Chapter 25: Taran

He moves up my body, carefully brushing my hair from my face before unwinding his belt from my wrists. He gently rubs my wrists where they'd been bound. I'm still stunned by the force of my orgasm. I've never really come with a partner before. I enjoyed sex, but I don't think I realized how much I was missing. Or maybe I was never attracted to the men I fucked the way I am to the dark Warlord.
Though I'd rather not admit it, or rather it not be true at all, I find Diogo very attractive. His face is strong with a tough jaw, a sharp blade of a nose and full lips over a week's growth of beard. He's handsome in a weather-beaten way with lines around his eyes and a near constant frown. His body is big, maybe too big. His size is easily recognizable and intimidating. Though I'd seen him before, knew he was massive, I'd never gotten close enough to really see the scope of his size.
Now, as he moves away to sit on the edge of the bed and remove his clothes I finally see him naked. I gasp as he reveals a body covered in scars. I sit up, drawn to him, drawn by the intimacy we shared. Yet still I hesitate, my hand hovering over the back of his shoulder. He turns his head, gives me a warm look and takes my hand in his, pressing it against his skin. I'm a little surprised by how hot he is.
I run my fingers over his shoulder and down his back, sliding my hand over his ribs. He doesn't have a house tattoo that I can see. I guess he doesn't need one. Everyone knows who he is. He lifts his arm, closes his eyes and sighs contentedly as I caress him. It feels strange to share such a moment of tenderness with a man I barely know. But I suppose in times like this, where life expectancy is low, forging a future with near strangers has become the norm rather than the strange.
I touch the scars on his side, pausing to stroke a pattern of small puckered, pink holes in his flesh. At first I think they're bullet wounds but then change my mind. The skin around them is shiny and stretched. They're burn marks. And they were done deliberately. As though someone had seared a hot poker into his flesh.
"My father was a demanding man," he says gruffly.
He shakes off my touch and stands to remove his jeans. I look away, flushing. Then I peek again. That thing was inside me. I want to see what it looks like.
My mouth falls open and I'm sure that my slight flush has turned into a full on scarlet beacon when I see the size of him. Warlord Fuentes is extremely proportionate. I look away quickly. But that sight is now burned into my mind. His penis is long and thick, very intimidating, even flaccid as it is now. It hangs down his thigh as though prepared to take another piece of me.
I tug off the tattered remnants of my shirt and climb quickly under the blanket, pulling it up to my chin, covering my nudity. His eyes glow in amusement as he watches, but he doesn't say anything.
"Where were you?" I ask him, trying not to sound as desperately curious as I am. I want to know why he came to me covered in blood.
He searches my face, then sits on the bed beside me. I move over as much as I can to give him room but not seem like I'm obviously trying to avoid touching him, which I am. Sort of. I don't know. The man has me confused.
"Primitives outside the wall." He settles into the bed beside me, tugging the blankets from my stiff fingers so he can slide under them. I jump as his thigh brushes mine.
"Did you kill them?" I ask timidly. At least he wasn't out killing rebels.
"Yes," he says shortly.
I chew on my nail for a moment, thinking. "How many?"
He gives me a sharp look. "About ten."
A small horde then. Soldiers skilled in Primitive combat could easily take them down without too much fuss. Did take them down. It's been awhile since there were reports of Primitives near the city. I'm not na?ve to the fact that there might have been more and that the military may have kept it from civilians to prevent panic. Still, Primitive attacks are difficult to keep quiet. People talk about them, and gossip and fear circulate among the people.
As if reading my mind, Diogo says, "News of the Primitive attack doesn't need to get out."
I frown at him, edging my way closer to the other side of the bed. "People should know, Diogo. So they can prepare. We both know that where there are a few Primitives there are usually many more behind them. They move in packs. Really big packs."
Of course he knows all this, but saying it out loud makes it seem more real. Primitives multiply as they move, as they find more victims. I shiver, imagining my grandparent's fate, knowing that Primitives are only one of many scenarios of how they might've met their deaths. It doesn't matter. They'd be long dead by now. People without Sanctuary can't survive, not unless they're extremely tough, like the Outsiders.
"You don't have to worry about the city being attacked, Taran," he says. His voice, while steely, isn't unkind. "There's no need to cause a panic with baseless gossip."
"It's not baseless." I turn to him, anger burning in my eyes. "We have as much right to be prepared for an attack as you do. What if your military intervention fails? What if we're overrun?"
His gaze sharpens on my face. "This isn't just about the Primitives is it?" he asks, divining my thoughts. "You don't like that I'm asking you to keep this quiet because it means that the Authority is likely keeping other things from the Sanctuary citizens."
