TICEES (5 page)

Chelan was still trying to get her breath when her eyes shot open. His words lanced through her, and the nightmare she had had earlier in the evening came back to haunt her. Who was the demon who had terrorized her in her dream, disturbing her to her core? Was her nighttime ordeal a foreshadowing of trouble to come on Iceanea? And in what form would that trouble present?

Chelan had assumed that the night terror represented her trepidation regarding her approach to the cold, blue ice-planet and the uncertain path her life would take once she reached the home of the Empire. But maybe it was more specific than that.

In her nightmare, the Empire’s most exalted battleship—now her home—RIBUS 7, had been laid to ruin. She was alone in a sea of twisted metal and unfathomable horror, fighting for her life, when a sinister predator stepped from the rubble and stalked her. Just who her assailant was, she had no idea. But the monster born from the bowels of hell had trapped her, forced himself on her, and uttered those very same words:
You are mine.

Korba’s possessiveness now articulated made her skin prickle, and fear pierced through her heart. She was his, and any man brave or stupid enough to challenge Korba for her would meet his match and so much more. So why was every molecule in her body drenched in fear, and for whom? She took several deep breaths in an attempt to still her troubled thoughts. But her mind persisted.

The Empire, the galaxy, was ruled by one man, Ticees, and the backbone of his military was his Overlord, Korba. Korba and the rest of the Warlords patrolled the realm, stomping out any incursions and squashing any cultures foolhardy enough to threaten the Empire. The Warlords and the ships they commanded were not avenues of diplomacy. They were the final solution to any upheavals that failed to respond to political avenues. And they did their work with deadly efficiency and brutal potency.

Chelan had come to accept her new home on board the massive ship, and indeed she had adjusted well to the Iceanean culture and the warriors who nurtured her, but their culture was not that of the Emperor’s. Oddly, though the entire might of the Empire was Iceanean, the Emperor was of a completely different lineage, and it was this foreign lineage that had Chelan so disturbed.

After two Earth years, one long Iceanean year on board the exalted battle cruiser, they were now approaching Korba’s home planet. Life was about to change drastically once again the moment she stepped onto the giant ice planet. And for reasons she could never hope to pinpoint, she feared the Emperor even before she met him. He was the demon in her nightmare, of that she was becoming more sure with each passing moment. Yet she knew it made no sense. His Warlords loved him, respected him, and served him unquestioningly. She was just fretting over the whole momentous change that was about to befall her, and that was all it was, she hoped.

Korba caressed her satin skin for a long time, unaware of the upheaval within her soul. Their union was completed once again, their physical love spent, but only for the moment. He kissed her lips gently and looked into her eyes as he slid out of her. Chelan winced, his withdrawal leaving her empty and wanting. Korba smiled contritely.

He rose off the bed, all seven feet of raw strength stretching with satisfaction. She looked up at his gleaming back, his thick, shaggy hair clinging in disarray to the moisture that coated him. He picked up his uniform and turned to her, offering her his hand. “Shower time, before I leave for my meeting.”

Chelan rose reluctantly, her muscles protesting as she reached for her gown. She followed him to the wash area and watched him as he stepped into the large stall. Rivulets of water cascaded over the rapids of clearly defined muscles that enshrined his body, washing away the fluids of their love. Finally, she joined him.

The shower was short, as she knew it would be, for he was busy. The Rigilean meeting was of paramount importance, and his attendance was mandatory. She watched as he slipped into his skintight pants and knee-high boots, and then her eyes widened as he drew one of his blue combat knives. Chelan quickly stepped from the shower, hugging herself against the bite of the cold, and followed him over to one of the large mirrors. There, he raised the blade and began trimming the long locks of his war-torn hair.

He glanced at her, noticing her look of bewilderment. He stopped. “You don’t wish me to cut it?”

“Oh, no,” she uttered. “It is your choice. It was just that I had assumed that all that beautiful feathering was produced by a talented barber rather than a man’s own hand wielding a deadly weapon.”

Korba chuckled. “Our hair grows too quickly for us to indulge in such luxuries. Each of us takes care of our hair in our own way.”

