#metaurus

But, still too harsh for her, perhaps. He did not wish to permanently damage her skin. That skin she flaunted before his very eyes. Smooth and soft, barely hidden beneath a layer of sodden fabric. 

“Obscene,” he muttered, even as his blood stirred.

Finally his fingers curled around a whip of silken rope, less stained than the others. He could not remember its purpose. Perhaps a relic of the less zealous Chaplains who’d come before him.

Leandros thanked the God-Emperor he had not discarded it when he first took this post.

He lifted the tool, felt its negligible weight. He would need to mind himself as he used it. Rein in his righteous fervor. 

Her death, uncleansed, unredeemed… unbroken… would be a waste.

His fist clenched around a single, golden laurel leaf. “She will scream for me before I am finished.” 

Not you, Titus. Me.

Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought.

***

Chairon’s fist left a dent in the steel wall. “We must do something!” 

Seated next to him on the cot, the little medica flinched. He softened his tone.

“We should inform the Captain.”

“And tell him what?” Gadriel had not stopped pacing since bringing them back to his chamber.

Chairon struggled to master his rising rage. “And tell him that a vital tenet of the Codex is being broken by none other than-”  

“The Chaplain.” Gadriel faced him, face contorted. “The Chaplain, brother! Need I remind you of his exalted position on board this ship?”

Before Chairon could snap back a reply, the little medica whispered.

“No one will believe us, will they?”

The despair in her voice wrenched something within him. Without thinking, he placed a hand upon her shoulder.

Throne, how small she is beneath my gauntlet.

“We will make them believe.”

“How will we do that?” Gadriel snarled. 

Chairon bit back his anger when he saw the turmoil in his brother’s eyes. The revelation of the Chaplain’s sins had hit him like a blow from a power fist. 

Even now, Chairon watched him struggle to rationalize.

“What do we know?” The Sergeant resumed his pacing. “He carries the woman’s bauble. That proves nothing.”

“But suggests everything.” Chairon spoke through clenched teeth. “And, do not forget, he haunted her steps for Throne knows how long.”

He felt the little medica lean into him. “Her nightmares began just after Lord Titus left.”

“For weeks, then.” Feeling her shudder, he drew her closer to his side. 

Gadriel stared at nothing. “I felt his hatred for the Lieutenant. It could have transferred onto the serf woman. But, why?”

“The Captain might know.”

A scoff. “I doubt he would take kindly to any inquiries. Acheran has more important matters to think about.”

More important than the abuse of those under his protection?

Chairon only realized he’d tightened his grip on the little medica when he heard her yelp. “Apologies, Vesta.” A thought struck him. “Would Apothecary Callistus be able to shed any light on the matter?”

She bit her lip and, again, he found himself oddly pleased by the sight. “I… don’t know, my Lord. We haven’t been with the Second Company very long. I could ask, but….”

“Speak, woman.” Gadriel snapped.

Chairon glared at him.

“I’ve heard stories of what the Chaplain does to serfs who displease him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He could be hurting Sera right now! Please, my Lords, we must move quickly!”

The sight sent an old pain through Chairon’s chest, one he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. Slipping off the cot, he sank to one knee in front of her. 

“We will do all we can. I swear it. Even if I must force my way into the Chaplain’s personal chambers!”

“Chairon….” He heard the warning in Gadriel’s voice.

The medica smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Lord Chairon. But… maybe, that won’t be necessary.”

He fought a sudden urge to cup her face in his palm. “Oh?”

Her little fists clenched on her lap. “I… think I have an idea.”

***

You awoke to warmth. And light. For a moment you dared hope.

Then you opened your eyes.

No…

The bare, metal room. The barred door. The altar. The corpse-like servitor. The nightmare continued.

But now a brazier smoldered next to you.

With a gasp, you tried to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to force you back to your knees. Undeterred, you crawled to the brazier and curled your cold-stiffened body around it. Blissful warmth soothed your aching muscles.

Thank you, Emperor!

For a long moment, you simply basked in the heat, in the feeling of your soaked clothing drying against your skin. 

He won’t be able to see me now. Won’t be able to look.

The memory erased any comfort from your mind. You hunched closer to the brazier, wrapping your arms around your knees as you fought a wave of nausea. Even with his face hidden behind a helm, you’d sensed the change. The coiled tension in his body. The measured way he’d stalked forward. 

Predatory.

You’d seen it before. But, with Demetrian, it invoked heat and excitement. A thrill down your spine at the thought of his touch.

Now….

He made me feel ashamed.

Tears pricked the backs of your eyes. You furiously rubbed them away. 

I need to think. There must be a way out of this besides… besides….

You could never give him what he wanted. The very thought of betraying Demetrian was unthinkable! 

Oh, Emperor, help me!

