Drenched: Elemental Warriors (A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Paranormal Romance) Read online

  The one doing the explaining nodded his head. "Anyway, her warriors, personal band of fighters sworn to defend her and the rest of the people, were some of the best there's ever been. Top marks in all fighting classes. Hand to hand, weapons, long range. Some of 'em were supposed to even have core powers."

  Sorrin didn't need to glance over to see the look on the face of the one doing the listening. Core powers were rare enough that hearing someone had them was always a shock. On some planets, they were nothing but a myth, something mocked as a remnant of the days of old when people believed in magic over tech and tried to turn dull metals into precious ones with potions and prayers.

  But they were very much real, Sorrin knew that first hand. His second in the warrior band had them, the ability to reach within herself, draw power from her core, and manifest shields around herself or anyone close enough to her. It was always impressive to see, but in the end, even her core powers hadn't been enough to save them. Core powers could be anything. He'd known people who could summon flames or electricity and had heard tales of a man who could freeze things with just a touch. So few were they that the powers were still classified as rare and unknown, and now, thanks to him, many of the people who'd been able to use them were gone.

  It always did come back to that, didn't it?

  In his spiral of shameful thoughts, he'd missed some of the conversation being had about him. They'd moved on from talk of core powers and moved into discussing the final battle.

  "Was the Camadors, of course," the one who seemed to know everything was explaining. "Showed up in one of those floating cities of theirs and started raining down terror. The Fair Queen wasn't about to let that stand, so she sent her best. Only..."

  The other one looked on with wide eyes. "Only what?" he asked.

  The gossip gestured to Sorrin, who kept his head down. "Well, look at him. If that's who I think it is, he was the best the Queen had to throw at those Camador bastards, and look. What d'you see?"

  "A man?"

  "A broken man."

  He couldn't refute that.

  "So they lost?"

  The one in the know shook his head. "Saying they lost is like saying a sand worm in your shoe is annoying. They were slaughtered. The Camadors are all pretty faces at first, but they're deadly. Queen's Men never stood a chance. Now he's all that's left."

  That wasn't strictly true. There had been others who'd escaped, others who had managed to drag themselves broken and bleeding from the Camadors' clutches back to their homes. Of course, with them defeated, the Camadors had free reign. They didn't destroy the city of Gollen Par, but they came very close to it. Homes were burned, people were killed, and families were torn apart.

  He could still remember the glow of flames over the river, the way the air had been alive with screams and embers, heavy with smoke. Every few minutes something else caught fire, sometimes silently, sometimes with a bang crash bang that Sorrin had been able to feel in his bones.

  The Senate building had burned the brightest, situated on the hilltop so it overlooked the rest of the city, the large crystal on the top of it cracked and blackened in the night as the fire raged.

  That night was the worst Sorrin had ever lived through, and every day he wished that he hadn't lived through it at all. He wished that he'd been able to do something to end his life that night. That he could have perished beside his comrades or his sister and father, or any of the countless others who had suffered for his failure.

  In the end, though, he had survived. He'd patched himself up and then fled before he'd even had time to heal. The resulting infection hadn't been enough to kill him either, though he'd hoped.

  It stood to reason, then, that there was a reason he was still alive. A purpose he needed to fulfill. Something still left undone.

  At this point in his life, scarred and angry as he was, Sorrin liked to think that it was his bitterness keeping him alive. His need for revenge that allowed him to continue to draw breath. Until he saw the Camadors destroyed for what they'd done to his people, his family, his friends, he wouldn't be able to rest.

  Sorrin turned his attention away from the two in the corner. Nothing they said had any bearing on him anymore, and he didn't want to hear the rest of their conversation. What he wanted was another drink and then to make his way to the little hovel he was renting in the city so he could sleep.

  He was going to feel the drinks from this night in the morning, but that wouldn't keep him down for long. Nothing really did.

  Just as he was considering ordering something else, that hair raising feeling of someone standing behind him ran down his back, and he turned quickly, not even the alcohol he'd consumed able to keep his natural instincts from taking over.

  Not sure what or who he'd been expecting, Sorrin was surprised to see the two men from the corner standing there, looking like they weren't sure what to say. Maybe they just wanted to see him up close. Maybe they wanted to ask about what had happened. Some kind of bet riding on his responses, more than likely. Sorrin glared. He wasn't in the mood to be a spectacle tonight.

  He opened his mouth to tell them to go away, when the one who'd had all the information held up a hand. Sorrin waited.

  "We don't wanna bother you," he said, and from the way his friend winced, it was clear at least one of them realized it was too late for that. "We just thought, uh. That we'd buy you a drink."

  Sorrin arched an eyebrow and looked from one of them to the other, unsure. "Why?" he asked, voice gravelly and blunt. "I don't need your pity."

  The other one hurried to shake his head. "It's not pity," he said fervently. "Stars, no. Not our business to pity you, and we thought..." He trailed off with a shrug, glancing at his friend for help.

  "We thought you deserved it," he said.

  "Why?" Sorrin asked again, unsure of what they were even trying to say. "I deserve nothing."

