Chapter 3: Unveiling

“Check his vitals.”

A persistent beep resounded.

“Take off his armor.”

A clamor of metal on metal twanged.

“How deep is that wound?”

Cenzo could hear voices and the sounds of activity floating around him. He could feel their hands removing his heavy battle armor, relieving some of the pressure from his side. The sound of medical techs coming and going out of his room faded in and out of his consciousness. His skin was tingling like a thousand little bolts had charged through his body. How did he get back in the mobile base so quickly?

“General Napoleon, can you hear me?” a voice inquired filling his eyes with stinging light.

Cenzo raised his hand to block it. “Fine,” he grunted out. “What happened?”

“It seems you had gotten caught in the crossfire when the troops tried to take down Morgan,” he explained, running a mini scanner on his body.

At the mention of his nemesis’s name, Cenzo bolted up, much to the chagrin of the doctor. “Crush, where are they holding him?” he demanded.

Antoine Crush, lead physician for the royal family, tsked loudly at Cenzo. He had known Cenzo since he was a little boy toddling alongside his grandfather. Even back then he was a strong and agile figure. There was not much that could take Cenzo down. He had witnessed it first hand, having followed the battles on the mobile base vid-screens. Now, after spending the last twenty minutes trying to resuscitate him from his wounds, Cenzo’s only concern was where they had stowed the Messian general. Amazing.

“Forte has him held up in the hold, awaiting your orders,” Crush answered, dressing the wound at his side. “Seems Morgan the Merciless sustained some damage as well, but we’ve been told not to attend him yet.”

Cenzo thought over that decision. “Good, I’ll look over the prisoner and see if attendance is needed,” he assured, sliding his legs over the side of his bunk to rise. “No need to waste our medicine on him.”

Crush had it on the tip of his tongue to admonish his patient for leaving his bed, but it was no point. Cenzo had already slipped out of the rest of his uniform and into a pair of black pants with matching tank then promptly marched out the door to find Forte. He ran the day’s events over and over in his mind. Every thought fell to Morgan’s last words to him: You insure my safety; I’ll insure your answers. And answers were what he needed.

He marched briskly down the hall, passing soldiers who were tending the armaments and battle suits. He could hear their respectful salutes as he passed. As he was nearing the hold, the door zipped open to reveal Forte stepping out. He stood surprised to see his general and friend up already, but then he realized who it was and knew his shock was a waste.

“So Crush didn’t put up a fight?” he taunted.

“Like he would’ve won,” Cenzo threw back, getting ready to enter.

Forte stood in front of him, halting his entrance. “Cenz –“

“Aries, I know you are not standing in my way?” Cenzo threatened, staring down his friend.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t, but there’s something I think you should be aware of before you go in there,” Forte began, sparking his suspicions.

“Is he still breathing?” Cenzo growled.

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all I need to know,” he answered, shoving his friend aside to enter the room.

“Cenz, wait!”

But when Cenzo stepped into the hold he was met with a surprise. Morgan was unconscious, hanging from the ceiling by the wrists. The general had been stripped of the Messian-issued long coat and uniform under armor. Long, milk chocolate plaits spilled down a muscular back and draped over lean, defined shoulders, just barely covering a pair of large, rounded breasts. Cenzo took a second glance. Breasts?

Without missing a beat, he asked, “Anyone else see this?”

“Just the two guards at the doors and I’ve given strict orders to stay mum until I had your orders,” Forte replied. “I also left the final unveiling to you.”

“Thanks,” Cenzo uttered almost reflexively as he continued to stare at the hanging body. With that Forte turned and left.

Once the hold door slid shut, Cenzo called out to the MB computer, “Lock down the hold.”

“As you wish, general,” the computer replied securing the doors automatically.

His eyes had not left Morgan’s body. He was utterly fascinated with it. Never in all his years had he seen an engineered body on a woman. He had been accustomed to lush, soft lines made for childbearing, not toned arms and abdominals that could withstand the rigors of war. The only semblance of softness resided in her breasts, which sat firm and heavy against her chest. Her skin was a taut caramel color, blemished only slightly by little battle wounds and bruises from earlier forays.

He stepped closer, further studying his subject. His prisoner. This was the Morgan the Merciless. This was the beast that had haunted his dreams. This was the terror that had reigned down on them for years; this little lady with her scimitar and stars. He glanced over at the metal table holding her weapons:  a sheathed machete, fifteen stars of varying sizes, and, of course, the dreaded EV scimitar. This was all he – she – carried for armament? What else did she rely on? He returned his eyes to the Messian general. Damnit, she was a general in her world, able to order hordes of troops to fight at her whim. Yet in his world she would barely have the right to speak, let alone fight.

Cenzo edged closer to her. The titanium mask was shadowed by her plaits as they dangled from atop of her head. He could smell her sweat, a mingling of earth and feminine essence. It was different from a Spryten dame, who smelled of crushed flowers. He drew even closer to her body; compelled to touch her skin. His long, chocolaty fingers grazed the bruises along her ribcage following them to the scar by her barely-exposed hipbone. Like him, she had seen many battles. His eyes traveled down her body to her muscular thighs still wrapped in painted on, boot-cut leather pants. The rest of her legs fell in symmetry with her body; long, thick and graceful – like she was honed by a blacksmith. His gaze followed the path back up to her mask.

