Ambrea didn’t know why she insisted on clinging to him in such a way. She had never initiated such intimate contact before. And it really was intimate. She could feel all of his strength, all his hard muscle and coiled resistance, against every single point of her body where they connected. Yet for all that seeming rigidity, they seemed to fit together so snugly, so warmly. In the end, she thought that was a large part of what kept her clinging to him. He was so blessedly warm. She felt as though she had been miserably cold for so much of her lifetime, and here he was, heated and strong, vital and safe. How could an utter stranger feel so safe? If there was one thing she had learned in her lifetime, it was not to trust anyone, and yet he invaded her every cell with this overwhelming sense of security.
Perhaps it was because they both had something to lose now if they didn’t trust each other. Perhaps it was all that steady strength she felt and saw in him. Or maybe it was just the gentle way he was touching her hair at the side of her face. He could bullishly threaten her all he liked, but he couldn’t hide the gentleness of those callused fingertips as they toyed with her hair.
Ambrea didn’t know why she did it, but she turned her head to the side and touched her lips to his hand in the merest brush of contact. She didn’t mean to really kiss him, she told herself. But she just felt such a fervent need to make some kind of deeper contact with him. Some way, perhaps, of letting him know he wasn’t as alone as he seemed to think he was. But at the same time it was so strange for her to want to express herself in such a way. A way she never had before.
Rush felt her lips press into the seat of his palm like a brief jolt of lightning. Nothing ever burned him, he couldn’t really feel heat or electricity or shock the way he imagined others did, but this burned him. It seared him to the quick, racing up his arm and deeply into his bones. He drew in a sharp, startled breath, utterly fascinated with the sensation. His heart clenched tightly, began to race as if he were staring death in the face. Again, an unfamiliar sensation. As far as he knew, he was completely impervious to most modern weapons. The closest he’d ever come to death was when he’d almost drowned in Axiom fuel all those years ago.
Excitement hurried through his blood, and before he could check the response he had her head between both his hands and was dragging her mouth up to his. And there he held her, hovering, just a breath away. His chest hurt, his body was tight with the things it was feeling, the things it wanted to feel. Things he had wisely denied himself for fear …
It wasn’t until that moment that the soldier realized just how much of his life was lived in fear. Fear of exposure. Fear of his own emotions. Fear of living.
Rush covered her mouth with his, probably just to fly in the face of that nauseating idea that he might be afraid of anything. But the moment he felt her gasp softly with surprise at the contact, he had to confess to himself that it was actually just a really good excuse to let himself taste a forbidden fruit that he knew by instinct would be utterly delicious. And she was. Warm and exotic, sweet and complex, her mouth under his was inexperienced and startled. It might have been enough to compel him to back off, to remember himself and their situation, but her surprise lasted only the span of a breath. Then she relaxed against him, her whole essence going liquid and receptive. Her lips parted under his, just to draw in an exquisite breath, but he couldn’t help but exploit it for the advantage that it was. His tongue was seeking hers purely on instinct before she could even finish that breath.
He knew very well that he was not inclined to kiss a woman at whim, or even after a great deal of thought. Like everything else, it was a terrible complication and a risk he couldn’t afford. But none of that seemed to matter as he felt the heated flavor of her spreading over his senses. How strange it was that she should taste as sweet as he expected her to. How strange to realize he had already given it some thought. He couldn’t believe the amount of pleasure attached to something so seemingly benign. But if anyone knew about the ability of something so seemingly simple to become so utterly explosive, it was him.
Ambrea couldn’t claim to be surprised when he seized hold of her in that blisteringly hot kiss. It was more a feeling of unfamiliarity. But not awkwardness. Shouldn’t she feel awkward? After all, she had never been kissed by a man before. Yet they seemed to mesh together as if they had done it thousands of times before, as if they made a regular habit of kissing each other.
She could sense the caution in him, just as she could sense the hunger in him. It was a peculiar combination. He wrestled with himself, it seemed, every single moment, and yet held her tighter, gripped her closer. There was a moment of suspense, as though he were on the cusp of recovering himself and pushing free, and then it all seemed to dissolve. Rush breathed hard against her, his hands swallowing her face and neck even as his mouth began to burn with desperation. He collapsed into his own need, into the kiss, as if something suddenly let go of him and sent him careening into it.
Ambrea’s whole body lit up with fiery response. Her hands fumbled at his shoulders, needing to hold on as reality swung wildly around her, forced her to open herself to the sensations rushing through her. Because of her life, its restrictions, its precariousness, she had never even once entertained the idea of a simple kiss with a boy. But this was no boy. He was one hundred percent living, vital, overwhelming man. She felt how he tensed beneath her, how he seemed to grow restless against her body and against her lips. He tasted rich and smoky, like a delicious culinary char that enhanced a juicy entrée. Erotic hunger began to build inside of her and she shifted out of passivity. She took hold of him, spearing her eager fingers into his short, crisp hair, holding him to herself as she turned her head and attacked him at a whole new angle.
