I Own the Dawn

by M. L. Buchman

In unison, they looked down at the girl in Kee’s lap. Dilya’s life had been hard as well. She’d seen her parents die partly from starvation and finally from bullets.

  Pleased with her handiwork, the girl scampered off to defend her sand castle from the incoming tide.

  Kee and the Professor remained kneeling together, watching the gentle waves beat on the sand. Watching and waiting for Kee to come back from the past to the world of light. To make that long passage that she had faced a thousand nights.

  A long journey in the daylight. It was a longer journey in the dark.

  But this was the first time she hadn’t faced it alone.

  23

  Dilya had stayed close all afternoon, knowing Kee had been upset. It helped. The munchkin had cheered her up, given her back at least a portion of the feeling she’d had about this day. Archie had stayed close as well, making it clear he cared more about her now than who she’d been then. A limit she’d not be testing any further.

  Then Betty and Steve had insisted they climb the cliffs up to the Castello Sonnino for wine tasting, a tour of the castle, and dinner in the sunlit evening.

  Dilya had been thrilled at the outing, insisting that she and Kee wear their complementary headscarves. Kee felt quite flirty in the flowered sundress that Dilya had picked out for her to wear, a splash of tiny blossoms on a field of blue as dark as her scarf and a bright belt. The cut of Kee’s dress was low above and high below, it would have been risqué if it hadn’t been so cute. She didn’t quite anticipate the fashion challenge of climbing into the skiff from the deck of the boat, but she managed and they were all soon headed to the castle.

  At the chance to compare the tower to her sand creation long since washed away by the sea, Dilya scampered about the battlements and up the tower at an unimaginable pace. Kee finally let her run loose.

  Betty slipped a hand through Kee’s arm as they wandered about the gardens overflowing with color. Narrow paths of crushed stone wound through the plantings with no particular direction in mind. Kee knew roses, which she saw, and daisies, which she didn’t, but for the most part flowers were a mystery.

  The men soon landed on a shaded bench and fell to talking sailboats. She could hear Archie’s interest as his father started describing changes he’d made to a chine that apparently had hardness, and a waist that had narrowness but not slenderness. Their voices faded as she and Betty moved off to inspect budding roses of dark yellow-orange and something shockingly blue alongside.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?” Kee looked over, but Betty kept her attention on the flowers.

  Kee bit her lip and ordered herself to stop being a bitch. “Yes. It’s fine. A beautiful day.”

  “You looked… upset. When we returned from our walk.”

  Wonderful. Well, there was no way she would be telling that story again, once in a lifetime had proved enough. “Old memories. Hard to shed those sometimes.”

  Betty nodded and they headed once again along the winding path. Dilya shot through the gardens, headed for a stone stairway leading up the face of the far wall. The long silences that punctuated their conversation didn’t feel awkward, rather they made comfortable moments to wrap around your thoughts.

  “I know what you mean,” Betty offered, “though not exactly what you mean, of course.”

  Kee now knew where Archie had learned his quiet and reserve. His patience with the chaos that had punctuated her first weeks on the crew. Now if only she could make any sense of what he saw in her. Clearly attracted, but he kept staring into her eyes and not at her body. Yet another new experience she couldn’t unravel.

  “Not because of Archie?” Betty asked.

  “No. Your son is…” A wonderful young man? A red-hot man? She didn’t know yet if he might be a latent sexual genius. What could she say to his mother? “A good man.” It was the best she could offer, but true. Archibald Stevenson III, the truly good man. Raised to the same gentleness that his mother exhibited. An odd mix for a warrior. One of the best helicopter pilots and tacticians on the planet, flying left seat on one of SOAR’s DAP Hawks made that a given for sure, but he wasn’t ego-ridden.

  “You raised your son well.”

  “His father did.”

  “No.” Kee stopped and Betty, taking one more step, was forced by their still-linked arms to turn and face her. “No, he is his mother’s son in so many ways.”

  As if she had conjured him with her words, Archie and his father came striding up the path. They moved at an easy mosey, but they were two handsome and purposeful men.

