Dark Feather: A Dark Post Apocalyptic Romance (2 page)

I labored through the sparse and quiet vastness of the arctic land. With each step more excruciating than the last, I focused my energies onto why I made the impossible trek in the first place. My chapped, sunburned, and frostbitten lips cracked in the corners. My thoughts made me smirk. What would the Penna think if they found me? The once powerful mercenary, now barely walking, merely holding onto the life I had left.

I peered down at the shining granular crystals gleaming by full moonlight under my feet. I blinked hard, and this time gazed more intently at the snow. I stopped abruptly, crouching to press my hand against its soft surface. The impression of trek marks from a snowmobile was obvious in the grit. Very likely someone was waiting out there in the night shadows, stalking their prey, waiting to make the kill. I reached behind my back, grabbing my bow in one hand and an arrow in the other.

“Go on, come and get me. I promise I will make your death so grueling you’ll wish I knew mercy!” I screamed my threat with as much force as my wrecked body allowed.

“Who the hell are you?” I heard a deep man’s voice from afar call out.

“A
former
Penna. I come in peace.” I swallowed back my fear and waited for him to reply. If they were the Penna, I would soon be dead for using the word
former
. But if they were Cyan, I would be dead for
not
using it.

Instead, I heard the snap of fingers. As calmly as if it were absolutely normal, men drove out on snowmobiles, once hidden behind scattered snowdrifts and piles of ice. A tall man, with dark brown eyes and even darker hair, drove up next to me and glared at me—a runty, snow-covered woman in comparison to his muscled build. I kept my eyes squarely on his outerwear, much heavier than any Penna would wear. The bulky weight of material needed for warmth gave away that this man was definitely not a Penna. My heart nearly stopped in my chest when I recognized who he was—a general in the army of Cyan. I stood tall and proud, but hoped I didn’t look ominous and ready for a fight. I knew it was a fine line between enemy and victim, and I didn’t want to be considered either. He had a regal arch in his neck and sat upright with a brooding glare in his eyes, and I knew he was sizing me up and carefully considering his next move.

“I’m no longer a Penna, and I’m just trying to find my way to a village,” I said, practically holding my breath as I spoke.

An eyebrow rose as he asked, “How are you no longer a Penna? You either are one or you aren’t.”

“I once was, but my situation has changed,” I countered.

He glanced at my bow and arrows and asked, “An archer?”

I nodded, a part of me wishing I had ditched my weapons long ago. At least then I could claim to have been a breeder rather than a mercenary, but there was no use in lying now. “Yes, a mercenary… or… at least I once was. But if you will let me, I would rather leave and never look back.”

One of his men drove up next to him and said, “Rigby, a fresh storm is setting in. We need to head back to the encampment before we get caught in it. Unless she’s hiding food under her clothes, she is of no use to us. Leave that Penna filth to her own demise.” The man looked at me in disgust. “Better yet, kill her now and put her out of her misery.”

I bit my tongue to help fight back the urge to tell the man to go fuck himself, and as much as I hated to admit it, the urge to kill all Cyan still sizzled within my bones. I still had my bow and arrows and the high-level skill to slaughter these men before they even saw it coming, but I was done with that life. I did not want to be a Penna any longer, and murdering these men—or at least trying to—was the act of a true Penna mercenary. Yet I would not allow them to kill me either, so if it came down to it, another battle it would be.

My turmoil of thoughts was interrupted by a wail of screams of combat exploding far off in the air. Rigby’s two men drew their swords, scanning the area for the enemy.

“The Penna aren’t far, and she may have led them straight to us. Take her,” Rigby demanded as he held his sword of blood-stained steel before him, poised for attack.

“She’s a God damn spy!” one of the soldiers called out.

“Kill and gut her so her fellow Penna see what happens when they try to trick us by sending a so-called traitor female our way,” another shouted.

“I’m not a spy. I’m simply trying to find my way to a village. I swear this isn’t a trap!”