  "We don't agree. And we'd like to buy you a drink either way."

  Sorrin glanced between the two of them, eyes narrowed like he was looking for deception. At the first hint of a joke or of them trying to pass off their pity as something else, he would send them away and tell them where they could shove it. But all he saw there was genuine openness and it was startling. Slowly, he relented. "Okay, then."

  They both grinned and then stepped up to the bar, each of them taking one of the empty stools on either side of Sorrin. They sat down and flagged down the barmaid, ordering three pints of the special that night.

  It was fancier than what Sorrin had been drinking before, but he gave a mental shrug. Who was he to argue?

  "You are him, right?" the other one said, and he was definitely staring.

  Sorrin sighed. "Want to make sure you're not buying a drink for the wrong washed up warrior?"

  "Nah. Just. Figured you'd be older."

  "Why?" He seemed to be asking that question a lot lately.

  "Don't know. You just. Seem too young to be this..."

  He didn't have to finish the thought for Sorrin to get what he meant. Sorrin seemed too young to be this broken. And that was probably true. At twenty-nine years, he wasn't one of the younger warriors, but he certainly wasn't one of the older ones either. His kind lived a long time, and there were warrior's in Senator Halphia's service that were nearly three times Sorrin's age. And they still were every bit as fierce as they were when they joined up, more than likely.

  What they meant, of course, was that his was too young to consider his career over. Most warriors his age would bounce back from failure and go on to try again, try harder. They wouldn't have resigned from service, they would have let their anger fuel them to new heights.

  Sorrin didn't work that way. In his mind, he was done. There was nothing more he could offer to the Fair Queen. His failure had nearly crippled the entire city, and no matter how many people told him it wasn't his fault, Sorrin couldn't shake the feeling of guilt and the burden of responsibility that weighed on him.

  But he wasn't finished. No one n
eeded to know that he planned to exact revenge or die trying. They'd call him obsessive and say he needed to go see a Mind Mender. He didn't need that. What he needed was to see the Camadors dead. It wouldn't bring back the people he'd failed, but it would go a long way towards making him feel like there had been some justice in the matter.

  His two impromptu companions were still talking, seemingly not dissuaded by the fact that Sorrin was hardly saying anything to them at all.

  "Well of course they're still out there," one of them said. "We'd have heard if they were dead."

  "But it's been years."

  "They're still out there," Sorrin interjected. "They're just lying in wait."

  "For what?"

  "For me."

  The two exchanged glances around his body. "Are you...sure? They're just...waiting for you?"

  Sorrin shook his head. "Not like that. They don't know they're waiting for me, but they are. One day, they're going to strike against someone else. That's how they operate. And when they do, I'll be ready."

  They exchanged another look, but Sorrin didn't care. They could think whatever they wanted about him and his plans. But this was what kept the fires burning in him, and what made sure he got up every morning. Nothing was going to keep him from killing them all and making sure that everyone they'd killed was avenged.

  Nothing.

  Prequel Two: Interrupted

  The heat of mid-May was in full swing, but that couldn’t stop the smile on Abby’s face as she stood up from her seat to the sound of thunderous applause and made her way up to the podium. The black cap and gown didn’t help matters, and she could feel the sweat gathering at the small of her back and under her breasts, but her smile didn’t dim. Her head held high, mortarboard affixed perfectly to her head, her chin length red hair arranged just as perfectly under it.

  Where most people in the gathered crowd wore simply the black gown, decorated with lapels emblazoned with the school’s logo, Abby had more than her fair share of additions. A cord for being in the chamber choir, the stole that signified her major (Business Administration), a row of pins, one each from the school clubs she’d joined, and of course a cord for making the Dean’s List.

  It was the end of the year, graduation, the very last thing she would do at this school (of course with the exception of whatever she contributed as an alumni), and she stood at the podium with her head held high.

  Out of all the students in her class, she had been chosen to deliver a speech, and it was a point of pride with her.

  Abigail Warren had always been popular. All through middle and high school, she’d had friends and no trouble making new ones. She wasn’t popular like people saw on television, rude to those who weren’t in her friend group and full of herself, rather she gained her popularity from being the exact opposite. She was kind to nearly everyone she met, offering her help when it was needed, and even when it wasn’t. No matter the situation, she managed to do what she could, saving dances and fundraisers, and on one memorable occasion, baking seven dozen cookies in one night to rescue a bake sale that would have otherwise had to be canceled.

  Her teachers viewed her as a model student. Always eager to speak up in class, to tutor others or go to tutoring herself if it was something she didn’t understand. She didn’t cause trouble or seek out attention, and her assignments were turned in on time without fail. All of her comments on her report cards through middle and high school said the same sorts of things: “A joy to have in class” and “Abby is a bright girl with amazing potential” and “I expect great things from Abby in the future”.

  It was a lot to live up to, but somehow she managed.

  Doing well in school was in her best interests because she had things she wanted to accomplish. She had plans for being an entrepreneur, running her own business and using the skills she had to make people happy. When she voiced that to other people, they told her she was too good to be true, or that she was an overachiever, but Abby never saw it like that. In her mind, there was nothing wrong with striving to do her best.