  Betty squeezed Kee’s arm and met her gaze for a moment before taking her husband’s offered arm. Clearly they shared the same thought. And maybe they were becoming friends.

  Kee slid her hand around Archie’s elbow and appreciated the solid feel of muscle, the solid feel that described the man so well.

  To Kee, wine came in three flavors: white, red, and bubbly. But all three Stevensons kept going on about the Cinque Terre’s fragility, legs, concentration, and numerous other meaningless phrases. Kee did find the wine quite easy to drink with dinner, but never finished the second glass. They were on vacation, but the habits were ingrained. Archie was equally fastidious, sharing a smile with Kee as his parents became more and more jovial somewhere in the second bottle.

  The dinner was a wonder of fresh seafood and local garden produce, everything except a few spices came from within ten miles of the castle, they were proudly informed. Finally they reached the fresh fruit and whipped cream served with yet more wine, needing yet more comments about how the Sciacchetrà matched the fruit. She couldn’t tell the two wines apart, they were both white to her.

  Dilya drank half a glass of well-watered wine with dinner, but still it brought a glow to her cheeks and a droop to her eyes.

  She rode quietly on Kee’s, then Archie’s back as they worked their way back down the cliffs to the beach and out to the boat. The Stevensons each toted a couple bottles of wine in neat cloth bags bearing the Sonnino crest, a crowned golden lion rampant on a blue field. It would make a good patch for a fighting unit.

  Dilya was asleep before Kee tucked her in, but still she sat with the girl for a few minutes. She could feel the boat quieting as Betty and Steve drifted to their cabin.

  The Professor waited.

  Kee could feel it. Not impatient, but knowing she would come. The girl didn’t squirm once as Kee tucked in the blanket and slipped out.

  She hesitated, standing near where the main mast punched down through the cabin ceiling and landed on the cabin floor. She laid her hand on the aluminum shaft, almost as big around as her own waist. Strength. A solid foundation to hold aloft the sixty-foot pole above deck.

  Kee shook off the image. This was mere sex. With a commanding officer. An action she’d never take, but they were on vacation, the first one of her life. That had to count for something, even if it wasn’t supposed to.

  And this was only sex.

  Archie watched her enter the room. He’d debated a dozen times about lying on top of the covers or beneath. Clothed or partially or not. Light on or not. Would she come to him? Or not?

  Naked beneath the covers, he couldn’t catch his breath as the dark silhouette stood framed in the cabin door for a long moment before entering. She slipped out of the sundress that had shown her like a fresh rose all through dinner. Without hesitation, she stripped until only the Night Stalker scarf was wrapped over her shoulders. The tails hanging down between her bare breasts.

  In moments she wrapped herself around him and his brain blanked.

  Her skin was everywhere, in his hands, his mouth, frozen in time on the tip of his tongue until she moaned with a timeless sound from the depths of her soul.

  Her mouth ravaged wherever it went. His mouth, his own breast, a pulling and tugging sensation he’d never imagined. Was that what a woman felt?

  Down to nibble on the soft skin of his inner thigh as she wrapped a gentle hand around him
.

  He tried to speak. Tried to give voice to the wonder. But then she’d renewed her attack and all he managed to emit was a low groan ripped from his gut.

  He finally found enough purchase and sanity to flip her onto her back. The covers were long gone, they were dressed only in moonlight. Her breasts rose magnificent, proud, dusky. He attacked. She kept pulling him in tighter. Past where he’d ever gone. Past any reasonable point of pain. She drove her chest up to his mouth with the same fierce energy she did everything.

  When neither of them could stand it a moment longer, she rolled him onto his back. He reached for a condom, which she took from his fumbling fingers. She rolled it over him agonizingly slowly, driving him to the edge.

  Then she sat up and bumped her head on the low ceiling, the bottom-side of the deck. She placed her hands palm up on the padded surface and shoved herself down on him with such a sudden force he could feel the mattress bowing beneath him. Enveloping him. Transporting him.

  He cupped her magnificent breasts, and she leaned into him so that he supported her weight on his greedy palms. They rode each other, slowly, hard and fast, held, frozen to stillness on the edge of release, slowly, so slowly again until in near madness he drove up, she drove down, and they exploded with the heat of rocket fire scorching through his body and his brain.

