Chapter 100: Diogo

"She's going to be okay, baby."
I hold Taran on my lap, her face pressed against my shoulder as I cover us. We're on our way back to the Tower. I'm worried about Taran and the baby. She hasn't said a word since our visit to the control room. I shouldn't have let her go, but I'd had no idea what was coming. I thought perhaps her sister was calling in. Had changed her mind about breaking from her Warlord and was requesting Sanctuary with us.
Instead, we'd heard the pathetic, terrified and dying voices of almost every Sanctuary East of us. Still, Taran doesn't speak but the slow steady shake of her shoulders and the growing wet spot on the front of my jacket tells me she's crying.
"Hush, baby, you're breaking my heart," I murmur, holding her tight against me.
Grayson meets my eyes, his darting quickly down to her. I can tell that he's concerned. I'm pleased that he's bonding with my wife, something that will sharpen his care of her. Though, I also wish he wouldn't look at her, talk to her or think about her. Since I can't have it both ways, I content myself with giving him a fierce glare. He turns back to the road and doesn't glance at her again.
Once again, our path into the Tower is obstructed by shouting rebels. My men fall in around us, creating a human shield. Taran is so lost in her own grief that she doesn't register the disturbance. Not until a shot rings out, startling everyone in the vicinity. Both Grayson and I react without hesitation. He reaches for me at the same time as I shove Taran into his arms. He turns, protecting her with his back and rushes into the Tower while I pull my gun and turn back to the crowd in time to see one of my men go down, his hand clutching his shoulder.
"Stop!" I shout, amplifying my voice. It echoes across the buildings.
Everything seems to stop as they hear their Warlord give a command. Even if the rebels don't agree with my hold on the city, they've been trained to fear my presence. I'm using my voice to hold back a potential massacre. If my men start shooting, there will be no rebels left in the vicinity. And while I'd dearly love to stamp out this irritating rebellion, I don't want to have to kill half my city in the process; part of the reason I'd been hesitating in taking decisive action against the rebels. I need to sort out the true ringleaders before prosecuting.
"You will disperse or face lethal consequences." Once I've made my statement, I nod to the most senior of my men guarding the Tower and stride through the door.
I find Taran is sitting on the steps leading up to the top floors, a concerned Grayson hovering over her like a mother hen watching his chick. I'd find more amusement in the analogy if Taran wasn't so pale, her body shivering in the aftermath of shock. My poor girl has been kidnapped, attacked by zombies, kidnapped again and now shot at. I'm starting to wonder if she wouldn't have been better off if we'd never met.
No, if we'd never met, one of my men would've eventually arrested her and she would've been executed. She's better off in my care. We live in a brutal world, where terrible things become an unfortunate norm. If I could protect my wife from every potential hurt, I would. Since that's not realistic, I'll just have to do my best to change the world around her until she's achieved some sort of peace.
My desire to fix her world doesn't look like it's going to be happening any time soon if those transmissions were accurate. My Sanctuary will destabilize even further if I'm not able to bring it under control before the masses of survivors descend upon us with a horde of Primitives on their tail. Because where the live humans go, the undead follow.
"Let's go."
I pick Taran up and hold her against me, climbing the stairs as fast as I can. As we walk, I bark orders at Grayson to secure the building and make sure the rebels have dispersed. I'm uncomfortable with having Taran here, but unless we leave the city, there's almost no place where she'll be safer.
I vow to remain by her side. If she has to, then she'll come to work with me in the morning. For now, we both need a good night's sleep. I carry her into our apartment, Grayson behind us, on his radio, relaying my orders.
Before entering the bedroom, I say to him, "Make sure each floor is secure and double the guard in the lobby. I'm going to turn my radio off so Taran can sleep. If anything happens, bang on the door."
"Yes, Commander." He turns and leaves.
"Can someone please check on Emery?" Taran asks, her voice strained as she speaks for the first time since the guard station.