Rush never once forgot where he was, the danger they were in, and never once stopped thinking how crazy and irresponsible his behavior was. And yet it didn’t seem to matter. She was lush and sweet and filling his hands as they slid down her back and burrowed under her shirt at the back of her waist. He gripped her curvy sides, his fingertips clutching at the center point of her spinal column. Blood was pounding in his ears, heat was burning through his body. He grew hard with his excitement, with the feel of her weight against him, her restlessness seemingly stroking the rapidly growing erection she was inspiring.
“Ow! Ow!” Ambrea yelped in sudden pain, her hands jolting down to his, yanking his touch free of her body. The kiss broke as she scrambled upright over him, straddling his thighs and pulling up her shirt in back as she wrenched around trying to see herself.
He knew instantly what had happened. It had happened before. It was why he didn’t do things like this. Taking hold of her, he turned her so he could see her back. There was hardly a need to look. His touch on her clothing was making soft, crispy, sizzling sounds. And sure enough, on her back were the reddened imprints of his hands, of each individual finger, as if she had been branded.
“Shit!” he swore viciously. “Damn me!” Then more vehemently. “Damn me!”
“It’s all right,” she tried to assure him hastily.
But he was already dumping her off of himself and moving back so he wasn’t touching her. Yet at the same time he was hovering over the injury on her back, guilt and sickly horror pervading every inch of his being.
Nothing had changed, he realized with disgust. The last time he’d tried to kiss a girl, back on Tari when he’d been just a youth, her skirt had caught fire. Luckily the fabric had been the only victim in that instance, a little bit of scorching because he’d been able to react quickly. He’d been able to convince her she’d caught a blowing ember from a nearby fire, and she’d believed him. But this woman knew exactly what had burned her. He could see it in her eyes. She realized that in his excitement he had lost control. And yet she reached for his hands again, took hold of his heated fingers, gripped them tightly.
“I’m all right,” she said vehemently, forcing him to meet her reassuring teal gaze.
“I’m sorry … I can’t … I told you �
��” He was choking on his own words, his own fury at himself for losing control, for allowing himself to forget.
“Rush, please. Look.” She reached to scoop up her shirt and show him the angry red marks. “It’s no worse than a burn from the sun, and I have had more than my share of those. I will be fine.”
“Don’t you see?” he gritted out. “It could have been worse! Much worse! I could have set you on fire!”
“But you didn’t.”
“I don’t know what got into me. You shouldn’t be touching me!” He yanked free of her grasp, but she immediately laid her hands on his chest. As upset as he was, some part of him just couldn’t shake off the comfort she was trying to give.
And just like that an easy, calming intimacy settled over them. The feel of her hands on him soothed him somehow. Perhaps it was the idea that even though he had accidentally hurt her, she wasn’t running away screaming. She didn’t look at him as the freak he was even though she had more cause than ever to think so. As much as he hated himself for having hurt her, there was a part of him that was far too starved for intimacy to be able to shun it.
“Rush. It’s all right. You didn’t mean to do it. I know that. You know that.”
“It won’t happen again,” he swore to her. “It won’t … I had no right. We’re in enough danger as it is. I have no idea what I was thinking.”
He had been thinking how sweet she felt, how amazing she had tasted, how beautiful she was. He’d let himself run away from himself. He couldn’t afford to do that. Not now, not ever. The only minuscule comfort he took was that she didn’t hate him, wasn’t afraid of him. He had a long way to go with her yet, needed her to trust him so he could properly protect her.
“I’m just as guilty,” she said softly. “I have so many people counting on me, an entire country I owe responsibility to. The last thing I ought to be doing is …” She shrugged and looked away. “Never mind. We were both behaving … strangely.” She met his eyes, licking her lips slowly, attracting his attention in spite of himself. Such a simple gesture and yet, somehow, he found it ridiculously arousing. Arousal put her in danger.
He shuttered himself away from the sensation, looked away from her, methodically checked his munitions belt, the rote behavior calming him. Comforting him.
“Then we’re agreed,” he said gruffly. “It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t respond for a long beat, and he didn’t look up to see the look on her face. He didn’t think he could bear the relief in her eyes. Of course he didn’t blame her for it at all, but just the same.
“I think that’s best,” she said softly. “We both have jobs to do, and it’s best that we focus on that.”
Rush nodded. Then he took her gingerly by her arms and set her alongside him so he could sit up. “Let’s move. The sooner we go, the less chance of the Imperial Guard sending in reinforcements. With any luck, my team was able to silence the guards before they could report back anything about the trouble they ran into … about seeing you.”
“Oh.” He could tell by her troubled frown that she regretted whatever harm had come to the imperial soldiers, who she deemed to be hapless victims in a power war between her and her uncle. How quickly she seemed to have forgotten just how brutal some of those guards were. Her father had recruited very specific types of men into his armed forces. Rush was certain there wasn’t a single one of them who could claim innocence and a pure moral compass. “Would you do me a favor, please?” she asked.
“I can try,” he said awkwardly. He didn’t know where she was going with this request. All he wanted was to put what had just happened behind them and move on. As she had said, they both had specific jobs they needed to focus on.
“Please call me Ambrea. I think at this point, after saving my life so many times, and … well, you have more than earned the right.”
