Deep in his body, branching off the abdominal aorta, just at the level where a human’s kidneys were located, a small but powerful second heart began to beat. This was a physical feature that was unique to the Drake Monstrum. A necessary redundancy, given the fact that their primary heart was so close to the organ of combustion that was located in their chest.
Quickly, the secondary heart began to pump blood to the injured area and the tissues that had been burned away by the blaster began to put out tendrils, almost like plants growing, reaching for each other—knitting themselves together.
And all the time the strong, feminine voice was whispering, always whispering in his ear, talking about growing and healing and becoming whole and strong. Without the voice, it would have taken Dra’vik days—possibly weeks or months—to heal and regain his strength. With the voice, it took minutes.
But though he was healing with remarkable speed, events were happening quickly…
FORTY-FOUR
“Leave me alone! Don’t touch me!” Iyanna sobbed as the Baronet shoved his face into hers. “Get away from me, you son of a bitch!”
“I think not—as I said before, we have unfinished business.” Hooking one clammy hand under her arm, he attempted to haul her to her feet.
Anger and grief and disbelief were still warring inside Iyanna’s bruised and broken heart.
I loved Dra’vik! I really did! Even though we hadn’t known each other for long, we were right together! I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him! And now he’s dead and I’ll never get the chance.
The realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she felt sick with loss. Her whole future with the big Drake gone, just like that—ruined because of one man’s greed. This man, who was sticking his ugly, patchy face with his disgusting orange teeth right in her face and grabbing at her.
“You bastard! You fucking asshole!” Iyanna shouted at him and punched him as hard as she could, right in his Jack-o-lantern grin.
Sin’estor howled and grabbed for his mouth. Iyanna had done a little boxing with her cousin, Deshon, who had worked his way through college as a personal trainer. And though she was smaller than the Lix’dorian, she had all the strength that rage could give her—the punch was for real.
When Baron Sin’estor pulled his hand away, the crumbled remains of his weak, bright orange teeth were in his palm.
“You lithle cunth,” he lisped, glaring at Iyanna. “I’d kill you for that if you weren’t tho valuable!”
“Go ahead—kill me! See if I care!” Iyanna shouted recklessly. She didn’t care anymore, she decided. Didn’t give a damn what happened to her. Dra’vik was gone—the man she’d loved and wanted to spend her life with, even if she hadn’t known it until it was too late. He was gone so what did it matter if she went to?
But maybe I’ll take another swing at that son-of-a-bitch who killed him first! she thought.
Staggering to her feet, she jumped for Sin’estor—only to find herself held by the shoulder in a pincer-like grip.
“Let me go, you bastard! I’m gonna fuck you up!” She couldn’t believe the words that were flying out of her mouth—she had never been a fighter, had never been in a physical altercation in her life. But nothing seemed to matter anymore—nothing except getting revenge for Dra’vik’s death.
Unfortunately, Baronet Sin’estor’s arms were much longer than hers and he was deceptively strong despite his gauntness—he was able to hold her at an arm’s length. And then he slapped her across the face with the short, hard barrel of the silver weapon in his hand.
Iyanna gasped, her hand flying to her cheek which felt broken. She’d heard the term “pistol whipped” before, but she’d never imagined what it might feel like.
Her right eye and cheekbone were tender and painful to the touch, throbbing with agony when she barely even brushed them with her fingertips. The pain was so bad it brought fresh tears to her eyes and she was suddenly blinded, unable to see past them.
“Tha’s more like it,” she heard Baronet Sin’estor slur and then her legs were swept out from under her and she fell flat on her back, knocking all the wind out of her lungs.
She made a wheezy noise like, “Ooof!” and then the tall Lix’dorian was suddenly on top of her, his broken Jack-o-lantern grin leering in her face.
“You’ll be shorry,” he slurred through the crumbling remains of his bright orange teeth, which were now little more than jagged shards and stumps. “Going to make you pay—oh yes. You’ll be so shorry, lithle bithsh!”
Iyanna felt him fumbling between her legs where the golden jumpsuit had its large triangular opening and realized what was happening. Suddenly the pain in the side of her face didn’t seem quite so important.
Wildly, she began to fishtail her body, kicking and screaming—doing anything she could to get him off of her! But Baronet Sin’estor was much heavier than he looked. He pinned her securely to the wooden stage, grinning crazily at her—it was clear he was getting off on her struggles.