"Of course, baby." I set her down on the bed and leave to relay her wishes to Grayson who immediately agrees to go check on Taran's friend. We set her up in an apartment three floors down so the women could have easy access to each other. The arrangement seems to be working well. Taran has been more settled since receiving daily visits with Emery. She's even taken to making requests for the nursery, a big step in her willingness to see our baby as real.
When I get back to the bedroom, Taran is gone. "Taran!" I say sharply.
"In here." Her voice drifts out from the washroom.
I quickly go to her, the need to keep eyes on her, make sure she and the baby are safe, has become a compulsion. When we're apart, I'm uneasy until I've made my way back to her side. An exhausting prospect considering the chaos erupting all over the city. I've had to delegate tasks and trust my men in a way I've never done before in an effort to spend as much time with Taran as I can manage while still keeping my hold on the city.
I stand in the doorway watching her as she slowly disrobes, peeling the layers away and revealing her beautiful body. I've always loved looking at my wife, but now, as her curves fill and her belly grows, I'm more in awe of her than ever. She doesn't look like the underfed urchin I first arrested. Now she's lush, the bones of her ribs and breast no longer visible through her skin. She struggles to pull her pants down, unable to reach her toes anymore.
"Let me help." I reach for her, kneeling at her feet and tugging the soft cotton legs of her pants off each foot. When she's completely naked I place a kiss on her belly, then rise up to stand next to her. I pick up her wrist and examine the bite mark on her arm, now faded to just a few marks. I kiss her arm over the bite and then run my hand up to her shoulder, pushing her hair away and touching the mark on her neck. This one is much more vicious, the skin stretched and distorted, badly scarred. I drop a kiss onto the scar and then trail my lips up to her hairline, kissing just behind her ear. She shivers against me.
I reach out and turn the taps on, taking my own clothes off while the water heats. We get into the shower together. She stands quietly, allowing me to wash her, massaging her skin as I glide the soap over her body. She shifts obediently when I nudge her legs apart, giving me access. I run the soap through her folds gliding my fingers through and dipping briefly inside her before finishing up.
By the time I'm done washing her entire body and her hair my cock is standing tall against my belly. I've never bothered hiding my reaction to her. It's always been like this, she looks at me, touches me, breaths near me and my body responds. The feel of her soft skin is almost more than I can take, but her health is more important. She's exhausted and emotional, she doesn't need a rough, scarred up Warlord pawing at her.
"My turn," she murmurs taking the soap from my hand.
"Taran," I say warningly, catching her wrist. I can handle touching her, can hold myself back from ravishing her. But the true test of my good intentions will be when she touches me.
"Diogo," she says and tugs her wrist from my loose hold. I'm not going to protest too much. Who wouldn't want those soft hands gliding all over them, even if the experience is going to be excruciating in the best way possible?
She washes my chest, then my back, her soapy hands sliding over my bare skin with purpose. She washes my neck and then leans over to wash everything below my waist. I catch her arm and pull her back up. I don't want her bending like that or going to her knees in her condition.
"But  " she starts to protest.
"No, baby, not tonight." She needs rest and I'm determined to be chivalrous, though the effort might cause a permanent hard-on. She hands the soap back and tries to smother a yawn. "Come on, let's get you to bed."
She nods and allows me to pull her from the shower and dry her off. I linger over her, rubbing each part of her delicate skin, touching her here and there until she's nearly asleep in my arms. When we're both dry, I give her one of my shirts to put on. She drags it over her head, leaving half the buttons undone as she crawls into the bed and collapses on her side, this time not even bothering to cover a huge yawn.
I smile in amusement and tug at the blanket underneath her, pulling it over her and tucking it in around her. She frowns and pulls up an edge. "Come to bed," she orders.
"I have to check in with my men. Make sure they saw to Emery and dispersed the crowd outside. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Okay" Her voice drifts off and the tension leaves her body as she falls asleep in the blink of an eye, exhaustion overwhelming her. I kiss her just above her eyebrow, retuck the blanket around her and leave the room.