Renegade

by Justine Davis

  And the never-rattled, rarely moved, icily cool Caze Paledan shattered, shouting her name in a triumph he had never felt even on the wildest of battlefields as he poured himself, body, heart, and soul into her.

  And when he sank down atop her, trembling, he knew that however he might put the pieces back together, he would never be the same again.

  Chapter 57

  “THE ILLUSION IS gone. I’m afraid I lost my focus,” Lana said, sounding not at all concerned. In fact, she sounded rather pleased.

  Paledan was not at all certain how he felt, other than utterly, completely drained. At this moment, when it should be least likely, for they lay naked and exposed in this quiet glade, he felt . . . he felt . . .

  “It’s called peace, Caze,” she whispered to him.

  No longer surprised that she knew what he’d been feeling, his brain automatically called up the meanings of the word. Not the meanings from his world, such as lack of hostilities, but from hers. Like a checklist he went through them. Calm. Quiet. Stillness. Tranquility.

  Yes. They all fit. Which left him feeling something else. Something he’d seen in her, despite what should have been a dangerous, precarious existence.

  Serenity.

  “Is this . . . what it is always like for . . . normal people?”

  “Yes, and no.” Despite himself he laughed. It was such a Lana answer. And she smiled back at him. “That,” she said, “is a sound I would like to hear often.”

  “And that is not an answer.”

  “No, it was not. For I’m afraid I cannot answer that. I have never been . . . normal, even for my people.”

  “Because of your powers.” She nodded. He frowned. “You did not . . . use them, here, now?”

  She sat up abruptly. Reached out and grabbed his hands. “I would never. Not like this, not between us. That is a time that is sacred to all Ziemites, when all façades are cast away, when the sharing is of your true self, sometimes only revealed in those moments.”

  He was staring at her. “It is . . .”

  “Exhilarating? Breathtaking?” Oh, yes, all of that. The memory of the heat they’d kindled together swept him. She was watching him, and he somehow knew she was trying to put herself in the place of someone who had never experienced what they just had. “Frightening?” she added softly.

  He couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t, because it seemed it would lessen the power of what they had found. “Yes. And . . . explosive.”

  Her smile widened into a joyous thing. “Indeed. Rather more than I have ever experienced.”

  And her words gave him nearly as much pleasure as her body had.

  LANA WATCHED AS a very male smile curved his mouth. That mouth that both tenderly tasted her and voraciously demanded her fullest response. That smile sent a rippling wave of need through her, and she nearly gasped with the power of it. What she had known with Torstan was not less than this, it was merely different. She had loved her children’s father since she had been old enough to understand, but he was a very different sort of man, solid, atten­tive, and reserved by nature until stirred beyond passion by the invasion of his beloved world.

  She suspected Caze Paledan was reserved only by dint of a lifetime of brutal Coalition restraint, not by his nature. And she could feel him breaking free on all fronts with a speed and power that astonished her, although upon reflection she supposed it should not. He was a powerful man in so many ways; it should not have surprised her he would take down the walls he’d lived inside with the same fierce energy that he unleashed on everything.

  Including her.

  “If you keep looking at me like that, we shall end up starting all over again.” His voice held the mildest of warnings.

  “Then you had best begin, for I have no intention of looking away from the most beautiful sight I have encountered in an age.”

  She was secretly delighted to see the flare of pleasure in his eyes, as much because he allowed it as that she had caused it. He was not simply scaling those walls, he was ripping them down. But when he spoke, it was in obvi­ously genuine curiosity.

  “You are not in a hurry to rejoin your people?”

  “I am in a hurry,” she said frankly, “to rejoin with you. Although I would also hazard to say you are one of those people, now.”

  He looked momentarily distracted. “I doubt they will feel the same.”

  “Some already do.” She settled back against him, taking private joy in him putting his arm around her to cradle her against his chest, for she knew that for this man, the gesture was anything but small. “But I do not deny it will take longer for those who have lost everything to the Coalition.”

  “Young Kade, for instance?” he suggested.

  “Yes. And others. But there are a few even of them who understand. Brander and Kye, for example, lost everyone and everything. And yet Brander was the first to determine you were not like most others of the Coalition we’d encountered.”

  “I think he only looked twice because he was not used to being defeated at the chaser table,” he said dryly.

  She laughed, and was pleased to see him smile in return. “Contention valid,” she agreed. “And I’m sure he is looking forward to renewing that competition.”

  “As am I,” he said, and now he looked surprised, perhaps at his own re­al­ization.

  “It will be a long journey to get all to trust you,” she warned.

  “I assumed nothing less.” He hesitated, then said, “I have done things, many things, to deserve their mistrust. Not here, perhaps, for this was all new to me, but still . . .”

