Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

“We need to capture this person, Beaugrat. For now, I will overlook your failure to acquire the items. Your new task: assemble a team and bring Duvan to me. We need to discover the extent of this ability.”

Beaugrat bowed his head. “Thank you for your lenience, Commander. I will capture him today.”

“Use whatever means necessary. This is important, but I do not have time to deal with it myself.”

“Of course, Commander. May the Blue Fire burn inside you.”

Vraith closed the view window and latched it. Her scar throbbed below her sternum, and she sank to the cool floor. She needed rest to prepare for the next stage of the ritual; she couldn’t allow anything to get in the way, certainly not some no-account rogue.

Soon she put it out of her head and slipped back into her bed. It was possible that he didn’t even know what he could do. Tyrangal might know, and that was some cause for concern. But the boy himself was no threat. Soon this wrinkle would be ironed out. If this Duvan proved a threat, he would be eliminated. Simple.

In the small room at the Jewel, Moirah danced with Duvan. Their choreography started with playful gestures, discreet and calculated steps. He wanted her, but she dictated the tempo. She gave the instructions, and he obeyed. She took care of him-a tease of the tongue here, a tender caress there. And he played because he knew the game was rigged; she would give him what he wanted in the end.

The deliberate progression of their flirting into passionate embrace allowed Duvan to lose himself. Moirah freed him from his worries, letting him unleash the wild animal inside him as he rolled with her, as he pressed her into the bed beneath him. Her magic urged him to lose himself. Nothing else mattered and he took her as she wanted him to, as she begged him to, as she willed him to.

Her spellscar magic controlled him and set him free. Free from making decisions. Free from his nightmares. Free from his thoughts of remorse, regret, and anger. And, ultimately, free to rest in peaceful bliss.

Moirah made all the decisions and held him safe, and he loved her for it. In that instant, he loved her. In that isolated moment, she was all that mattered. All that made sense.

“Now,” she commanded.

And with her permission explicitly granted, he lost the last vestige of control. His body and mind were one in feral heat. Primal, animal sex washed away all his cares and concerns.

The perfect moment stretched on and on …

Interrupted by a knock on the door.

What in the Nine Hells is that? Duvan thought. He’d clearly said no interruptions. He felt the ecstasy drain away, leaving a void for anger to fill. This was the not the freedom he craved, the rest he so desperately needed.

“Ignore it,” Moirah breathed. “I’m sure it’s just a mistake. Whoever it is will go away.”

Duvan turned back to her, so calm and beautiful beneath him. In the silence that followed, he drifted slowly back into her embrace. He relaxed into her arms and felt the anger start to give way to contentment.

Abruptly, the bedroom door opened. “I apologize for the intrusion,” came a woman’s stiff voice. “But I need to speak to Duvan about a matter of some urgency.”

His hope for peaceful rest vanished as he glanced over at the offender. Tall and lithe, wearing light combat leather, the woman’s proud nose and thin lips reminded him of his old lover from Wildhome-Rhiazzshar. Same arrogance. Same condescending voice.

Rhiazzshar had broken his heart and had manipulated him. She had used him, and he hated her. He could not allow Rhiazzshar to capture him. He would fight her.

Rage flooded back into him and took control. He’d get rid of this intruder, this enemy. Duvan sprang from the bed and rushed at the offender. Unconcerned about his nakedness, he shouted at her as he ran across the room, “Get out!”

If she was surprised or startled, she showed no sign. Her face was unreadable, and her expression did not change. She stepped very deliberately to the side to avoid his rush. There was a weapon in her hand, he suddenly registered-a wooden staff or stick of some sort. But she didn’t use it.

“I come to enlist your service, Duvan,” she said. “Not to fight you.”

“Just get out!”

The infuriating intruder was now farther from the door, her movements light and calculated. “We need to leave today,” she said. “I’m prepared-”

Duvan had closed in on her, pinning her between himself and the wall. This intruder would pay for her interruption. Then he could rest, finally.

Duvan punched the woman, aiming first for the face, then the gut. With a rapid movement of her head, she dodged his fist. His punch to her gut went wide as her staff came down hard on his forearm, deflecting his blow.

He missed! Duvan could hardly believe it. He rarely missed.

Rage pushed him into a flurry of blows, each one dodged or blocked or deflected. Every strike landed on the wall or her staff. He had her cornered, but he couldn’t hit her.

Some logic filtered past his rage. She was fast, he granted her that. He prided himself on being fast, but she might be faster. Yet perhaps she was just better trained.

Other details registered. This wasn’t the Rhiazzshar he remembered from Wildhome. This intruder was human and not elf. Her tunic sported a different clerical symbol-a skeletal hand holding scales. Not Sylvanus. Instead of long mahoghany hair, her head was shaved save for a shoulder-length blonde sidelock, carefully wrapped with strip of white leather.

His rage lessened.

Watching her dodge his attacks, Duvan realized that her senses were attuned, focused on his body and his eyes. She knew what to look for and how to react. Her response was logical and predictable … which meant that she could be defeated.

“I thought I knew you,” he said. “I thought you were someone who’s done me great harm.”

“We’ve never met.”

“I realize that now,” he said. “Still, I’m not going with you.” He started a punch to her gut, but changed it at the last second to strike her neck.

She started to block the attack, and he saw surprise in her face when she realized that it wasn’t going to work. At the last instant, she managed to shift her position and take the brunt of the blow on her shoulder instead.

She used the momentum of her movement to dive left and gain some distance from him. The close call with the last blow must’ve fazed her. Still, she did not return his attacks.

Duvan pressed forward. If she wouldn’t leave, he might have to take her down. Then he could pin her, tie her up, and drag her out of the room.

“I’m tired of this, but I’m not leaving,” the woman said. “My matter is urgent, and you are the only one who can help.”

Duvan found himself falling as she swept his legs out from under him. Then her weapon was arcing toward him.

“But I am tired of this fight,” she said.

His head exploded in pain from at least two blows in rapid succession, and then inky blackness seeped in from the edges of his vision and the fight was over.

Slanya bounced to her feet, still at the ready in case the other person-the woman-came after her. The woman, however, appeared to be no threat. Huddled in a ball up against the headboard, the petite young human had covered herself in pillows.

Slanya saw that the woman was shivering. Afraid.

Slanya gave the woman the warmest smile she could muster, considering the incredible awkwardness of the situation. At Slanya’s feet, Duvan’s naked body lay slumped, unmoving for once. Their initial exchange had not gone as she’d hoped.

Slanya loosened the ties to a pocket sewn into her pants and pulled out a gold piece. “Apologies for the interruption.” She tossed the coin to the woman. “Here is for your trouble. It should be enough to cover whatever he owed you for your services.”