Rigby turned and stared at me with fury in his eyes. Getting off his snowmobile, he took a few strides my way and towered over me. His eyes studied every inch of my body, practically burning a hole into my very presence, as if the man was deciding right then and there if he should slice the blade of his knife through the flesh of my neck.

“Tie her up, and take her with us,” he ordered. “Let’s move out!”

Two soldiers grabbed my wrists, clasping my arms in a thick rope knot. One of them removed my weapons from my back and patted me down, finding all my hidden knives. They then yanked the bonds forward, dragging me every step of the way.

A hearty burst of chuckles greeted me when I arrived at the Cyan army encampment. Campfire reflected in the eyes of my captors. Torches all around gave a hellish glow to each of them. The sudden thud of a man’s boot smashed against my weary thighs. I nipped my tongue, collapsing on the arctic ground. A low-voiced man grabbed my cheeks, squishing them in the palms of his hands as he raised me to a standing position.

“Do not see the fact that we haven’t killed you yet as an act of kindness, Penna dirt.” His heavy-lidded eyes washed all over my body. “Let me reassure you, all you are is the sex between your filthy legs. Trust me, I will take it as I please, and I’m afraid I won’t be polite about it. And then, when I’m done, each man here will get his turn.” His lips were chapped and the tip of his nose showed signs of once having had minor frostbite.

I squinted my eyes, reading the Cyan soldier’s thoughts as I understood exactly what was on his mind. I stood straighter and shouted for all to hear, “Try it, and I will bite off your pathetic cock and spit it out before your boots.” It was a warning he should take seriously as I meant every single word of it.

The brute’s eyes widened. He raised the back of his hand to my cheek. “Why, I ought to slap your mouth, you bit—”

“Enough!” Rigby’s harsh command mastered the night sky from behind us.

Rigby’s man released my chin but he gave me a long and livid gaze.

“You are a long way from the closest Penna post. What brings you this far north?” Rigby asked as he pulled up in front of us, dismounted from his snowmobile, and stood before me. His height dwarfed my smaller frame. He tilted my chin with his finger so I stared directly into his dark eyes. “You say you are a Penna? A female mercenary?”

I nodded slightly. “Yes,” I answered, once again fighting the urge to reach out and grab him by the throat and strangle him with my constrained bare hands. How many times did I have to answer the same damn question?

Another soldier kicked snow at me, spattering small ice crystals on my face. “She is not even worth a fuck. Penna are mutated freaks. You lie with one and you risk polluting your bloodline. She’s just a shitty mutant.”

I spun on my heels and kicked him in the shin with as much force as I could muster, and he just grinned as he shook the pain out from his leg. “Don’t ever call me a mutant again.” Even though he spoke the truth, I didn’t like hearing the words leave his vile mouth. “I dare you to try to touch me.” I held up my bound wrists for effect. “If I weren’t tied, you would be dead right now.”

Barks of laughter resounded. Rigby waved his hand, silencing his men. He reached for my weapons on the back of his snowmobile and pulled an arrow from my dogskin quiver, strumming his index finger along the feathers.

“What is your name?”

“Tudor Dane.”

He paused stroking the arrow to scan my body. He nodded. “And I am Rigby Moss, commander of this army.”

I nodded. Unsure if I should say anything else, I remained standing in place, in silence.

“And you actually know how to shoot one of these?”

I lifted my icy face upward. “I’m a better archer than any of your men.”

Rigby dropped his gaze, and we both made eye contact.

“Yes, well your arrows are so ancient and poorly kept, they stink like rotting wood. You are such a skilled warrior that you get caught marching through enemy territory. To be sure, does this sound like a warrior to you? It certainly does not sound like a Penna.” He smirked and glanced at his men. “Rumor has it that the Penna are far more superior in intelligence than any other life on Earth.” All of his men rolled their eyes, huffed or chuckled at the sarcasm that laced his words.

I didn’t answer. Rigby snapped my arrow in both of his two thick hands with no effort at all.

“You are just a little girl with too high a self-esteem.” The men circling me snickered even more, enjoying the show.

Yes, I knew the role I was now in. The character I now played. I was his captive. His slave. I was at his mercy—if there was any mercy to give.