  “One thing you will find true of Ziemites. They believe in second chances. They will not easily tolerate being taken for fools, but redemption is a cornerstone of our culture. Which is,” she added, “a very good thing for me, for I had much to be forgiven.”

  “But you are one of them.”

  “As were, until they abused the privilege, Ordam and Jakel.”

  She felt him go still beneath her cheek. “I am not certain I like the an­alogy.”

  She lifted her head so she could meet his gaze straight on as she said, “I made it only to show you the extent of our tolerance. If we can accept the likes of those two, then a courageous, honest, just man such as you should have no problem, in the end.”

  He stared at her. “You give me too much praise.”

  “I do not,” she said simply. And then, unable to wait any longer, she reached for him. “Although if you do not ease this ache soon, I might have to reconsider,” she teased, and was delighted that he knew it instantly. And she thought his smile then, a quiet, almost shy smile, the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen.

  And then he slid her on top of him, giving her the freedom of his body. And she took it, and him, with a fierce pleasure she had never expected to find, doing everything she had wanted to do for so long, touching every­where, urging him to touch in turn, learning as quickly as he did how to stoke this fire that threatened to consume them both.

  And when she could wait no longer she changed the angle, leaning closer to him as his hips drove upward. It was the final stroke she needed, and her body clenched, launched on that spiraling upward flight. She heard him groan out her name, that name, and he clutched at her like a man clinging to the only thing that mattered in his life.

  And she knew no matter what else happened, she would treasure this to the end of her days.

  “YOU’RE CERTAIN?”

  “As I can be,” Iolana said, not really wishing to tell her son how she knew, but knowing this was crucial. “I have . . . seen his mind, Drake. Specifically, the portion still occupied with Coalition concerns. Which, I might add, is much, much smaller already than it used to be. I’m afraid normal emotions have overtaken much of it.”

  “And how is he dealing with that?” her so
n asked, rather warily.

  “Better than I expected. He is very quick to learn.”

  “We have ever known that.”

  “What overlays all of his thoughts of them is loathing, and a certain sadness that I think is both for what was taken from him and the needless execution of a good man.” She lowered her gaze, for this had bothered her. “I feel in part responsible. Had I not told Caze what I had sensed, he would not have had Brakely investigate those records.”

  “You are not responsible,” Drake said, sharply. “Rather blame the mon­strosity that would both create a need for such records and then execute a good man for merely looking at them.”

  She knew he was right, but she also knew how much pain Brakely’s death had caused Caze. And how much guilt for it he himself carried. She knew everything, for whether knowingly or not, when he had opened himself to her physically, the mental walls had fallen as well. And being Caze, he had done it completely, sparking her own opening to him, and together it had nearly consumed them.

  “I . . . see.”

  She snapped out of a luscious haze of images, highlighted by the memory of that strong, beautiful man driving into her body with his, his skin dappled by the shadows of the glade, and the moment when one look at the open, honest amazement and wonder in his green eyes had sent her flying.

  Cheeks flaming, she looked at Drake, who was studying her intently. “I . . .” She could think of no words. Not for this man who was the son of the only man she had thought she would ever love.

  “I will say only that neither I, nor I think Eirlys—and certainly not the twins, since they clearly adore him—begrudge you what happiness you can find in what is left to us.” His mouth quirked. “Even if it is with the former commander of our enemy.”

  “You believe me, then?” she asked with some urgency. “That it is indeed former?”

  “You have yet to be wrong.” He gave her another considering look. “But your emotions have not been entangled in this way, either. It would be very difficult for you if he is not truly changed.”

  “He is. Brander was right from the beginning; he was only one of them by circumstances of birth and by force.”

  Drake nodded. “I believe it. That he would so easily give himself up to save the twins . . .”

  “Remind you of anyone?” she asked, smiling at him, knowing she didn’t need to truly remind him that he had done the same for his sister.

  “But he is not theirs by blood.”

  “But he is theirs by their choice.”

  “And yours?” Drake asked softly.

  She drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “And he feels the same?”

  Her mouth quirked wryly. “Yes. Although I am not certain he has sorted it all out yet. He’s a bit . . . bewildered by it all at the moment.”

  “I can imagine. Falling in love with the Spirit would be daunting enough, but to do so when all such feeling has been beaten down in you your entire life? You will have to tread carefully.”

  “I intend to handle it with great care,” she said, the color that rose to her cheeks defeating her effort to sound merely practical.

  “If it has so stripped even the Spirit of her power to hide her thoughts, then it must be both real and immense,” Drake said dryly. “And now, if you don’t mind, we’ll end this discussion of my mother’s mating intentions. Although,” he added, “I suspect you’re well past intent.”

  Something struck her suddenly. “And you,” she said accusingly, “are en­joying this.”

  Her son grinned then, widely. “I am. And I am looking forward to jabbing at the major—rather, the former major, the same way.”

  “I think you will find him . . . more relaxed than before,” she said, rather archly.