  Hands jammed to the ceiling, she kept him pinned in place as their bodies shuddered. Paused. Shuddered again. Wracking them both as they gasped for breath.

  When the sparks faded from his eyes, he looked up to see Kee’s eyes were still closed. He ran his hands from breasts to hips, then back up to her shoulders, and pulled her forward.

  Reluctantly she released her clenched arms from where they jammed against the ceiling. She went to roll aside, but he pulled her straight down until she lay upon his chest. Ran his hand over her hair until her head was tucked beneath his chin. Held his heart to hers as he felt her breathing slow.

  He tried to speak, tried to find a way to describe something he had never experienced, imagined, or dreamed existed.

  Sensing his intent, Kee slid a hand over his lips to silence them. So, he kissed her fingers, because he’d never have found how to give voice to a miracle for which he had no words.

  She pulled her hand back as he stroked her hair.

  He cradled her as her breathing slowed. Slowed and steadied into a sweet rhythm like a sixteenth-century Marenzio madrigal.

  His mother had been wrong, he did far more than care about her.

  He held her close as his own breathing aligned with hers and he slept.

  Kee lay in Archie’s arms, her eyes wide open, staring at the night.

  She couldn’t move her body if the entire Taliban pounded on the cabin door. Numb. Sated in a way she’d never experienced. Relaxed beyond reason. Beyond possibility. Beyond everything except, regrettably, rational thought. The Professor had offered heat for her heat. And passion for her passion. But he’d offered so much more.

  She’d tried to push him into causing pain. Pain that would chase away the feelings building from that dark place she never went to. Tried to make him do things that would make her feel he was using her. That’s where she felt safe, in the ravaging of the beast she always unleashed from men’s bodies. Familiar territory.

  But he didn’t. At first, he’d offered gentle. And when she’d refused, demanded more, he hadn’t driven her to pain. He’d ridden her right off the peak of the purest, cleanest pleasure that had ever run through her body. More powerful than a rifle shot, he’d blown right past her inner walls and spread light everywhere he went.

  Spread light into corners she’d locked away and never intended to see again. Spread hope that had failed too many times for her to trust.

  Nothing but herself.

  She’d never again trust anyone but herself. Her own skills. Her own abilities. Between one minute and the next, one second and the next, it could all be blown away. If she were dead, she’d be done and wouldn’t care. But while she lived, no one could be allowed that close, for at any instant they too could be swept aside like Anna.

  Archie, no, the Professor. More distant. More formal. Safer. Captain Stevenson… too far. That didn’t feel right after the joy they’d shared. The Professor lay still and warm beneath her. His breathing settled. His hands lax, one resting across her back, the other twined in her hair. She reached up to move the hand from her head and discovered Dilya’s braid had survived and was now wound between his fingers as he slept.

  He probably lay beneath her, dreaming of how safe he’d made her feel.

  She slipped her hand between her cheek and his chest. He couldn’t be more wrong.

  A hand to catch the tears so they wouldn’t fall on his breast and wake him.

  So that no one would know about the pain. So that no one would know about the fear.

  The fear of having something so precious to lose.

  24

  She woke tangled in the sheets. Archie must have found them sometime in the night. He’d proved happily insatiable and thankfully quiet. Her body felt worn and loose. When he’d woken, she’d focused on the sex, a safe choice. Focused on the sensation, having rebuilt her walls back in place.

  Archie claimed only modest experience, but he found several unique and highly entertaining ways to drive her over the top and down into the shuddering rotor wash behind. She’d done her best to return the favor, including raiding the pantry for a monstrous slice of apple tart. She’d ended up with sauced apple in her hair and more down her front when she’d attacked him mid-forkful, but having him lave her clean with his tongue had been worth it.

  Now the light streamed into the cabin.

  It took only moments to discover she was alone on the boat, everyone else had gone ashore. She spotted Dilya once again sand-castling, Archie crouched close by, digging out a moat. The elder Stevensons in side-by-side chairs, reading.

