“Faster!” The slit barrel of the dart blaster gaped at her as Jabez waved it angrily.
“Give me all the power. Let me strive for life,” she was whispering, eyes closed now, feeling the familiar surge. An almost indescribable sensation flowered in her loins, spreading like a slow fire through her belly and thighs into her chest and arms and down to her ankles. It finally filled her head with a scything hiss, as though her brain were floating. She felt unbelievably light and potent.
Jabez Pendragon Cawdor, baron designate of the ville of Front Royal, saw none of that. He saw a sexually at-tractive young woman with a wonderful body, who had stripped naked at his bidding and sat patiently on the big bed, waiting for him to take his pleasure.
He licked his lips as he stared fixedly at the junction of Krysty’s thighs, at the curling nest of blazing pubic hair that tangled and concealed and aroused.
“Lie down,” he said, voice trembling.
“Don’t,” she said, now calm, her breathing steady and relaxed. It would be better if Jabez left the room without touching her. But if it happened, then she was ready for it.
“Beg for mercy, whore. It adds to my pleasure. Beg.” Clumsily, holding the dart gun in his right hand, the young man shrugged off the rich velvet jacket, kicking the slippers to one side. “I don’t hear you begging, you use-less mutie slag.”
“Come then,” Krysty whispered, holding her arms out to Jabez.
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“Blood and bones! You’ll weep for death this very night.” He unlaced the satin pants and tossed them to the floor, grinning as her eyes fell on his near-erection. The blaster was steady in his hand as he knelt on the bed and leaned over her.
Krysty was ready.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
with a short, stabbing blow from the heel of her hand, Krysty Wroth crushed Jabez’s larynx, rendering his vocal cords useless. It was a savage and crippling attack that flung him onto the floor, his mouth flopping open in a silent, anguished scream. His eyes opened wide, the drooping lid flicking up like a window blind suddenly re-leased.
Krysty’s most awesome mutie trait was her ability, un-der certain circumstances, to call on a reserve of incred-ible muscular power for a short time. The cost was dreadful, and always left her exhausted and drained for hours after. Therefore it was an ability she hardly ever used. But she knew the baron’s son intended to rape her in the most violent and humiliating way, and then kill her. She didn’t have to be a doomie to see that.
Her right hand jabbed at the arm that held the dart gun, snapping both radius and ulna above the wrist. One splintered end of bone protruded through the skin, sur-rounded by flags of torn and bloody flesh. The fingers opened in a spasm of shock and pain, dropping the dart gun to the stones, where it landed with a hollow, metallic clang.
Krysty was barely in control of her own body. The devastating power of the Earth Mother was released in such a rush that it almost blanked her mind all that reg-
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istered was that she had to kill this man in the most ab-solute and total manner.
Jabez struggled to his feet, chest heaving as he battled for breath. His eyes stared blankly at the staggeringly beautiful woman who stood across the bed from him.
He shook his head in disbelie f at her speed and brutal strength. Jabez had always relished giving a good beating to a serving maid, smiling at her screams as his whip cut patterned welts over the soft skin. They were so weak, women.
Krysty punched out at his other arm, snapping it like a dry twig at the elbow joint.
Now a red killing mist swamped her mind, closing off any reason or sense.
Or mercy.
Short jabs with fists clenched broke five ribs on the left side of Jabez’s chest and four on the right. None of the savage punches traveled more than six inches. The man staggered back against the wall and tried to scream for help, only managing to make a sound like a newborn lamb bleating weakly for its mother.