“I should have warned you about that,” Ty said conversationally. “Head injuries hurt like a bitch. Too bad you don’t have my healing ability.”
Vycor didn’t comment. He was too busy coughing and choking on his own bile. Once his stomach settled, he started pulling at the heavy manacles that held him restrained, naked and spread-eagle, on the altar in the Ritual Chamber. Both of them knew he wouldn’t escape, but Ty enjoyed watching him struggle. Vycor fought for a while before he was spent, lying still and gasping, staring at the ceiling.
“I’m sure you believe that I’m about to kill you, but you and I have an understanding there, Advisor. You shared something that was no business of yours with someone else whose business it wasn’t. For all I know, that person told someone else, and so on and so forth. That’s a hole I wish to plug, and I need you alive in order to do that.”
“I will tell you nothing,” Vycor snarled.
“Oh, by the time we’re through here, you’d tell me all about the first time you orgasmed if I asked you to, since we both know you’re not currently repressed like you should be. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Vycor’s throat worked as he swallowed. He glanced furtively at the small table that had once held his instruments of torture. Ty detected his relief when he saw that the table was empty.
“Perhaps I should have brought the tools in here with me,” Ty said thoughtfully, bringing his hands up and touching his fingertips together. “There is something to be said about building anticipation. I’m sure you quite enjoyed seeing the Ascendant’s fear when she found out what you had planned for her. Why don’t I conduct a quick scan of your memories and find out?”
Vycor’s body jerked as Ty’s mind shot right into his cerebral cortex. He did a forced rewind to the part where Vycor had encountered him outside of his bedroom, paying close attention to identify the person who had struck him. The attacker’s identity surprised Ty, but he couldn’t stop to process it as he followed Vycor through the night into the morning while he prepared for the Rite.
Ty would deal with his attacker later.
He witnessed the Advisor setting up the Ritual Chamber before anyone arrived. He heard Vycor’s unholy thoughts as he did so, watched him stroke himself as he pictured Kyr on the altar. Even now, Vycor’s body responded to the memory, growing hard.
Ty remembered it, stored it, moved on.
They went painstakingly through the Ritual until it was over and Ty left the chamber with Kyr. At that point, Ty pulled out of the other male’s mind. He felt like he needed to bathe in disinfectant. The sight of Vycor’s heavily aroused body turned his stomach.
“What you need, Advisor, is some re-training,” Ty said, still sitting in his seat. “You get perverse satisfaction out of harming others. I can’t have you doing that. Since you seem to think yourself above me—hell, above everyone—and you’ve taken the option of killing you off the table, I think I need to remind you of the repercussions of abusing your role as a Mynder and defying the Dem-Shyr.”
Lowering his feet, he rose and walked over to the altar. Vycor was staring at the ceiling, obviously trying to avoid eye contact. His breathing was harsh and irregular, though, belying his fear.
Look at me, Ty ordered.
Vycor looked at him, unable to defy the command of the Dem-Shyr.
What I’m about to do now, Advisor, is cause you unimaginable pain. You’ll beg for death before I’m done. You’ll probably piss yourself and weep like an infant. And I’ll never even touch you.
Placing his hands on the edge of the altar, he leaned closer.
All I’m going to do is have you mentally experience what you did to the Ascendant…with a few embellishments of my own. You’ll survive it all without a scratch. But if you ever do harm to anyone else, I will make you relive this pain and humiliation again and again until your mind breaks from it. And if you ever threaten me or the Ascendant again, I will share this particular memory of you strapped to this altar with every Mynder on Alametria. I hope I’ve made myself clear.
Vycor’s eyes bugged from his head, his face white. He renewed his struggles against the chains, issuing a terrified sound as he did. His erection now lay flaccid and pathetic against his pasty skin.
“As you know,” Ty said, stepping back and once again taking a seat, “this chamber is soundproof. Please feel free to make as much noise as you wish. Shall we begin?”
And then he closed his eyes and produced the first memory, pulling on a pair of ear protectors to block out Vycor’s screams.