  Regardless of what anyone else thought, the plans she had for the future were for herself. Her parents hadn't pressured her into it, and neither had her teachers. Everything she wanted to do was on her list because she wanted to do it. No more, no less.

  It made her headstrong and confident, knowing what she wanted, and when counsellors warned her against taking too many classes or signing up for too many extracurriculars, she just smiled and said she appreciated their concern before continuing on her way. Who knew her limits better than she did, after all? Who knew what she could handle better than her?

  High school graduation had proved that to them all. She'd graduated second in her class, giving the salutatorian speech with her shoulders weighed down by the sheer number of cords she had from the various clubs and organizations she was a part of. Future Business Leaders of America. The National Honor Society. The glee club. The list went on and on.

  Now that she was done with college, it wasn't so much different. She gave her student speech in front of thousands of students, parents, faculty, and staff, smiling the whole time and wishing she didn't have to wear the heavy black gown in the heat. Regardless, it was a proud moment, and when she took the stage again to receive the holder for her diploma (because of course the real thing would be sent to her in the mail later), she beamed and shook hands with everyone on stage before getting a big hug from Professor Straton, her faculty adviser.

  In the crowd somewhere was her family: her mother and step-father, and her little sister, and she knew they were pleased for her. It was an amazing feeling.

  After this, there would be more hugs, probably some tears, one million pictures to pose for, and then even more hugs. Her family had promised to take her out to her favorite restaurant for lunch, and she was sure her roommate and her family were going to join them. Then it was time for the rest of her life to begin.

  Okay. So the rest of her life was going to begin, but first there was a post-graduation party that Abby had to show her face at.

  "You have to go!" Kayla had said over the phone while Abby was still drying off from her shower. "Everybody's gonna be there, and if you're not there, it won't be the same."

  Abby sighed, flicking the fingers of her free hand through her messy, damp hair. "It's not going to be that exciting," she said. "Just the same people we just saw five hours ago and the same crappy beer we've been drinking for the last four years."

  "Justin said he's gonna make his punch," Kayla replied, as if that was some kind of bargaining chip to make her want to come.

  "I'll keep 911 on speed dial, then," Abby muttered. She protested, but they both knew she was going to go. Parties were fun sometimes, and this was likely the last one she'd have time to go to. Over the summer and the months that followed it, she had two jobs and an internship lined up, and that was going to take up most of the time she would have for socializing.

  "Abby," Kayla whined.

  "Okay, okay," Abby said, laughing a little. "I'll be there. I just need to find something to wear first."

  Two hours later, she walked into the party, and all eyes were on her. That was something of a feat considering how packed the place was. She wasn't even sure whose house this was, or who was in charge of throwing the party, but it was wall to wall students and friends of students and probably people who had heard the music and come to investigate and had no idea who anyone here was. The bass line of whatever song was playing was heavy and it rattled in Abby's head as they walked in. The main room was dim, and people were dancing, writhing on each other, despite the unseasonable warmth of the air.

  "Great speech today, Abs!" called someone she vaguely recognized from one of her math classes.

  "Thanks," she called back, waving politely.

  "You look great, Abby!" called someone else, and she didn't even see who it was, but she aimed a smile and another wave in that direction.

  "It's like walking in with royalty," Kayla muttered und
er her breath, and Abby glanced at her and then shrugged.

  "You're the one who wanted me to come."

  "I'm not complaining. You make me more popular by association. Let's go see what the drinks and food are looking like."

  As far as college parties went, it was a pretty good one. People seemed torn between trying to seem more grown up now that they were officially college graduates (someone had brought sixteen year old scotch and added it to the drink table, and Abby was pretty sure she'd seen three guys from the football team smoking cigars in the bathroom) and embracing their last chance to be dumb and immature before society told them they needed to find jobs and start being 'real adults' (hence the beer pong and the keg stand that was happening in the garden of whoever's house this was). Abby moved fluidly between the two groups, smiling and talking and nursing the same whiskey and coke she'd started with for the first hour of the party, politely declining other people's offers to get her something more.

  "You're like the president," her friend Dana said when she found her in line for the bathroom. "Spend a little time with each group, make them think you're one of them."

  Abby snorted, she was weaving a little because she'd somehow acquired two more whiskey and cokes. "Kayla says I'm like the queen."

  Dana shook her head, grinning. "No, no, the queen's too...high. Too unapproachable. You've got to be like the president and make people think you're on their side. Like you came to the top from being one of them instead of being born into your power. See how it works?"

  She laughed, putting a hand over her mouth. "Not even a little bit."

  The two of them giggled in the line until they could go to the bathroom.

  Summer passed in a blur after that. Abby filled her time with her two jobs, working in a coffee shop and temping in an office before her internship started in October. She kept busy, going from place to place, saving money, and looking for people in the city who wanted roommates. By the time winter rolled around, she wanted to be well on her way to having a good job and an apartment.

  It all seemed to be going her way, so of course it made sense that something had to throw a wrench in the works.