He gave her a wry smile. He didn’t see how any of his behavior merited anything special. Still, the fact that she was asking, in spite of everything, meant far more to him than she might realize. “Well, like I said, I can try. I might lean more toward Blue Eyes, myself.”
“Well, so long as you know I consider you a person of privilege and trust. That is a very important thing to be to the future empress of Allay. One day you may need a favor from me. I want you to know that you have more than earned that.”
As she spoke the words, her mien and bearing were such that Rush no longer saw the helpless prisoner or powerless princess of exile. He saw exactly what she could and—if he had any say in the matter—would be. A queen. A true leader for people who truly needed her.
“Unfortunately, Prin—Ambrea,” Rush caught himself, “we have a long way to go yet.”
“Crap.” Justice spat as she shook guard guts off her left hand glove and the knife she’d been forced to pull. The idiot had tried to garrote her, catching her up from behind while she’d been in hand-to-hand with someone else. They were under strict no-kill orders, but both she and Ender had been forced to break the order. The forest was littered with the bodies of the squad that had come upon them, but most were just stunned to within an inch of their lives. Normally Ender would have had her back, protecting her from just this sort of situation, but he’d been given the strict duty of being personal protector to the little empress, so he’d been forced to ditch his companions in order to preserve her safety.
“You got any holes in you?” Bronse Chapel asked, eyeing the blood saturating her clothes from mid torso down.
“Nah,” she rasped, her voice completely screwed up now that her windpipe had been crushed and bruised, nearly severed if the truth be told. She no doubt had a gash in her neck from one side to the other. That wire had been damn sharp, and the man behind it had been brutally strong. She coughed, sucking in air, trying to will her throat into not swelling closed. She’d be damned if she was going to become a liability on this mission. Bad enough they were dragging around two pieces of deadweight.
“You sure? You look pretty raw, Justice.” Commander Chapel touched her under her chin and made her lift it so he could inspect the damage. “Yeah, that’s not good.”
“Just slap a patch on me to keep the swelling down,” she croaked. “I’ll be singing solos again by sunset.”
Bronse nodded, reaching into his pack for an aid kit. By now the rest of the group had realized she was injured and were surrounding her, concern written on all their features. The attention made her uncomfortable. If there was one thing Justice Muleterre was not, it was an object of pity. And now that they were essentially a man down, they couldn’t afford for her to be weak or needy. Fallon was a good soldier, his talents as a telepath were astounding, but he was not a First Active soldier like Chapel, Justice, and Ender had once been. He was still something of a rookie as far as soldiering went.
She reached into the aid pack and grabbed the heal seal while the commander peeled off a patch and stuck it on her arm at the first piece of bare skin he could see. She was going to run the heal seal across her throat, but Bronse took it from her and gave her a scolding look. She set her lips together, grimly reminding herself not to be insubordinate, and lifted her chin so he could apply the seal. It was a medication stick about an inch across and four inches long. It was drawn across an open wound rather like lip balm was applied to lips, leaving a smeary sort of goo in its wake. The commander drew it over her wound slowly and with care to cover every bit of it. He did a far better job, no doubt, than she could have done since she was unable to actually see the wound.
“Did you contact Ender?”
The commander was pretty close to her, so she could see clearly into his periwinkle eyes. In an instant, with just a look, she knew something wasn’t right.
“Not yet,” he said gruffly.
“What?” she asked. “What is it?”
He paused to glance surreptitiously at Suna checking to see how far away she was. Clearly he didn’t want her overhearing what he wanted to say. That made Justice’s chest clench with tightnes
s. Suddenly it was hard for her to breathe. Thankfully Suna was at a significant distance, allowing the commander to speak softly and not be overheard.
“Be patient. I’m giving him time to shake anyone following him and to hunker down out of sight.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” she wanted to know.
He paused for a significant beat, presumably under the guise of touching up her wound. But Justice had been part of his team for too long not to know when he was hedging. Still, she had also been part of his team long enough to know that the commander would get to the point in his own way and in his own time. There was nothing she could do to rush him.
“I think he was hit,” he said at last, so softly she hardly heard him over the rush of blood still pounding in her ears from fighting for her life moments ago.
“With a two-forty?” she asked just as softly.
“Seems like. Though I’m uncertain. I mean, if he’d been hit, even Ender would come to his knees on the badass end of a two-forty.”
“Right.” She took a great deal of relief in that understanding.
“He didn’t so much as flinch from what I saw.” But Bronse’s brow was deeply furrowed, the commander clearly perplexed. “But I was a stride away. I could swear he was dead in sights when that two-forty went off.”
“But you have to be wrong. I mean, he ran off at full steam, didn’t he?”
“He did,” Bronse agreed. “Then again I’ve seen Ender do some pretty amazing shit over our time together.”
“Yeah, me too.” And Justice had known Ender much longer than Bronse had. Justice and Ender had gone through initial training together. They’d been assigned to the same regiment after that. And they’d entered ETF training together. “So you think he took a hit, shook it off, and kept going?”
“I don’t know what to think. I’m going to tell myself I was mistaken and he didn’t take the hit. It’s the only explanation.”
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