  Drake groaned. “Mother . . .”

  “Perhaps it is being . . . out of uniform,” she added.

  “Enough,” Drake exclaimed.

  Iolana laughed, more delighted at teasing her eldest son, who had exceeded even her dreams for him, than at anything except what she had found so unexpectedly with Caze.

  And it was with some reluctance that she let him go, knowing that this encounter would and should be between two warriors who needed to take each other’s measure in a very different way than they had before.

  Chapter 58

  CAZE WAS STILL contemplating the latest impossibility, that this warm, spacious cave, turned into a welcoming, comfortable place by various cushions and weavings, was the same place he had been during those long, agonizing hours. Although after what he had seen down by the river, the illusion of his office seemed rather simple. And he still did not know for certain where he was, for understandably he had been masked for the journey back to this place. All he knew was that it was one of their bedamned mountains. And he was beginning to suspect, from the surprising warmth of it, that it was—insanely—the mountain that still lived.

  The only thing he was sure of, because he could practically feel her pre­sence, was that this was Lana’s home. And that she had brought him here had set off a new war inside him; here because she wanted him in her home, or here because it did not matter if he saw it because she had the power to erase his memories?

  A small shudder went through him as he caromed off of that thought to another battle; should the Raider decide to oust him but let him live, would his life be easier with or without the memories of their time in that sheltered glade?

  And when did you begin searching for an easier way? Besides, it would not be letting you live; the Coalition is after your head now.

  He spun around at a sound from the entrance. When Drake entered, it did not surprise him. That it was indeed Drake, not the Raider, did. And suddenly, belatedly, it struck him anew that the woman who had so completely undone him was this man’s mother.

  “Yes,” Drake said with a wry smile, “things have gotten rather compli­cated, haven’t they.”

  It wasn’t a question, and Caze realized he knew. The idea that Lana had told her son about what had happened between them was both gratifying and terrifying. For he had not even had time to process the enormity of it, the shock of realizing everything he’d been taught about relations between men and women, that it was a need akin to scratching an itch, far from essential and with no lasting connection formed, had been a lie.

  “I hear you have met our clever engineer, as you wished to,” Drake said. The man who had done so much with so little leaned against the table at one side of the room in a casual, relaxed posture. Belatedly—as everything seemed to be at the moment—he registered what the man had said.

  “I have?” And then the inevitable hit him. “Kalon?”

  Drake nodded. “He is much like you. He is not our best pilot, but his modifications make him worth more than a squadron of them. I would wager he can turn one of your rovers into a fighter-bomber faster than the Coalition can build one.”

  “He would have to be very fast, since they have production for even the larger craft down to mere weeks.”

  “I shall have to toss that challenge to my engineer.”

  “Whose acting skills rival your own,” Paledan said dryly.

  Drake grinned. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings. His façade was much closer to his real self than mine.”

  For a moment Caze could only stare at the man. He’d never seen this side of him before. He’d never seen a side like this in any commander before. Such banter was not present in the Coalition, and the only laughter he ever heard from their leaders was in mockery. Of course, none of them would have had feelings in the first place. And now he himself had so many he could not even sort them out. He didn’t even have names for some of them.

  But Drake’s words made him slowly smile.

  “I think I am relieved, but I am not certain.”

  “I imagine you’
re not certain of much right now. Having spent your life with emotions hammered out of you, and now . . .” Drake gave him an empathetic shake of his head.

  “You are not . . . angry?”

  Drake lifted a brow at him. “Now? No. As long as you do no harm, you will have a place here. If you damage our cause—or my mother’s heart—that will be another matter.”

  Caze felt uncomfortable in a way he’d never known before. Again. He asked the first thing that came into his whirling mind. “She no longer masks this place from me.” Drake smiled, almost serenely. And Paledan realized the foolishness of his comment. “For if you will it, she will turn me into another Jakel, with no memory of any of this. Or of myself.”

  “I would not do that to such as you. Better a commander’s death, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” he said rather fervently.

  For a moment Drake studied him in silence. Then, quietly, he said, “Do not think I underestimate the enormity of what you have done. I have only to imagine turning my back on Ziem to fathom it.”

  “There is a difference. You have ever been certain of the rightness of your way, have you not?”

  Drake smiled then. “And you, deep down, have ever doubted the Coalition.”

  “Not ever,” Caze said, feeling a need to be utterly honest with this man.

  “But you have always felt something missing.”

  “Yes. But I did not truly doubt the rightness of the Coalition until—”

  He broke off suddenly as a now-familiar pain stabbed at him.

  “Until?”

  He finished it in a harsh voice. “Until I saw Marl Brakely awaiting exe­cu­tion for the mere fact of being connected to his uncle, who was executed for his own commander’s mistakes and failures although he was blameless.” And he ended up dead anyway, because of me.