Defiant Necromancer (Book 2 stubbed)

Miranda’s tongue thrust into Geta’s mouth again.

She wasn’t sure what the appropriate amount of aggressive to be was, and he wasn’t exactly helping.

I’ve been too sheltered all my life, Miranda thought, or I would know what I’m doing. Thanks, Dad. She shook off that thought. It took her away from the moment. She was trying to enjoy herself, and her father was an obstacle to that. Geta wasn’t really helping either, unfortunately.

He was definitely more experienced than her, because any number was greater than zero, but experience wasn’t the same as skill.

For the fourth time in as many minutes, he tried to pull up the bottom of her dress.

“Wait just a minute, please,” she said quietly, breaking the kiss.

He let out a little impatient growl but nodded.

It took another few minutes of what had to be poor quality kissing before she started to feel something. The heat between her thighs was tentative, but it was there. This time, as he tried to lift her skirts up, she didn’t stop him. He ran a hand along her thigh, and when she didn’t have any negative reaction to that, he took one of her hands and placed it on his… what? She didn’t even know the proper anatomical word for it. The male sex organ.

She touched his hardness through the cloth, and she didn’t know whether it was big or small, fat or skinny, or even what shape to expect.

But she knew, with a single touch, that she wanted it. It didn’t matter too much who he was, honestly. She just didn’t want to be a maiden anymore.

I’m not wanton, she thought defensively. I’ve just waited too long. The bloom has wilted off the flower. It’s unreasonable that the world expects me to wait until my father picks a man for me. I’m twenty-three years old!

She had wound up thinking of her father again, which disgusted and distracted her. He would be livid if he found out what she was doing, but he didn’t belong in this context.

“Take off your clothes?” Geta asked.

She almost growled a refusal, but not because she didn’t want to do what he’d asked.

It was because she didn’t want to be asked. He knew more than her. He was more experienced. His sentence shouldn’t sound like a question. It should be an order. He was even a military guy. Shouldn’t he know how to take charge?

Or he could even just throw her down and rip her clothes off himself. She imagined that would make her enjoy everything more.

She sat up and stepped onto the floor again, then began slowly unbuttoning the back of her dress. As she undid the last button, Geta still half-sat in the bed, almost lying down, staring and waiting dumbly, apparently for her to continue. She sighed to herself and let her dress puddle on the floor at her feet. She removed her undershirt and put her fingers under the hem of her underwear, still a little uncomfortable under Geta’s gaze.

Why is he still dressed? she thought. What, does he think I’m putting on a show?

“You undress too!” she nearly snapped.

It makes me nervous, idiot. You sitting there, staring like that… It would be easier if you weren’t wearing clothes.

“Right.” He chuckled and yanked off his boots, donning a cocky smile.

Miranda finally pulled down her underwear, her last scrap of clothing, every inch of her pale, slender form on display. Geta stopped, pants halfway down, to gape, which would have annoyed her.

But then Miranda felt a strange energy waft over her.

Geta’s expression changed a second later.

“Hey, do you feel—”

A heavy object made contact with the door to the room.

“Geta!” Miranda cried. He stared at the door, his eyes growing unfocused, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Then the door fell in. A single booted foot stepped onto the doorframe. There was only one man in the hall. A figure dressed all in gray-white armor of some unfamiliar stone from head to toe. Or… it couldn’t be bone?

He clutched a spear made all of the same material in one hand.

Miranda looked to Geta again, but he lay in bed still, staring at the intruder, seemingly paralyzed.

“Geta, what the fuck are you doing?” Miranda screamed. Her hands automatically covered her nakedness as the intruder stepped inside.

“It’s not working,” Geta muttered stupidly, apparently confused about something. As the armored man drew closer, the Major threw himself up and out of the bed. But as his feet touched the ground, his pants still half down, the intruder lunged forward, spear aimed to kill.

Geta managed to push the speartip down with his bare hand - his sword was on the opposite side of the bed, out of reach - but missing his heart was small comfort. The spearhead sank deep into his stomach instead.

He moaned in pain as the weapon penetrated him.

“No, please,” Geta begged, fingers clutching helplessly at the shaft.

“Sorry, but I’m here for you,” the new arrival said in a voice that sounded strangely familiar. Miranda couldn’t see his face properly with the helmet. “Death comes for us all in the end.”

“Hey, Miranda, help!” Geta demanded, beginning to tug weakly at the shaft sticking out of him.

“There’s no getting out of this,” the intruder said, his voice unmistakably amused, his eyes darting back and forth between Miranda and Geta.

Miranda sprang into motion. She couldn’t fight much, but she could at least help Geta get his weapon. She dove for the sword, but as she grabbed the blade, she heard a sound of blood and flesh tearing, and then of gasping.

Oh, shit.

She rose just in time to see Geta slump backward onto the bed, his blood spilling out from a new mouth that the attacker had carved into his throat. The killer’s dagger dripped red onto Miranda’s dress as she stepped forward, her hand pulling Geta’s sword from its sheath almost automatically. If he was dead, then it was up to her to defend herself.