~ ~ ~
Bonus Chapter #1
“I look like an enormous cupcake in this,” Kyr complained, gazing at her reflection in the mirror of her closet’s dressing room.
Her mother made a choking noise as she inhaled sharply while drinking the cup of tea she held. Heshi, the person closest to her, reached out to take the teacup as the Guardian struggled to compose herself.
Kyr ignored the outburst. She was too busy stewing over the gown her mother had chosen for her to wear to the ceremony celebrating her Ascension. It was an awful shade of pink that made her think of stomach antacid on Earth. The tone did nothing for her complexion, making her look washed out. The voluminous skirts billowed out from her waist for four feet on every side, swallowing her petite frame. Adding insult to injury, her dark ruby hair had been piled on top of her head in a ‘do reminiscent of one of the Coneheads.
Her mother cleared her throat of the offending tea, lifting her chin and giving Kyr a haughty look. “Honestly, Ma’jah, you have no sense of decorum. You have just insulted the Wrym who spent so much time crafting this for you.”
Leave it to the Guardian to make Kyr feel about two feet tall. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
The apology was issued to no one in particular. She had no idea who had designed the gown or whether he or she was even in the room. Her gaze shifted in the mirror over her shoulder, where Ty and Gren stood just inside the doors of her closet. They were keeping guard and observing the ordeal.
I do look like a giant cupcake, right?
She sent the thought out to both of them. Gren’s scarred eyebrow lifted. He tilted a hand from side to side in a diplomatic gesture that told her he thought so, but was too polite to say as much.
Ty’s expression never changed, but he sent back, All that’s missing is a cherry stem poking out of your hair.
Gren snorted in laughter. A cold look from her mother silenced him.
Suppressing a huff of irritation, Kyr returned her attention to her reflection. “While this is a lovely gown, Guardian,” she said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone, “it looks as though it was designed for someone with different coloring than me. And someone taller. It will be a miracle if I don’t fall on my face while walking in this.”
“Nonsense,” her mother said, snapping her fingers and catching Zasha’s attention. “Place the shoes I selected on Ma’jah Kyr’s feet, Wrym.”
Kyr stiffened. She hated how her mother referred to the young women serving as Kyr’s assistants by the name Wrym alone. It was like the Guardian deliberately kept them all nameless and faceless. The attitude disgusted Kyr.
Between that and the fact that her mother hadn’t once asked how Kyr was feeling after the spectacle of her Ruvex Rite, Kyr wondered why she was so desperate to please her. The Guardian clearly cared only about herself. Yet Kyr obediently lifted the heavy pink skirts of the obnoxious gown and placed her feet into the four-inch heels that were sure to make her want to weep in agony within an hour of wearing them.
“There,” her mother said once the shoes were on. “You see? Now, between the shoes and your hairstyle, you are closer to my height. Much more suitable to this gown and your station.”
The words cut at Kyr. Her mother always seemed to find something about her that she found lacking…her shorter height, her petite figure, her lack of Vawn manners. Hell, just that morning, she complained about the length of Kyr’s nails, saying that they were too shor
t after her time on Earth.
And despite all of that, Kyr knew she would suffer in the gown and shoes just to please her.
“This skirt will make it nearly impossible to sit for dinner,” Kyr said in a last-ditch effort to sway her mother.
“I have arranged for a special table for you, Ma’jah. No one will be seated beside you, so you may take up as much room as needed.”
Damn it.
Kyr blew a stray strand of hair out of her face and turned to the side, staring at her reflection in hopes it would improve. It didn’t. At best, she looked like Glinda the Good Witch.
Hmm, she mused. Would a crown—?
Nope, Ty interrupted.
Damn it.
Beside her, the Guardian reached for the cup of tea still held by Heshi. She had to stretch around the wide pool of Kyr’s skirts that fell between them. Kyr couldn’t help but wish the teacup would spontaneously shatter and spill tea all over the bulk of her dress.
Even as the thought entered her head, she watched her mother miscalculate. The Guardian’s hand swiped past the saucer and knocked the cup itself. Lukewarm tea spiraled out of the cup as it fell, peppering Kyr and her gown with dark liquid. Heshi stood immobile, watching it all happen with wide, violet eyes.
