Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 5

age, we have money, we lose money, we change jobs, we succeed, we fail."
    "Yeah." He's right. "And we can face anything together."
    He turns his head and kisses my cheek. "We can do anything." He laughs. "That's such a cliché."
    "Sure, but it's true."
    "And that's how I know we're just fine."
    THE END
    Author bio : In addition to writing romance novels, Kate McMurray is a nonfiction editor. Also, she is crafty (mostly knitting and sewing, but she also wields power tools), she plays the violin, and she dabbles in various other pursuits. She's maybe a tiny bit obsessed with baseball. She lives in Brooklyn, NY, with a presumptuous cat. Visit her website .
    ****

LEASHED
    by Skye Warren

    Man holding another captive in chains set against a dark backdrop.

    Dear Author,
    I envision a sorta futuristic barbaric society. I love a dark angsty story and am completely ok with dubcon or noncon in the right circumstances. I love me some alpha males and can see Damien having a very possessive nature. Some BDSM would be delightful. I don't expect everything to go smoothly but definitely don't like cheating or ménage. An HEA is a must though! Please bring these modern day gladiators to life for me!!
    Sincerely,
    Gyn

    genre: dystopian
    tags: military men; prison; captivity; hurt/comfort; dark; sci-fi; futuristic; post-apocalyptic; enemies to lovers; outdoor sex
    word count: 16,176
    Back to Table of Contents

    LEASHED
    by Skye Warren
    CHAPTER 1
    Dark liquid dripped into a small puddle. Sebastian counted the time with each drop. He didn't know whether it was dirt mixed with sweat or blood, but it didn't matter. It wasn't enough to make him bleed out. Pity that.
    He couldn't see much in the dark, dank room, but his future was mapped before him clear as crystals. He only had a few hours left to live. Maybe a few days, if he were unlucky.
    The methods of torture used by the Ke'lan, speculated about in hushed tones by the rebels, would soon consume him. The arrogant insurgents claimed they could withstand anything. Sebastian didn't share their bravado, but he would never tell a rebel secret. He didn't know any.
    The dark pool below him grew in his mind, and his heart beat louder and louder. This was the end, he thought. Over before it had begun. Thank the Gods.
    But then a creak resounded in the small chamber, and a man stepped inside. This was so much worse than death. Torture, pain, and the almighty fear that he would degrade himself to avoid them. May the Gods grant him dignity in his death as they never had in life.
    Sebastian felt the man's cold regard like a wet slap, even though the shadows made it impossible to see outside the spotlight on his broken body. The slight tense of his weary muscles gave him away, sending a rattle through the chains that bound him, forcing him to stand for hours until he feared his arms would dislodge from his body. Now they screamed in agony, as blood trickled back into fingers that had long since gone numb, but Sebastian was silent.
    The man's boots clopped like horse's hooves on the dirty concrete, drawing closer in a slow, predatory march. Sebastian kept his eyes on the floor, not in obeisance – in defiance. Let this man break his body. It was nothing more than the Ke'lan had done for centuries. Nothing more than they'd done to his father.
    His father's mind had cracked like the shell of an acorn, and Sebastian had grown inured to the daily beatings and the cries for forgiveness that defined his childhood. Now the man rotted away in a rebel prison while Sebastian died at the hands of their enemy, the Ke'lan. Neither of them had fought for the cause, not ever, but here they were, torn into halves the way a child might snap a twig and toss it aside.
    "What is your name, boy?" The rich words rolled over Sebastian like a caress, but he knew that was a lie.
    His mind would not break. Whatever they did, they did to his body. He said nothing.
    Long, cultured fingers toyed with the torn hem of his shirt. The old, dirty fabric looked particularly dingy between the thick fingers that were obviously well-groomed. This man had access to water. He had soap. All Sebastian had ever had was a brown river in which all manner of organic and inorganic material floated.
    "Sebastian." The man's breath blew across the top of his downturned head. Of course it had been a trick. The Ke'lan already knew his name. They knew everything about him. Maybe they even knew that he had no information to give and were just toying