a smashed crab, but he’d held true to him, always. So Jürgen’s dissent in this matter was as powerful as it was disturbing.

‘She is mine,’ Cain said softly, ‘by the prophecy and…’ He hesitated, not completely sure whether to continue.

‘Let me guess…your heart?’ Jürgen laughed, but his humour was tainted by a warning.

Cain raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, but otherwise said nothing.

‘My lord,’ Jürgen began, and extended an enormous meaty hand in exasperation. ‘She is gone, you must admit this.’ Jürgen’s accent was thick.

Cain shook his head, his fist clenching unconsciously by his side. ‘No.’

‘There are many other women that will fit your
prophecy
.’ Jürgen spoke the last word as if it were baby babble, ridiculous and vaguely embarrassing. After a pause, he gestured around the room where several women reclined, quietly talking amongst themselves. His eyes were hungry. ‘Look at these women,
fine women
.’

A blonde western woman looked up and smiled at him, then noticed Cain’s hard eyes and swiftly averted her gaze.

‘Then you can have them. I do not want them. I never have.’

Jürgen shook his flossy blond hair in disbelief. ‘You deny yourself much bounty, my lord.’

‘The prophecy is something I have lived with my entire life. I never thought I would find her, and I have. I can’t just let her go.’

‘She’s let you go. Twice.’ Jürgen was blunt.

The truth stung. Cain was the first to admit that his much-prophesied romance with Sabra had not gone to plan. The kidnapping had possibly been the first oversight. However, when fortune had shone on him that day and he had seen her sitting in that bar, he’d known she was special. The moment her cool grey eyes had met his, he’d felt something tug in the region of his heart. Her expression was worried and vaguely lost. He’d wanted to take that look from her face and replace it with a smile. When she’d caught his gaze, her skin had flushed the slightest rainbow — and then he’d known. His heart began to beat, his loins began to pulse and relief flooded his heart. She
did
exist. The doubts that had plagued him for decades withered and died. She was meant for him, he could feel it and he could see it in her confused reciprocal attraction. Yet, sitting beside her was Maggie South, the notorious shape-shifting Aufhocker of the Magical Mafia. Maggie was identifiable enough despite her abilities, and he knew there was no time to lose. If Maggie South and her cronies had an interest in the woman he instantly recognised as his prophesied wife, then he simply had to stop them. In Laos, time was always of the essence.

Historically speaking, the country of Laos had not been kind to its magical beings. Like many countries, bitter wars had been fought over the rights of those who were deemed ‘dangerously powerful’. During the communist era and those preceding, Laotian magicians and powerful magical beings were regularly killed to prevent the possibility of a magical being taking over the country. Wars were fought and won through blood, magic, intrigue and the unwavering belief in an ancient prophecy. A prophecy that many believed referred to the Warlord, Cain Dath, and the one woman who could tame his heart and birth his offspring. Their children, according to prophecy, would be the most powerful magicians ever born.

Sabra was the future mother of his children, and the salvation of the magical community in Laos.

Cain felt a powerful spasm of anger burn through his body.

Why won’t she let me protect her?

The memory of her soft body cushioned against his after such a long absence made his body burn again, but this time not with anger but frustration.

‘She does not know about the prophecy,’ Cain explained to himself as much as Jürgen. ‘Few outside Laos know of it. I should have told her, but I didn’t…’ He let out a heartfelt sigh. He hadn’t told Sabra of the prophecy for many reasons, and he regretted every one.

‘I don’t blame her for running,’ he said, his tone softer now.

‘Then I’ll blame her for you,’ Jürgen barked. ‘You gave her everything, yet still she runs.’

Cain ignored him and walked along the wall, which was panelled with shelves of books of all kinds. His hand found it before his mind realised what he’d done. The glossy cover of
Memoirs of a Warlord’s Love Slave
beamed up at him, the model’s breasts taunting him. The book made him blush and made him laugh, but it also made him sad. He knew from that book the confusion she’d felt, the hurt that he’d never explained himself.
Was I really so difficult and cold?
Cain pondered.
Did I really avoid her conversation like she thinks?
He didn’t know. He didn’t understand, but one thing was certain. He
did
owe her an explanation, if only she’d allow him to give it.

Cain heard himself sigh again. ‘I had always doubted that the prophecy referred to me, you know.’

‘Eh.’ Jürgen shrugged. ‘I am not so sure it does.’

‘But, when I saw Sabra in the bar that day, I knew that the old prophecy referred to her. I felt it then, I
still
feel it now.’ He flicked through the pages, sending book-scented breezes to his nose. Tiny printed words jumped out at him. Tales of their sexploits, humorous and embarrassing, stirred erotic memories his body would not let him forget. No woman sculpted to him as Sabra had. No woman made him feel so fiercely protective. No woman made him yearn for a child like she did. Never before and never since.

‘She’s special,’ he murmured thoughtfully, before slipping the book back into the bookcase and turning to face Jürgen.

‘Yes, she is something special —
wanted by the Australian Government
kind of special.’ Jürgen grunted. ‘She is not meant for you. She was meant for something else. You cannot seriously believe this rubbish still, after all she has put you through.’

