Born

Lara shrieked again, blood gushing from her nose and mouth on rivers of red. Cormack let out an answering bellow, as though he felt her agony. Allora squeezed his arm and wished she could comfort him or take him from this place of death and destruction—he’d known so much of it already. Hell, as long as she were wishing maybe she ought to wish the world had never stopped turning, that water and food were plentiful once more, that human beings had never created A.I."s and the Bred to do their work for them.

The blond Bred crumpled to the bottom of the chamber. Cormack sagged against her even as a rush of adrenaline shot through Allora’s body. If she was to make a move she had to do it now.

Yet nothing had changed—her circumstances were just as dire. Armed only with her whip and the chamber too small to use such a weapon accurately.

They were greatly outnumbered and even if the onlookers didn’t try to stop them, the guards standing sentinel in front of the Bred cage would. Her flare of panic morphed into a full-blown wildfire. No way out.

The draining supervisor strode in and opened the door to the tube, admitting the doctor. Bending down he checked for a pulse and called out, “Draining successful, this one is ready for recycling.”

The mad Bred howled, an eerie sound Allora had never heard from a human throat before. He rattled the cage again, hissing “My, turn, my turn, my turn!”

Hefting his great bulk forward, the mortician angled his cart so the guards could load Lara’s body.

She was slight as a bird, her wrist no larger than a child’s. It dangled over the side when the guards dropped her onto the gurney. Her eyes stared sightlessly at them until the mortician activated the opaque bio-casing which would start breaking down her molecular structure into water and salt.

Two of the primary ingredients in the protein packs she’d been wrongly accused of stealing.

“Get back, you dogs, the overlord is here!” The Born supervisor shoved the soldiers out of the way, eager to kiss up to Mag, maybe even get promoted off this thankless detail.

Her foster father swept in, Gaul by his side.

Allora frowned as Gaul undressed her with his eyes.

Mag’s own stare left her cold and behind her Cormack tensed.

“Put him in the tube.” The overlord ordered her.

“Overlord, it is not ready for another draining, the tube needs time to recharge—” the supervisor’s protests cut off abruptly as Mag sent him a quelling look.

Gaul has a weapon. Praying that Cormack would stay put until she came for him, Allora guided him to the tube. Unable to stand on his own, he sank to one knee, hands braced against the glass. How she wished there was some way to convey her thoughts to him, to let him know what she planned. But it was too dangerous. Stepping out of the tube, she hurried toward the overlord and his guest.

She had no idea whether word of her indiscretion with a Bred had reached her intended’s ear, but he seemed just as fascinated by her as ever, his stare transfixed on her chest.

“My Lord Gaul.”

Timing herself until she was well within reach of them she dipped her head in what she hoped was some semblance of a respectful manner, until she was at eye level with the sword, calculating the right angle so she could draw it from its sheath in one, quick motion.

“Task Mistress,” Gaul addressed her and she stood, well within his grip. The predictable fiend reached for her, snaking one of his beefy tentacles around her waist, pulling her close. “The overlord has you working late today, no?"

Cutting her eyes to Mag, she watched as he shook his head once. No, he had not told Gaul about finding her with a Bred—he still hoped to marry her off to this scabby excuse for a man.

Allora decided right then she would rather be drained in the tube alongside Cormack.

Gaul pulled her even closer, his fetid breath falling on her face, one hand slithering down to cup her ass, in front of the entire room.

“My turn! No cutsies, no cutsies, no cutsies!”

“No,” Cormack wheezed from behind her.

Forcing herself not to look over at him, she reached up toward the sword, determined to slit Gaul’s throat first, then hold Mag as a hostage until Cormack could be released.

The ground shook beneath their feet. Just a tremor at first, then coming stronger and more consistently. Allora lost her balance and fell backward, hitting her head on the stone floor. Groaning, she rolled to her stomach and looked up to see hurt and betrayal burning in Cormack’s eyes.

She opened her mouth to explain, but a whine filled the shaking chamber, cutting off her words.

The maddened Bred grew calm. His words spoken in a grave tone, “Something’s coming.”

12

Even though the draining device had not yet been turned on, something died inside of Cormack as he watched Allora sidled up to the overlord and his companion. She didn’t even look at him once the tube had sealed behind her. What did you expect, you foolish Bred?