Rigby stood before me with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity in his eyes. “It’s time you tell me the truth. Why would you be wandering the tundra alone? Where are the rest of the Penna?”

“I told you. I left them.”

“Explain to me what you mean by that.”

I paused and studied the way his brow furrowed under his haphazard locks of hair. His authoritative posturing made it very clear he was not one to play around with. Manipulation, avoidance, or anything of that nature would not be a wise move on my end. I was powerless. My bow had been removed, and even the hidden knives I had tucked away in my boots were gone. I was certainly a scrapper, and could put forth a good effort in a fist-to-fist fight, but this man was double my size by a long shot. The solid wall of his muscular torso would likely break my hand if I even dared try to punch him. Rigby wanted direct and clear answers, and he wanted them now.

“I don’t want to be a Penna any longer,” I said, wishing my words came out with more command than the pathetic squeak that oozed past my lips. Damn this man for scaring me.

He took two large steps forward, removing the distance between us. Pulling out a knife, he sliced the rope binding my hands, and firmly turned one wrist upward to view it better. “These feathers that mark your wrist clearly make you a Penna… and a mutant, as my man just said.”

I glanced at my wrist and then looked back into his dark eyes as he studied the way the feathers blended with my skin. Never before had I been so ashamed of their presence. As a child, I was never given the choice if I wanted the multiple injections of cDermo-1. Every Penna began the process of mutation at the age of five. It was not a topic of discussion or a choice made—simply the Penna way.

Thanks to the Penna’s ongoing science, they had discovered how to modulate the immune function in animals, and by combining the blue-green algae with cDermo-1, the Penna found the secret for warmth. Feathers.

Feathers could give humans what our own skin couldn’t give us. Thermal insulation and waterproofing. The Penna discovered a way to inject cDermo-1 with blue-green algae into a human, resulting in a mutation. This mutation, or the materializing of human feathers, was the key to surviving the ice age. All the Penna had feathers along the surface of their skin. Not the entire surface, but in certain areas where warmth would leave the body, or areas to be used as a mark of status.

The Cyans disagreed again with this credence and act. They believed the algae should only be used as a superfood, and not used to mutate humans into what they considered a monster.

To the Penna, algae meant warmth. Warmth meant survival. To the Cyans, algae meant food. Food meant survival. Both would do whatever it took to suck up all living matter that existed. To kill, to conquer, to win.

“I…” What could I say to his accusation that I was indeed a mutant? The Cyan people did not have feathers. They would never do such a thing to their bodies. Which, when you really thought about it, was a fair point—who would willingly mutate their bodies by injecting feather-creating toxins into the bloodstream? But to the Penna, it was once again the science. Mutation meant advancement. To them it wasn’t about surviving the new landscape, but rather learning and finding a way to master it. Feathers were thermal insulation, and feathers were a natural way to water proof. Both were crucial to surviving the ice apocalypse. Once again, the divide between the Penna and the Cyans grew into an even wider abyss. Mutation versus natural.

“You are a Penna,” Rigby answered for me. “Plain and simple. So what are you doing here?”

“I left them. We had a battle, and I…” I paused while I tried to calm the quiver in my voice. “I decided today that I would no longer kill a Cyan again. I had had enough.”

Rigby’s expression was impossible to read. His jaw tightened, his lips pursed. He didn’t look angry, more pensive if anything. I was giving him things to think about. Would he kill me? Sacrifice me and make an example of what happens to a captured Penna? I thought his men certainly would like to see a spectacle be made. Would he send me back? Ransom me? Being returned to the Penna as a traitor would certainly be worse than death.

“What was your plan when you left the Penna?”

“Well,” I licked my dry lips, “I planned on finding a neutral village and making a new home and identity.”

He crossed his arms against his chest and huffed. “You thought it would be that simple? You would just walk into the subzero terrain in hopes of finding some village that you have no idea even exists? That was your plan?” One eyebrow rose and a small smirk broke the firm expression he hadn’t eased up on until now. “You are a mercenary of the Penna, and you expect me to believe that you are foolish enough to just walk out into the middle of nowhere with no real plan?” He placed his hands on his hips and bent down enough that his face was in direct line with mine. “Who the fuck do you take me for?”