‘My mother died for this prophecy. I couldn’t protect her from it,’ Cain snarled. ‘She suffered and died for it, just as the prophecy predicted she would. I have to believe it is true. Otherwise, she died for nothing.’ Cain took a steadying breath, as his mind drifted back to his mother, Sudarak Dath, captured, tortured and eventually killed seven years ago by the Laotian government, merely for being his mother. After that, Cain had done everything he could to expand territory for those magical inhabitants of Laos and the surrounding countries. He fought a dirty guerilla war with insidious magic and clever tactics. Now, they were at a stalemate. Cain had won sections of Vientiane, and large swathes of the surrounding countryside. The government was holding back, waiting to see what he did next. Cain knew the government believed in the prophecy and had diligently hunted down any female he had connected himself with.

As a teen he’d lost countless girlfriends to snipers and hit men.

I’d never lost one because she’d wanted to go.

Until Sabra.

He glanced at the women in his den who’d come to collect books from his library. He kept them here in his jungle compound for their own safety. These beautiful, clever women were gifts. Offerings he could not return. Some were from various hill tribes who pledged support to Cain and his men in exchange for protection from government forces. Others were from powerful magical families, trying to buy allegiance. All hoped that their daughter may be the prophesied wife of the Warlord.
What fools
. Didn’t they realise they’d signed their daughter’s death warrant by sending her to him? Once the government got wind of those close to him, they became targets. He’d lost many friends and relatives over the years, and didn’t intend to lose more. So, he’d built lavishly appointed apartments to house women and keep them safe.
The legendary harem of the warlord
, or so many thought. Though the women were free to leave, some of them feared his rejection would taint their name and that of their family; others feared for their safety and so they stayed. There were 47 women at last count, living a rich, idle life, wanting for nothing except the Warlord’s heart. The heart, it seemed, won by an unassuming Australian chameleon.

Jürgen rolled his tiny, icy blue eyes. ‘You should let go of this rubbish. Prophecies in this day and age? It’s illogical…but say I humour you and agree your prophecy is real, how can you know that this woman is the one mentioned for you?’

A line from the prophecy hummed through Cain’s mind.

Like a rainbow from cloud, an illusion that is real. A woman like no other, to him only will appeal…

‘How many women do you know who are made from rainbows?’ Cain asked, smiling at the memory of Sabra’s multi-hued skin.

‘She’s not made of fucking rainbows,’ Jürgen spat. ‘She’s a chameleon, damn it.’

‘I want her.’ Cain’s voice grew soft and dangerous.

Jürgen rolled his eyes again. ‘You’ve got it bad, my lord. You need to focus on expanding your territory; you need to focus on gaining more power. Not on your fat little rainbow.’

Before he’d even realised what he was doing, Cain found his fingers gripping the thick tendons of Jürgen’s neck and squeezing. Rage boiled up through his body sending his vision red.

How dare the man insult her!

Jürgen gasped, the smell of his sweat permeated the air, and his hands struggled to push Cain away — but Cain was stronger.

‘Jürgen,’ Cain hissed, his eyes narrowed. ‘Never speak of her like that.’ His voice lowered to a growl. ‘Remember who you are speaking to.’ He loosened his grip and allowed Jürgen to take a deep, steadying breath. ‘You speak to
your lord.
Not some lovesick teen.’ He shoved Jürgen back with a brutal punch to the chest. Unwilling or unable to defend himself against the Warlord’s anger, Jürgen staggered back and landed arse-first on a leather sofa, sending it screeching across the stone floor until it collided with a bookshelf, which shook a rain of books over Jürgen’s head. The women in the den gave startled shrieks and ran. As the door of the den slammed, Cain stalked up towards Jürgen and glared down at him. ‘I do
not
require power. I have
plenty
of that. I am not your old Führer. What I require is freedom, for me, my people and my woman.
’

Jürgen scowled. Cain knew he disliked being publicly reprimanded, but he hated being reminded of his Nazi past even more. To his credit, Jürgen recovered quickly.

‘My apologies, lord, I forgot myself.’ He accepted Cain’s outstretched hand without hesitation.

Instead of relaxing, Cain felt his muscles bunch as he hauled Jürgen back to his feet. His guard’s hand was meaty and sweaty. They met eye-to-eye, and for a moment he stared searchingly into Jürgen’s pale blue eyes. Jürgen’s dark past in Nazi Germany was something they’d both like to forget, but criticism of his lady — he couldn’t ignore it.

‘Again, my lord. Apologies,’ Jürgen said thickly. His skin was ruddy with…anger, embarrassment, shame? Cain couldn’t decide.

‘Have we got any closer to locating Sabra?’ He changed the subject, but for the first time a gnawing doubt about Jürgen had taken root.

‘Yes,’ Jürgen acknowledged slowly. His small blue eyes shifted from the Warlord and flickered around the room before answering. ‘All our government contacts in Australia have indicated that she disappeared from their jurisdictions and they are currently using state-employed magicians to trace her.’

‘With no luck?’ Cain asked softly.

‘No luck.’

‘Have you found Maggie South?’

Jürgen stiffened at the name. ‘We know Maggie works for the mafia, she’s made no secret of that, but it seems you were correct in assuming it isn’t her only employer.’ He hesitated. ‘Maggie was a double agent, working for the government as well. She has been deeply involved with Sabra, as you suspected, during her home detention.’