Page 86 of Taming Chaos

Seph had seen Torin impale people with his blades. She’d seen him shoot and maim and dismember so many times that she was almost used to it by now. No, that was a lie. Reeally, how could one ever become used to that?

But he’d never seen him fight with only his claws. She’d never seen him so angry, so uncontrolled, so desperate. He moved between the Bartharrans like a shark, becoming a dark blur.

And in his wake, he left blood. The air became heavy with the metallic scent. Bartharrans fell left, right, and centre.

None of them could withstand Torin’s wrath.

So fast! A black blur.

If Seph didn’t know him so well, she would seriously have thought he was some sort of supernatural creature—a phantom, a specter, a demon.

An abomination.

That’s what Torin had called himself.

Maybe it was true, but she couldn’t think of him that way. Never. He was her Torin; sweet, kind, her protector.

Surrounded by a storm of death, her heart swelled with warmth.

As quickly as it had started, the storm stopped. Torin dropped to his knees, his chest heaving, his face full of anguish.

“Torin!” she gasped. “Are you okay? Get me out of this damn thing.” So I can help you! Although what exactly she might do, she didn’t quite know. It was just an instinct—rising so powerfully that she strained and kicked against her bonds, desperate to break free.

Torin turned to her, and for the first time, Seph realized he looked terrible.

His usually seamless exo-armor was patchy and shot out in places, the nanites writhing all over his skin, tendrils of obsidian mixing with streaks and rivulets of his black blood. A large wound had appeared in his left side, just below his prominent ribs. His face was haggard, desperate, and relieved, all at the same time, imbued with just a hint of burning anger. His expression was truly formidable, even though his features had taken on that lean, hungry look again.

Too lean, actually. He looked like he was in terrible need of sustenance.

Oh, Torin. What have you done?

He’d pushed himself to the very limit, for her!

With one hand clapped over his eye, the Bartharran captain swayed, bending over to pick up the ceremonial dagger.

“Don’t even think about it,” Torin hissed. He lurched to his feet, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace. “You dare lay a hand on my mate?” The crimson of his eyes darkened, becoming the very same color as the Bartharran blood he’d just spilled. “We had an agreement, Clannath. If you had just left me alone, I would not have caused you any trouble.” He bared his fangs. “Now look what has happened.”

“You drew the Plutharans here,” the captain spat. “You caused this mess.”

“Me?” Torin paused, his expression unreadable.

“They seem to think you’re this Amanhiel character,” Seph said dryly, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was racing at a million beats per second. She’d just evaded death, and its shadow still lingered over her. “He’s the God of Chaos, apparently.”

A bitter, disbelieving laugh dropped from Torin’s lips.

“It is written in the Prophecy,” the captain declared. “When Salu releases the stars into the sky and returns to her kingdom, the Chaos God will follow her and the thousand-orbits war will finally come to an end.” He staggered toward Seph, arm outstretched, his jewel-encrusted dagger glinting in the harsh light.

The huge alien lurched to one side, losing his balance as he tripped over a body. He yelled something in Bartharran and the knife came down for a second time, right over her belly…

Thud!

“Don’t,” Torin growled. He’d moved so fast, throwing himself between Seph and her attacker. He lifted one leg and kicked the Bartharran in the stomach, sending him flying.

“Ooof!” The big alien crashed into a console at the far end of the room. Several holos—depicting starmaps and navigation routes—flickered and went blank. The Bartharran raised his head once, glared at Torin as if to say how dare you, and promptly slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Aargh!” Torin grunted in pain as he pulled the knife out of his palm, which was covered in patchy armor. A small trickle of blood was all he had to show for the deed. Instantly, the skin started to knit together. “Crazy Bartharrans.”

He glared at the captain, reversed the dagger and took aim.

---