"And are you?" I ask tartly.
He drags me down onto the bed beside him, rolling me underneath him. His big body crushes mine into the mattress, yet I'm not uncomfortable. The cage of his arms wraps around me and I give into the sensation of contentment. It's been so long since anyone has just held me. It's not a crime to enjoy these little moments, even if I'm taking them from an enemy. Maybe if I tell myself I have no choice, I'll feel better about my easy capitulation. I'll save my fight for another day. When I have half a chance of winning.
"We keep many things from the inhabitants of Sanctuary. It's called strategic information distribution. We tell them what they need to know for their safety and the safety of this Sanctuary. Humans are incapable of survival as a whole without strong leadership and that leadership has decided on the old cliché, what they don't know won't hurt them."
"That's ridiculously arrogant!" I snap, digging my fingers into the flesh of his arms. A small punishment.
He smiles grimly. "Perhaps, but it's effective."
"But the people need to know," I argue. "What if they decide to climb the wall, or go hunting or something, without permission from the Authority? They could easily run into a Primitive horde. They'd be sitting ducks if they didn't have the military training you have."
His eyes harden along with his voice. "If they're going over the wall illegally then they deserve whatever happens to them."
Even though I know his stance on these subjects, know his laws, I still have trouble reconciling the brutal leader with the man that just took my body to heaven and back. "But they wouldn't go over the wall at all if they knew there was a threat out there. Why sacrifice citizens needlessly?"
"My point still stands, Taran. If they go over the wall illegally, with or without certain information, then what happens to them is in their own hands. Including arrest and prosecution, which is more likely than a horde attack."
"What if it was me? I've gone over the wall often, probably more than you even knew," I demand staring up at him accusingly, eyes burning. I try to push him away, slide out from underneath him, but he's a solid block of man, pinning me firmly to the bed.
He tightens the cage of his body over mine and drops his head until I'm forced to look into the hellish obsidian gaze. "You will never go over the wall again, Taran. Will never put yourself in danger like that again."
"Or what?" I ask, knowing full well that I'm pushing a man who shouldn't be pushed. But it's best if we get this out of the way now. Find out where the other stands.
"Do you think your cage will only consist of a couple of nails in a window and a full-time guard?" he sneers down at me, his lips twisting cruelly as he speaks. "I can shrink it to the size of a cage. Just big enough to hold one small woman."
"You wouldn't do that," I say confidently. If there's one thing I've learned about Diogo since meeting him it's that he doesn't want to see me in pain. That he will actively avoid things that will cause pain. Unless he's doing it himself, and even then, I've caught him checking his strength a few times.
"Don't test me, Taran," he growls at me, "and you won't have to find out what I'm capable of. You make me feel unpredictable. It would be dangerous to push me."
I believe him, believe that he's unpredictable. In all my sightings of Diogo and everything I'd heard of him, I'd never heard anything like this. Never a wife. Never this protective of a single human. In fact, his entire philosophy centers around ensuring the continued existence of our species, which often means sacrificing individuals. For him to become so fixated on one individual, me, is unprecedented.
But I still don't believe he'll put me in a cage, or I hope he won't. I'll die if my world shrinks any more than it already has. Part of my fascination with climbing around abandoned buildings, with scaling the wall and sitting on top, is the freedom of having a world at my feet and a sky over my head. In a chaotic world where survival is by no means guaranteed, it feels like the closest I can get to heaven while I'm still alive. I'll do whatever it takes to protect my freedom.
Diogo brushes the hair from my head and his voice softens as he says, "Stop thinking so much, Taran. I will take care of you, give you the things you need. You have nothing to worry about."
"What if the things I need are different from the things you're willing to give me?" I want to tell him that I don't need his protection, but this is the safest I've ever felt. I feel secure in his arms. For now, at least. I nod and look away, unable to handle the knowing tenderness in his gaze.
"Go to sleep," he says gruffly and rolls off to the side, stretching out next to me. He's so big his body takes up more than half the bed. I'm forced to curve against him if I don't want to fall off. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me further into the heat of his body, tucking my head against his shoulder.
"I'm not tired," I say and immediately yawn. At least, I didn't think I was tired. I'd slept my fill last night while Diogo fought Primitives. But now, after the heat of our passion and my conflicting emotions, I feel the lure of sleep once more.
"Then lay with me while I sleep," Diogo says, closing his eyes and stroking my arm lazily with his hand. "I'm not ready to let you go."
And I'm not ready to leave him yet. A small fire has ignited within me for this man. I need to see where it burns before it's time for me to go.