In Conquest Born by C.S. Friedman

In Conquest Born by C.S. Friedman

Author:C.S. Friedman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US


She stood against the opposite wall, gray eyes fixed upon him. Breathing heavily, as one might after a more pleasurable encounter, with the sweat and flush of sexual arousal still visible upon her face. As it was upon his own, he realized.

There was a pain in his left hand, across the palm. He looked down; the glove was torn and blood welled up in the resulting opening. Her nails, breaking free of him. But their contact hadn’t been broken . . . he looked up at her and realized why there was just a touch of fear in her regard. She had pulled free. His will had provided the link that permitted them to continue.

He looked at her now with a mixture of feelings he could not have voiced had he wished to. Including sympathy: for what had been done to her was a crime against the very concept of humanity. They had linked death to her desire, he had seen that clearly. They meant her to be alone, and they meant her to suffer. They were counting on frustration to drive her to . . . what? That was not clear to him. But the work was repulsive to him, and to everything inside him that prided itself on being human.

If you knew what they did to you, and with what intent, then I would be the least of your concerns.

“Starcommander.” He said it slowly; speech sounded strange and somehow limiting. Suddenly he longed for the contact they had had, the sure caress of hatred upon hatred . . . but that was gone forever. He had tasted something that was alien to his kind, and save for dreams he would never possess it again.

“You have quite a mind,” she said. “I’ve never seen the like, outside of telepathic circles.”

Did she have his Name? Curiously, it no longer mattered. And he had hers.

He looked down at his damaged hand, then slowly peeled the glove from it. The delicate leather was soaked with blood. He held it for a moment, then offered it to her.

She smiled faintly. A trophy? her expression said.

Of conquest, he thought. Both ways.

She took it from him, careful to put her hand beneath his and let it fall to her, careful not ever to touch. The gesture angered him for the proof it was of what had been done to her. After he was through with her, he would remember to hunt down the man responsible for such an atrocity. It would be a pleasure to destroy him.

“My enemy.” The modes whispered meaning into his words without his intending it. Desire—for conquest, for power, for possession. “I will not forget.”

He did not meet her eyes again for fear of being drawn into them, but turned and strode to the doors. They opened. For a moment he paused, tempted to turn back and look at her one last time. Though he was committed to seeking her death, the nature of stellar battle was such that they might never actually meet again.



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