“She thinks you are a fucking fool,” one of his men called out. He was the same man who had kicked me to the ground, and I made a mental note to kill him the first shot I got.

Rigby looked over his shoulder at the man and snapped, “Shut the hell up, Oakes. I didn’t ask for your God damn opinion.”

Oakes grumbled but didn’t say anything further, but he did look toward the other men, who silently nodded their agreement. I really was screwed. The fact that the only man who was even showing the slightest bit of mercy happened to be the scariest one of the bunch, put me in the most precarious situation of my life. What would they do with me? Did he even believe my story?

“Where else do you have the feathers?” He wanted to know how much I had mutated, which made perfect sense. Feathers were a sign of class and power for the Penna. The more feathers you had, the higher up the ranks you were. Rigby knew he could figure out how much of a Penna I truly was simply by the feathers on my body.

“My wrists, my ankles,” I paused and swallowed hard, “the back of my neck, behind my ears—”

“Strip her,” he commanded, growing irritated and impatient. I clearly wasn’t answering as quickly as he wanted.

Oakes grinned widely and didn’t hesitate to move toward me. I took a step back and shouted, “Don’t you dare touch me.” If I had fangs, they would have definitely been bared for all to see. I was prepared for battle.

Oakes paused just long enough to glance at Rigby, who nodded his approval for him to continue.

Without another moment of hesitation, Oakes charged forward and reached for the top of my arm. When I started to resist, two other men came in from behind me and held me still. With no use of my arms, I thrust my body back and kicked with all my might, making contact with my boot to Oakes’s chin. “I will fucking kill you!” I spat.

Oakes touched his chin, took a moment to move it around to regain his composure, and yanked furiously at my clothes. In a flurry of me kicking, tugging, twisting, and resisting with every ounce of my strength, Oakes and his men had me stripped completely bare, standing before Rigby while he simply watched with zero emotion on his face.

The two men still held my arms and prevented me from doing anything but remaining in place before their leader with all of me to see.

Exposed.

Yes, he could see my feathers, but he could also see my breasts and the curls on my mound. He could see my nipples pebble as the cold air hardened them. The feathers would protect me from the harsh elements and freezing temperatures, keeping my inner core warm. I knew I was in no danger of freezing, being naked, but that knowledge did not help my sense of rising panic in the slightest. Never had I stood nude before a man, and the wave of humiliation that washed over me almost took the breath right out of my body. His eyes felt as if they were setting me on fire. Very slowly, his gaze worked its way over every inch of my skin, and never once did the hard expression of Rigby change. Nothing but solid stone as I wanted to melt in front of him.

“She has feathers on her lower back,” Oakes informed. It was his way of announcing that I indeed was a warrior. Only soldiers had the mark of the feather on the lower back.

“Turn her around,” Rigby ordered.

For a moment, I felt a sense of relief that he could no longer see my most intimate spots, and grateful he could only see the globes of my ass. That was until I heard him say the words that had me once again putting up my futile fight.

“Bend her over.”

“Let me go!” I screamed breathlessly as I fought to no avail.

“Bend her over,” he ordered again. The boom in his voice sent an involuntary shiver down my body.

The two men who held my arms and Oakes worked together until I was bent over, staring at my toes. The frigid air made contact with the sensitive flesh between the crack of my ass. I could feel the touch of icy air on my exposed pussy and my upturned butt, no matter how tightly I tried to clench my thighs together.

“Spread her legs,” Rigby ordered. I knew why he was issuing such a command. He wanted to know if I had feathers on my inner thighs, an indicator that I was at the very least a commander. I did not have feathers there, but knew he would not take my word for it without seeing it for himself.

Oakes kicked my legs apart, and although I wanted to kill each one of them with the most torturous deaths I could think of, I didn’t struggle any longer. I had lost this battle, and I needed to admit defeat… for now.