Chelan remained riveted as she watched him expertly select specific locks and let the knife’s razor-edge do its work exquisitely. In what seemed to be mere seconds he was finished, the job done to perfection.

Korba turned to her. “Does it pass?” he asked as he flipped the blade down into its sheath in his boot.

Chelan circled him. It was as she remembered from their first meetings: the glossy black mane with iridescent blue highlights and feathered back from his handsome face. The long sides caressed his shoulders and cascaded down his back, ending in a peak between his shoulder blades.

Chelan stepped in front of him. She raised her hands and ran her fingers through the thick, coarse hair, mesmerized by its sheen and its beautifully sculptured look.

Korba closed his eyes to her touch and drew in a deep breath as her firm nipples brushed his sensitive chest. He raised his hands suddenly, grabbing her hands and startling her. “You tempt me, my Lady,” he breathed.

Chelan pinked and stepped back, innocently unaware of the effect she was having on him.

Korba smiled as he collected himself.

Chelan grinned. “Me next?”

Korba threw her a sly glance. “Not likely, my beauty. The day a blade touches that silken mane is the day I go into mourning. It compliments your slender body, Chelan, and very long hair among our women is virtually nonexistent for practical reasons. Yours accentuates your alien allure and excites my desire.”

Chelan blushed and looked down as he reached for her lustrous tresses. He drew them forward and let them cascade over her breasts, the fine, golden-brown strands tickling her lower abdomen. She looked up and saw the fire in his eyes. “I guess I’ll keep it,” she whispered.

Korba smiled. He turned and picked up his jacket and gloves, donning them quickly. “I have a surprise visitor coming to see you this afternoon,” he announced. “I think you will be pleased, and I’m sure you will enjoy the company.”

Chelan hugged herself. “Who?”

“Oh, no,” he grinned, as he sealed her lips with a kiss. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

Chelan smiled. “How long will you be gone?”

Korba picked up his shroud. He started to answer, but stopped and frowned at her shivering. He snatched up a large towel and wrapped it tightly about her. “All day,” he informed, a tinge of regret tainting his words. “I’ll be resuming my command tomorrow morning, so I will return here tonight to sleep.” He caught a gleam in her eye as she hugged the towel tighter. “Or maybe I should say, I’ll be back for some rest, as I can see that sleep may not be imminent.”

“I promise not to interfere with your rest tonight,” she said sincerely. “I know the first few days back will be hectic.”

Korba swung his shroud over his shoulders, its voluminous fabric encasing his magnificent body. “I am not too worried about your form of interference, Chelan. I fact, I rather savor it. Besides, I doubt you could control yourself that well.” And he winked.

Chelan’s eyes widened. “Is that a challenge?”

“No, it is not,” he replied firmly. “Whenever one accepts a challenge, he also accepts the possibility of defeat. To spend a night next to you without any hope of a touch would be a fate worse than death, and I have no intention of enduring that.”

“Coward,” she taunted in a whisper.

“You bet,” he replied, pecking at her cheek as he made the final adjustments to his uniform.

Chelan watched him momentarily as she thought about the huge spectacle she was about to be a part of. The event was a celebration for the success of the most recent mission, but Korba was also going to use it as a way to introduce her to the people of his world. Up until now, her presence on the exalted battleship had been a secret shared with only a select few. That was about to change. “Do you care what I wear to the Koll?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could.

Korba’s head snapped up. They had not spoken of the function since their confrontation the day before. Chelan had made it very clear that she wanted no part of the Koll, and until this moment, he had not been sure if she had accepted the event.

“No,” he whispered as he straightened, his heart brimming with pride and warmth. “It will be enough that you are there with me.”

“Okay,” she uttered.

Korba stepped up to her. “Will you be all right?” he asked with concern.

She smiled confidently. “My place is by your side, in private and in public. I want to be with you wherever you go because of my love for you, and nothing will interfere with that.”

Korba hugged her cool body into his. His gloved hand caressed her hair as he inhaled her sweet scent.

“Any preferences?” she repeated.