  Kee took a quick shower and grabbed breakfast. For lack of a better solution, she tossed sneakers, a towel, sunglasses, and her pager in a waterproof bag along with a bottle of water. She pulled on light shorts and a sports bra. At the last moment, she tossed in Archie’s favorite white dress shirt, then jumped over the side to swim ashore. SOAR fliers were never on leave without their pagers, hard to believe she’d forgotten yesterday, but Archie had his so they’d been covered. Still, it felt better having her own.

  She tried doing the sexy goddess rising from the ocean waves thing, but Archie was so intent on his moat that he missed it entirely. His father didn’t, offering a sheepish smile when his wife elbowed him.

  Archie’s morning kiss tasted of sea salt. “Sorry, I meant to watch for you so I could row out, but I, um,” he looked down at the fortified moat he’d constructed, “found myself somewhat sidetracked.”

  She patted his cheek to let him know it was okay. Dilya barely looked up from her detailed reproduction of the castle grounds done in shells and tiny stones. The girl’s visual memory was astonishing. Kee squatted to admire winding paths of packed wet sand. Stones for bushes, shells for hedges, Kee could trace where she and Betty had strolled the gardens.

  Along the back wall of the castle a line of shells created a hidden corner. A corner that, once discovered, she and Archie had taken advantage of. She’d expected a quick kiss and a round of heavy petting as the perfect appetizer to fire up her appetite. Instead, Archie had opted to slip off her sandals and give her, of all things, a foot massage. She shivered at the mere memory.

  As she watched, Dilya built a bench behind the hedgerows with a tiny scrap of driftwood. Then on it she placed two bits of twig, suggestive of two humans in each other’s arms.

  She glanced quickly at the girl, who didn’t look up. But Kee could swear the twerp was smiling. She knew that any attempt to change Dilya’s masterpiece would not be well received. Walk away, Smith. That was the best advice.

  She pulled on sneakers and shades, and tossed her pager and the water bottle in a small fanny pack. Then she kept an
eye on Archie as she slowly extracted his dress shirt and pulled it on. That snagged his attention but good. A small wave attacked his moat wall and only by luck avoided knocking him over onto the sand castle.

  With the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the shirt hung loose down to mid-thigh. She left the front unbuttoned so that it hid and revealed her running togs with each step she took. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Betty’s smile. Archie had gone past his zombie state and over to the greedy sex-demon she’d met last night. Clearly she’d been right about the look knocking his socks off. Too bad he wasn’t wearing any.

  “Want company?” He kept his voice surprisingly even for a man having trouble with the arrangement of his shorts.

  “Sure. Dilya. Dilya!” She had to call twice to get the girl’s attention. Kee pointed at the two of them and made running motions, then pointed at Dilya and the elderly Stevensons. Steve had a fat paperback with a sailing ship and a cannon on the front, Betty with her e-reader. “Dilya stay close Calledbetty.” Nothing had broken the girl of her belief that was Betty Stevenson’s proper name.

  “Dilya know. No swim if no Kee.” Then she turned back to her shell gardens. Kee, summarily dismissed, stumbled back for a moment, unsure what to do.

  Calledbetty insisted she was fine watching the girl. Kee shook her head at how attached she’d become, and they were off. Have to watch that more carefully, too. Between Dilya and the Professor, she was fighting on two fronts now. Though she had acquired an ally in Calledbetty. Last night, Betty’s tongue loosened again, by a fair amount of wine, a pleasant and immensely intelligent woman had once again emerged, one with fascinating insights into every topic that came up.

  Kee and Archie trotted slowly up the cliff, still warming up. Kee led them around the back of the castle, not up the main road. The narrow coastal road hugged the cliffs and was filled with suicidal Italian drivers. Behind the Castello, a narrow road she’d scoped out yesterday wound up into the hills. They climbed several hundred meters in the first mile. Surprised farmers and goat herders, not used to a runner in nothing but gym shorts, a sports bra, and shades, Archie’s shirt streaming out behind her, waved belatedly at them as she and Archie charged up the empty one-lane.