“You—you—” her mother sputtered, her complexion moving from flushed towards fuchsia.
“It was an accident, Guardian,” Ty said, surprising Kyr out of her stupor. He had approached from the doorway without her even realizing it. His tone and demeanor were the epitome of calm as he took her mother’s elbow.
The Guardian looked up at him and blinked. Her fury eased from her expression. “An accident?” she echoed.
“Certainly. It wasn’t as though you deliberately knocked the tea onto Ma’jah Kyr. We all know how highly you think of her.”
Kyr sensed the sarcasm that Ty infused into his words and wondered if everyone else did, too. Was she overly sensitive to his tone because of their connection to each other? It was hard to tell since no one else reacted to his statement.
She knew how he felt about her parents. She could hardly blame him. Even though they had brought her into the world, she often felt the same.
Still, if anyone else found out how he felt, he would be in danger. She couldn’t let anything happen to him.
“Of course they do, Dem-Shyr,” Kyr said with a narrowed gaze. “The Guardians would do anything to protect me.”
Thank you, she silently added, knowing he had influenced her mother so she hit the teacup.
You’re welcome, Ty returned.
He released her mother and moved back to stand with Gren as the Wrym tried to repair the damage. J’li and Coqe, the two other Wrym helping to prepare Kyr for the celebration, rushed over with hand towels and attempted to wipe away the tea. Heshi picked up the teacup from the floor and fled the room, probably hoping to avoid her mother’s wrath. For her part, though, the Guardian was no longer red with anger. Instead, she looked resigned. Whether that was due to Ty’s influence or the Guardian’s many years of practicing self-control, Kyr had no idea.
“It appears this gown is a loss,” her mother said as she lifted part of the stained skirts. “DruleahWrym will be quite disappointed.”
Kyr battled more guilt even as she mentally jubilated over getting out of wearing the gown. “Has Druleah designed anything else that might work as a replacement?”
“Well…” Her mother’s gaze moved to the side of the closet filled with gowns. “There was a dress she created for your Celebration of Life ball. I suppose it would suit well enough for this. She can always create something new for the ball.”
Ugh. How many balls was she going to have to endure?
Kyr decided she had to suck it up and deal. The Alametrian Celebration of Life was the equivalent of a birthday party on Earth. She knew there would be no getting out of that when the time came. She just prayed this other gown her mother mentioned wasn’t even worse than the Glinda getup.
Zasha pulled a dress off the rack and turned so Kyr could see it. A smile lit Kyr’s face. The gown was gorgeous…shimmering dark purple fabric, crystal beading, and a design that would hug her curves through to her hips and then flare out into a reasonably-sized skirt.
“That will do,” she said with an indifferent wave of her hand that belied how thrilled she was.
“There is tea in your hair, Ma’jah,” Ty pointed out from the doorway.
Gasping, Kyr made a show of looking in the mirror and touching the red beehive on her head. “I refuse to be seen like this.”
“Very well,” her mother said. “The Wrym will see to it you are cleansed. I must go and check on Advisor Vycor before I prepare for the celebration.”
Kyr’s mouth went dry upon hearing Vycor’s name. She was dreading seeing him again after what he’d done to her during the Rite. She’d been plagued by nightmares since then. Seeing him in person…
Her mother’s words finally sank in. “Check on him?” she said.
“Yes, Ma’jah,” the Guardian said as the Wrym began removing Kyr’s gown. “He has been bedridden for several days as he recovers.”
Kyr frowned as the last of her clothing was removed and a robe was slid over her arms. “But I was informed the Advisor oversaw the Shelvaks’ return home. No one mentioned him looking ill. Why is he now bedridden?”
A thought—Ty’s thought—touched at the edge of her awareness, whispering truths she couldn’t interpret. In that moment, she knew he was keeping something from her. She tensed as she was led past him towards the bathing chamber. What was it he didn’t want her to know?