At close range, the symbols were more prominent and by the look of it, it appeared to be more worn than earlier believed. The helmet, too, had seen many a battle. His fingers dug underneath the edges of the mask, lifting it from the general’s face. As each feature revealed itself, Cenzo was thrown back. First, he was treated to a pair of luscious, ruby red lips parted slightly in her unconscious state and framed by a strong, rounded jaw line. Second was the pert nose with lightly flared nostrils hugged by high cheekbones. Lastly, closed, round eyes framed by long, spider-leg lashes and heavy, arched brows furrowed together as if she was having a bad dream. What was running through the little general’s head as she hung unconscious?

Cenzo was amazed at how stunning she appeared in her strength. He held her jaw in one hand turning her face from side to side gently as if studying a piece of art. Again, the questions rotated in his head. How could this little thing have terrorized their empire for nearly seven years? She couldn’t be more than twenty years old. How could she have been the assassinator of the Heroic Seven? More importantly, was she Toro’s assassin? One glance at this woman’s face was like looking into an angel, but one look at her body spelled out her hidden strength. If she had been wearing one of the haremite gowns, no one would have believed she was an assassinator or a general or soldier for that matter.

His eyes wandered up to her hands still wrapped in leather with the lethal, titanium talons. They appeared long, but that could have been the added addition of the talons. Why did Aries leave her with them? He reached up to remove them, when a husky voice arrested his movements.

“He already tried that.”

His eyes immediately collided with that of Morgan’s, and were further startled by their commanding steeliness. They were far lighter than he had earlier assumed on the battlefield. A fiery, umber pool surrounded by a brownish ring blazed with authority and the fires of hell. The cherubic face was no longer. It had been swiftly replaced by the demon he now recognized full well. Cenzo quickly squared his shoulders, placing his hands behind his back to further study his quarry.

“And how do you know that?” he demanded in his most intimidating tone.

“Next time you see him, check his chest,” Morgan growled back.

He didn’t remember seeing any scuffle marks on his friend, but then he had been intent on seeing the general. “I’ll make a note of that when I see him,” he assured her. “So, you were conscious when they brought you in.”

“Of course, your men found a most interesting way to wake me,” Morgan implied coldly.

“And how was that?” Cenzo demanded softly, simmering with his own anger that his men would overstep their bounds.

“Dunking me in electrified water and then wailing their armed fists into my body,” Morgan casually explained, boring her eyes into his. “I don’t think we got off on the right foot.”

“Did you retaliate?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that I sent a few of your men to the infirmary. Now, if they walked away from there is any man’s guest,” she grinned with a serpentine smile. “They didn’t think to tell me.”

“How did you succumb?” Cenzo continued.

“Ah, now that is a secret only your good friend, Forte, can answer,” she sighed looking away toward the exit just as the door slid open. “Isn’t that right, Forte?”

Aries Forte stood frozen in his spot staring at Morgan then Cenzo who also seemed to ask the question. “So, the bitch’s awake,” he replied, avoiding her question.

Cenzo turned and pulled Aries aside. “Did you know about this?”

“What?” Aries threw back.

“Did you order her tortured?” he grilled.

Aries stared into Cenzo’s eyes and could see the possessiveness and authority stare back at him. “Look, the men had already had a crack at her before I came in to stop it,” he quickly explained. “None of them were aware of her – special condition.”

Cenzo glanced back at Morgan who returned both their glares with a smug smile. “Ah, I see. You opened up the Cracker Jack box and found a Jill,” Morgan mused, seeing a blush form on Forte’s face. “I forget you Spryten’s live in the dark ages when it comes to women. Is this the part where I cower in fear and hide beneath my skirts?”

Forte was about to respond, when Cenzo cut in, “How did you know he was coming through the door?”

Morgan glanced back at Cenzo and started to swing casually back and forth. “Forte promised me he would be back to-“

“To make sure she was still alright,” Aries cut in quickly, staring at Morgan to dare her to say different.

That made her grin deepen, “If that’s what you Sprytens call it.”

Forte narrowed his gaze at Morgan then returned his attention to Cenzo. “We have bigger problems, Cenz,” he announced.

“What?”

“It seems one of the royals have caught wind of Morgan’s capture and is demanding to see – her,” Forte explained with a brief nod to Morgan.

“Deny them access,” Cenzo shrugged off.

“I don’t think that is an option, says he was sent directly from your father’s court,” he insisted, producing several documents from a folder. “His paperwork checks out.”

Cenzo threw his head back and ground out, “Fuck.” He turned and snatched the papers from Forte’s hand. When he recognized the name on the form, he sneered coldly, “Royal Werner… and his son, Calydus.”

“Indeed,” Aries confirmed.

Cenzo shook his head disapprovingly. He hated his father for sending his hound dogs to check on him. There was no way he could contain this change of events now. Especially, if he has to deal with Royal Constance Werner, one of his father’s deepest leeches – and his grandfather. “How far is he from the base?”

“Not far. An hour or so,” Forte responded.

“Try five minutes,” Morgan threw out.

Cenzo glared at her. “How do you know?”

“If your royals are anything like ours, they’ll give you as minimal warning as possible,” she grinned. “But I wonder who’ll be more surprised, this Werner or you.”

Cenzo sighed wearily, trying to think, but his thoughts were interrupted when the sound of a knock resounded through the hold. He immediately stared at Morgan, who was like the cat at the cream. For a prisoner, she was not acting as if she was in the arms of the enemy with a simple thread of her life in the balance. Why was she so calm?

The knock resounded again. He turned to the door and bellowed, “Enter.”