Korba drew her away from him. “Your gown over your uniform.” He faltered, grappling with the implications of her sacrifice for him. He knew that for her to be on display to his people conflicted with every personality trait she possessed. “Are you sure, Chelan?” he probed.

She nodded. “I will not displease you, my Lord. You will not be disappointed.”

Korba grabbed her to him and pressed his lips to hers. Suddenly, his kiss of appreciation turned into a kiss of passion, and it was Chelan who pushed him away, unyielding to his ardent desire. “Your meeting,” she reminded breathlessly.

A deep tone rose from his chest. He stepped back and nodded to her with a devious glint in his eye. Then he pivoted on his heel and promptly took his leave.

Chelan stood motionless, allowing him ample time to gather weapons and exit the Command Center. Then she sprang into the air, overflowing with delight. “The gown!” she squeaked with joy. “It will be the likes of which he has never seen.”

A tailor was being supplied to her in secret this day, and Chelan was beyond excited. A seamstress she was not, but she did have an eye for fashion even though she had never bothered to apply it to herself. But now she would, and between her ideas and the tailor’s expertise, she was beside herself with anticipation and exhilaration.

Chelan threw on her fitted white gown and ran through the Command Center. She bolted through the doors, her unrestrained enthusiasm startling the six guards. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the corridor and turned to one of the men. “Lazen?” she blurted, barely able to contain herself.

“Yes, my Lady?”

Vividly remembering the lesson Lazen had inadvertently taught her about her new station in life, she flew to the guard, throwing her arms around him and planting an unexpected kiss on his firm lips.

Lazen staggered back against the wall in shock, one hand releasing its grip on his weapon and surrounding her waist.

Chelan freed the man from her embrace. “Oh, thank you for your lesson, Lazen,” she cried. “It is truly a beautiful day.” And before Lazen could recover, Chelan turned and skipped into Fremma’s quarters.

One of the other guards helped him to regain his footing. “I don’t know what you taught our Lady, but the next lesson goes to me.”

All six astonished guards chuckled lightly while Lazen recouped both his composure and his grip on his weapon. He looked toward the doors to where Chelan had fled, and he felt the burn of his lips. “Korba’s a lucky man,” he mumbled.

Chelan began pacing, the gown’s design and the volumes of time and work required to complete it coursing through her energetic mind. Then the doors parted, and Chelan froze as she beheld the person whom she assumed was the tailor.

The man before her also stopped cold. His jaw dropped at the sight of Chelan’s stunning beauty, and he struggled for words as he stared at Korba’s chosen mate. “My Lady?” he finally managed.

Chelan was equally shocked. For some strange reason she had assumed that the tailor would be some wizened, gray-haired old man with bifocals. But what stood before her was a very young warrior, every bit equal in dimension to the Warlords, with their gleaming black hair, the total length of which nearly reached his waist. Chelan had never asked any of the men their ages, but if she had to guess this warrior’s, she would put him at twenty Earth years at most, yet his fully-fledged body indicated he was far from adolescent.

The young man finally roused himself from his stupor and cleared his throat to speak. “My name is Dredon. Commander Dar said that you had need of my services.”

Chelan almost choked as she thought of the services he could no doubt render, but she stifled her thoughts. Instead, she scrutinized his handsome bronze face and powerful body. “Yes,” she finally replied. She paused and looked at him from out of the corner of her eye. “Why don’t they make them like you on Earth?” she mused quietly to herself.

Dredon tilted his head in confusion. “My Lady?” he questioned.

“Never mind,” said Chelan, shaking herself back to the task at hand. “I want to design a gown for myself for the Koll. It must be special, and I need your help because of my lack of knowledge of your designs and fabrics.”

Dredon nodded as he set down a container that Chelan only then noticed he’d been carrying.

“Where do you wish to begin?” he asked.

Chelan’s mind finally began to function clearly again, and she turned from him and resumed her pacing. “First, I need to draw the design, and then you can aid me in your appraisal of it.”

Dredon opened the container and withdrew a pen-like object and a large gray board. Approaching her, he handed her the items.

Chelan was bewildered. She realized that in all her time aboard RIBUS 7, she had never seen anyone write down anything or use any writing instruments.