“Advisor Vycor fulfilled his promise to you, of course,” her mother replied. Her tone conveyed that she thought Vycor had gone above and beyond to indulge Kyr’s preposterous command. “But he realized shortly afterwards that he needed more recovery time. You may not have been affected by the elaborate ruse he performed to test Dem-Shyr TaeDane’s abilities, but he was.”
Disbelief brought Kyr up short. “You don’t think I was affected by his assault?”
“Why would I think that? The Advisor explained that what happened during the supposed Rite was all fabricated to make everyone believe you were being harmed. The Dem-Shyr’s test would not have worked otherwise.”
“But I was harmed,” Kyr insisted, clutching the top of her robe together as the Wrym added scented bubbles to the bath water. “Vycor attacked me. I was sliced open by the Mynders under his influence.”
Quirking an eyebrow, the Guardian said, “You are in perfect health, Ma’jah. You bear no scars.”
“I healed.” Kyr’s voice rose on the second word. Was her mother seriously buying Vycor’s story about the Rite being faked? Did everyone believe that?
“This sort of attention-seeking behavior is quite unseemly, Ma’jah,” her mother said with a sniff. “Since this is the first time after the test that you will be interacting with the public, I trust you will avoid such lies and dramatics. Advisor Vycor doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of them.”
Kyr’s hands trembled with pain and anger. She couldn’t even speak as her mother abruptly took her leave. She didn’t say a word as the Wrym removed her robe and led her into the bath.
I told you what Vycor said after the Rite, Ty thought.
I know. But I didn’t actually think the Guardians believed him.
I’m sorry that you aren’t getting the support from them that you’d hoped. People believe what they want to believe. They’re no exception.
She knew he was right. Why was she even surprised? Her birth parents had done nothing but hurt and disappoint her since she returned from her lessons.
Although she wanted to ask Ty why Vycor was bedridden, as she was sure he knew, she decided to leave it alone for now. The truth was, she was just grateful she didn’t have to face the Advisor that evening.
It took over an hour for the Wrym to bathe and redress her. During that time, Ty left to double-check the security precautions in place for
the event. Without her mother there to influence the Wrym, Kyr insisted on a hairstyle that didn’t aspire to touch the ceiling. Zasha and Heshi opted to braid part of her hair and pin it at the crown her of head, leaving the rest curling down to the middle of her back. Several strands of crystals were woven into the design, making it look like she was wearing a delicate headpiece. The overall result was a million times better than the previous one.
I agree, Gren conveyed as Kyr did one last check in the mirror.
Kyr winked at him. He seemed to appreciate her reversing the gesture on him. She turned from the mirror and walked out into her front parlor to wait for Ty.
She didn’t have to wait long. He had likely been tapped into Gren’s thoughts. The doors to her chambers opened within minutes of her sitting down. It took all of her willpower not to smile when she saw him. Her heart thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings against her ribcage.
“Are you ready, Ma’jah?” he asked. You look beautiful, he silently added.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied. You look sexy as hell.
Her gaze moved appreciatively over his all-black attire. She saw his lips twitch as he took her arm to lead her out of the chambers. Since she knew they had to keep up appearances, she shifted her gaze forward and pretended to ignore him.
Before long, they reached the ballroom. Her anxiety didn’t hit until she was announced. It struck her that she was going to have to endure the speculation by everyone resulting from her Ruvex Rite. The fact that Vycor wasn’t there would surely gain him more empathy. What were they going to do about him?
We’ll handle it, Ty thought. I have faith in us.
She couldn’t help but smile. He’d turned her words back on her. His confidence bolstered her, giving her the strength to get through whatever lay ahead.
Outside of her having to sit by herself, the event was similar to the welcome ceremony. Actually, she enjoyed herself more this time since she didn’t have to sit beside her parents. Her table was set apart from everyone else’s, raised on a platform that gave her—and Ty—a panoramic view of the ballroom. She realized that the long head table was no longer there. Her parents also sat by themselves on a second raised platform across the room. After scanning the crowd, she spotted her Kyndred, Sem, and Avana in different areas of the ballroom.