You pressed your face to your knees and shook. You weren’t a warrior. You weren’t even particularly strong. Or brave. You had no idea what he had in store for you. How could you hope to endure?

Yet, endure I must.

Vesta, Lord Callistus, Lord Chairon, Lord Gadriel. They must know about your disappearance by now. They must be looking for you. You would place your trust in them.

And Demetrian….

He would return. 

Wouldn’t he?

Footsteps. You didn’t dare look up as the door to your prison clanged open. You felt his presence like a physical manifestation of dread. 

Endure.

“Your perverse resistance is an insult to the God-Emperor Himself.”

Hard hands yanked you to your feet, spun you around, and pressed you against the wall. You yelped as they wrenched your own hands over your head, sending pain shooting through your shoulders. Something cold and hard clicked around your wrists. You couldn’t move.

Endure.

“You spit on my offer of mercy.”

The feeling of your robe being ripped from your shoulders dragged a cry from your throat. You pressed your bare body against the cold metal wall, desperate for a few more inches between you and your tormentor.

Oh, Throne, endure!

Hot breath against your ear. “And yet, I offer it once more. Denounce him.”

Tears ran down your cheeks. “No.”

I love you, Demetrian.

A deep sigh. “You brought this on yourself.”

I won’t break. I won’t! I will en-

Pain.

***

Titus’s eyes shot open.

He lay in the cold darkness of the quarantine cell. Across from him, Metaurus still slumbered. Titus spared a moment to listen to his old mentor’s hearts beating. Regular and strong. The Apothecaries had done their job well.

He felt a brief surge of relief.

I told you our time had not yet come, old man.

The relief faded all too quickly. Letting his head fall back against the cold metal of the floor, he pondered the source of his anxiety.

A dream?

He’d sworn he heard Sera’s voice crying out for him. His body trembled with the need to go to her, to press her softness against him. He’d fought through horrors to return to her.

Soon.

They’d done what he now knew was thought to be impossible. They’d defeated the abominable Sorcerer, slaughtered their way through hundreds of his maddened cultists, and come out alive.

Though not without a heavy price.

The thought of the way his brother Ultramarines had been cut down still sent flickers of rage through Titus’s blood. Had they known it was meant to be a suicide mission? He glanced at the sleeping form of his mentor once more. He’d known.

And yet, Titus could not bring himself to resent the old warrior. He’d done his duty. No, another deserved his wrath far more.

Leandros. He did not wish me to return.

“I can hear your teeth grinding, boy.”

Titus’s eyes shot to his mentor. “You are awake.”

“Thanks to you.” Metaurus groaned as he sat up. “Does our confinement trouble you so greatly?”

“No.” And yes.

He knew the protocol. He and Metaurus had come into close contact with Chaos. His brothers had to be certain they carried no corruption. Thus, the quarantine. He could not very well explain how every day spent locked in this cell was a day he could have spent with the woman he loved.

“Hmmm.” The veteran leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. “You say her name in your sleep.” 

Titus jerked upright. His hearts pounded wildly in his chest.

Throne! What have I done?! If anyone else heard-

“Calm yourself, boy.”

“Metaurus-”

The veteran held up a hand. “You are not the first.”

Titus could only stare.

His former mentor continued. “They are not acknowledged, and many Chaplains disapprove, but such… relationships… are not entirely unknown amongst our Chapter.” 

“Do you disapprove?”

Metaurus opened one eye. “The woman gave her consent?”

Titus leapt to his feet with a snarl. “I would never force-!”

“Peace, boy!” The old marine huffed. “Time has not cooled your temper, I see. If she consented, I do not disapprove. I only warn you to be discreet, for her sake, as well as yours.”

Silence stretched between them. Titus sank back down to the floor, wondering at the comfort he took in his old mentor’s words. 

It seems, even after all these years, I still crave his approval.

As Metaurus’s breaths deepened in sleep once more, Titus allowed his mind to wander. He wondered if any of the Ultramarines he knew harbored such desires. He couldn’t imagine Gadriel turning his eyes away from the Codex long enough to look upon a woman. Chairon, though….

Perhaps. As long as that woman is not Sera. My Sera.

The foreboding of his fragmented dream rushed back. One thought in particular refused to be pushed aside.

Theoretical: Leandros knows.

Practical: He will not shy away from punishing her.

The thought made sleep an impossibility. What could Gadriel, Chairon, or even the veteran Apothecary do against a Chaplain’s wrath?

What could I do?

Only one thing was certain: he must return to her as quickly as possible. Soon, it would become apparent to his brothers that neither he nor Metaurus suffered from corruption. Soon, he would be on his way back to the Second Company.

I will hold you in my arms again, Sera. And God-Emperor help anyone who tries to take you from me.

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