He had a dagger, his spear still deep in Geta’s belly. She should have the advantage with the longer weapon. Never mind that he wore armor, while she was completely naked.

She dropped the sheath and charged with the sword outstretched, just trying to stick the man with the pointy end.

The intruder pushed the blade away with one armored hand, raised the other, and slapped her across the face. Not with the palm of his hand, the way her mother had spanked her when she was a girl. No, he hit her with the back of his hand, knuckles striking her teeth.

It looked like a casual blow from his posture, but it sent Miranda staggering back into a wall. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her tongue automatically probed her front teeth. One of them felt loose. And what was worse, she realized she had dropped the sword.

The intruder bent and picked it up.

“You should be careful with this,” he said in that deep, strangely familiar voice. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, you can hurt yourself.” He casually plunged the blade into Geta’s chest, right where his heart should be. The body spasmed once and then stilled, probably forever.

“Please,” Miranda begged quietly, clasping her hands together as if praying, ignoring Geta’s condition. “You were here for him, right?” She gestured at the dead man. “You probably have some conflict with him or his father. I wouldn’t understand Army politics, I’m a simple girl, quite distant from those… men’s affairs. Listen, I… I won’t tell anyone what you did. I’ll forget your face, your voice—”

“You should probably have made this offer before you tried to kill me,” the intruder said. As he turned, Miranda caught the color of his eyes glinting in the candlelight of the room. An almost emerald green. She recognized those eyes. Her father’s eyes.

“Tybalt,” she whispered. She was afraid it was him. She also hoped it was him. She wasn’t certain which she really felt.

They were technically family, even if he hated her and her parents. He would spare her. He might yell and threaten her, but he would spare her. The worst that could happen would be that she might become a permanent captive.

“Oh, you recognized me, after all,” he said, his voice amused. He removed his helmet now, and she saw the pale skin, long dark hair, and the cold green eyes that stared deep into her own. “If you know who you’re talking to, then you know that you and I have a history that can’t be ignored. And now you’re my prisoner.”

Fuck me… Well, at least he’s not exactly threatening to kill me. That face gave her a little bit of space. She had a moment to think. She remembered that Tybalt had been a weak classless nobody, had become a soldier just to get somewhere in life, while she was a nature mage. She should have the edge over him even without a weapon, even naked. She had seeds and bits of plant life in her clothing and on her body as a matter of course, deadly belladonna that she kept tucked into the waistband of her underwear, modified venus fly traps in a hidden pocket of her dress, multiple weapons in case she had to defend herself. Though she was naked, all of that was within reach. Even now, she had a band of greenery around one ankle.

“Listen, bastard,” she said quietly, straightening up a bit. She looked into his eyes, all pretense of meekness gone. “If you don’t let me go…” She let the words hang in the air as she reached inside herself for her power.

She was a nature mage, that was the family vocation on both sides, but she had never used it in combat before. Not outside of drills with her Dad.

At first, she thought that was why she didn’t feel it. Performance anxiety.

“If I don’t let you go,” Tybalt prompted.

Where is it?

“I’ll…” Miranda let her voice trail off. No, this wasn’t performance anxiety. Something was wrong. She was reaching inside herself for her power, her birthright, her gift from the gods… and it wasn’t there. Or she couldn’t access it. Yes, she still had her mana, she could feel something there, but she couldn’t draw it out.

“Don’t even try whatever stupid shit you’re thinking about doing,” he said bluntly. “I’m already going to have a long enough evening. I have a lot more to do once I’m done with you.”

He stepped forward, and for the first time, Miranda got a really good direct look at Tybalt. His armor was definitely made of bone, she recognized now, and there was blood spattered in places. She didn’t know for sure, but she didn’t think all of it was from Geta. Some of it was almost dry.

Maybe it’s his blood?

Something clicked in her head.

Bone armor… He’s the necromancer?!

Against all odds, somehow, Tybalt had acquired a class after he had passed the age when such things happened.

No, that didn’t matter now. What mattered was his present condition. Had he been injured? Was that why he had so much blood on him?

She decided he had probably had to fight through a few guards before he’d been able to sneak in here. It was odd, now that she thought about it, that no guards had come despite the noise of the necromancer killing Geta and Miranda’s screams. So, he had killed anyone nearby who might have heard him. That explained the blood. And he had perhaps been injured. If so, maybe he hadn’t yet patched himself properly.

“I… could help you,” she offered slowly, voice soft, her tone turning diplomatic. “A nature mage can be a powerful asset. You probably already know our family’s nature magic is good for accelerating the body’s natural healing process. We got off on the wrong foot, but—”

“We’ve been on the wrong foot our whole lives, haven’t we?” he replied simply. “I don’t want any healing, though, thanks.”

“Even if you don’t trust me, you don’t really have a choice,” she said. “That amount of blood—”

“It’s not mine. I don’t need your help, Miranda.”

“There must be something I can do,” she said, her voice just on the right side of desperate.

“I don’t think there is.” But he looked at her, really looked at her, and Miranda recalled that she was naked. Before he came in, she’d been about to… about to… And she remembered that Tybalt had always had a pathetic little crush on her when they were kids.