by Thia Mackin
The chuckle warned me of his approach, but too late, while his hand at my back warmed and steadied me. The press of his hips and chest against mine reminded me of my earlier concern about us going into public. Then his lips covered mine. I closed my eyes and forgot everything else.
When he pulled back, his mouth resting against the corner of mine, I exhaled and forced my hands to relax on his shoulder. “Kinan, even fresh out of the stable with muck on your pants and straw in your hair, you amaze me.”
Squeezing lightly, I ran my hands down his arms to link my fingers with his. “We really need to go before I cancel our date for a night in. As much as I want to act like a normal couple for an evening, spending an uninterrupted day with you in bed sounds more and more tempting.”
He pressed his lips to my forehead before taking back one of his hands and picking up my crutches. “If we don’t eat first, our stomachs might object to us feeding other appetites. Tomorrow, though, we could work in your plan.”
Holding the front door open, he gestured for me to go first so he could set the alarms. Then he locked the deadbolt, rushed to the gate, and even caught the door to his Jeep. Once I was safely inside, he tossed the crutches into the backseat and moved to his side. A newer vehicle, the signs of general use were visible, but he obviously took care of it. I shuddered. One of my favorite things about other Planes was that I never had to ride in a steel death cage.
When he sat in the driver’s seat and buckled up, my anxiety calmed. Just his presence soothed the wildness of being trapped, and suddenly, my lungs accepted oxygen again and my heart stopped trying to escape my chest. His eyes studied me for a moment before he turned the key and shifted into first, apparently content that I wouldn’t jump out and sprint for the house. Did Mycal tell him about our trip to the gun range? Or maybe he just accepted that a fae with an iron allergy as strong as mine would be nervous. Perhaps his dad’s idea of distraction as a calming technique might work on him better than it did on me.
“Have you always lived in New Mexico?”
He glanced at me. “I trained my Gift in the Sirach Sithen in Wales for a few years. As an adult, except for attending West Point and my duty stations afterward, I have only lived here.”
“Those don’t count. You didn’t have a choice, really, of where you lived when Uncle Sam dictated it.”
“Not untrue,” he agreed, checking his rearview mirror.
I avoided looking in the mirrors or anywhere that might make my fear worse, alternating between staring out the windshield and watching Rankar. “What did you enjoy about the service?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. “The brotherhood, mostly. I felt like I was part of something bigger, engaging in the traditions and traveling the world.”
Thinking back on my most recent assignment, I sighed. “You don’t have that, not to that extent, in my line of work—except maybe with the person guarding your back. Sometimes, I don’t even know the names of all of the guards. You—you learned your unit’s skills and weaknesses. I might only find out too late to protect them.”
Someone swerved over, nearly clipping our front bumper. Rankar slowed slightly; they accelerated and moved forward. My fingers dug into my thigh, and I concentrated on keeping my breathing even until the jerk was out of sight. Though he looked at me a couple times, Rankar didn’t ask if I was okay, and I appreciated his reserve.
On an exhale, I slid my hand across the distance between our bucket seats, under his arm to rest on his thigh. The simple contact finished righting my equilibrium, and my body relaxed into the seat again. As the road stretched before us, he set his right hand over mine and squeezed lightly. “So what do you like about working as a mercenary?”
The yellow lines in the center of the road flashed by as I stared. “The variety. I meet hundreds of different people, see dozens of different places, and almost never stand in the same spot twice. Each mission lasts months to a year, rarely longer. Then I’m on to a different adventure somewhere new with another culture.” I looked at him, pressing my hand down on his thigh. “People don’t get attached, that way. And they don’t end up dead because of some curse following me.”
Rankar said nothing, but I heard his voice inside my head. I need you to try to believe that my family knows how to survive.
And I had no choice. I had to believe, because I was too attached to walk away now.
The steakhouse loomed ahead of us, and he backed into a parking spot near the door. Before I finished unbuckling my seatbelt, he held my door open with crutches in hand.
“Thank you, Rankar,” I murmured, allowing his hand to rest on my elbow as he helped me out. The heat from his palm burned at the small of my back as we made our way inside. His eyes scanned the parking lot; mine mostly watched the ground in front of me to make sure I didn’t trip over the pavement. I trusted him to keep us safe.
The hostess seated us a respectable distance from the door, assisted by how few customers were eating at four in the afternoon. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner… unless you slept a couple hours after noon.
We quietly browsed the menus until the waitress appeared. He asked after their selection of dry red wine, settling on Cabernet Sauvignon. I wrinkled my nose at him before offering my choice. “Any sweet red that won’t overpower my steak.”
The waitress grinned, but she left to give us—me, really—more time to decide. When she returned with two waters and a dish of steaming rolls, I flipped a mental coin and decided on the petit filet. Rankar chose the ribeye, medium rare. As soon as she collected the menu, I snaked my hand across the table to capture his. He smiled at me, squeezing my fingers.
“Thank you for coming out with me tonight,” he murmured, rubbing the cool tips of my fingers between his palms. Though the temperature outside was comfortable, my extremities stayed chilled since my injury, and the warmth caused me to sigh.
“Thank you for not shooting me down. I’ve never asked a guy on a date before. It would have been devastating.” I winked at him, in case he didn’t hear the playfulness in my tone. The heat in his eyes caught my breath, and I checked to make sure no one was close by. “Rankar, whatever you are thinking, I’m pretty sure it is inappropriate in a public space.”
His laughter lit a fire low in my stomach. “Kinan,” he murmured, bringing my cold fingertips to his warm lips, “whatever you are thinking, I’m pretty sure it is equally as inappropriate.”
Trying to contain the grin at his accuracy, I shook my head—not in denial, but at his cheekiness. “You were warned before we left the house about my thoughts.”
He breathed over my hand, enclosing the slightly warmer fingers in his to keep them that way. Whatever he was going to say, he paused as the waitress brought the glasses of wine and his salad. She stopped, allowing us to taste the vintages to make sure they were up to standard, leaving once we sipped and thanked her.
“Where was your favorite place to travel?” Rankar asked, switching his fork from his dominant left hand to his right to reach over and take my free right hand.
I took a bite of a roll and chewed slowly, thinking over my answer. “Teharo is my least favorite place. I was there as translator for two hours, and I almost died at least three dozen times. Only twice by people.”
The Teharan Plane made Australia look like a trip to the beach. The temperature varied from volcanic to frozen wasteland with zero in-between, and basically every creature wanted to kill me. However, both native breeds of demon—Tuveri and Tulevi—spoke different dialects of the same language, and not a lot of outsiders learned it. It made me popular.
“You speak Tulevri?” he asked.
“I do. Tulevri, Chegori, Raspea, Lonican, Ferente, Barcivi, both dialects of Aclana, Dravic, over a dozen Terran languages, and probably a few I’ve forgotten.”
He responded in Ferente. “I only speak Tulevri badly.”
I grinned, happy we had a non-Terran language in common, and responded in kind. “The hard consonants and guttural speech of Teharo’s
language definitely contains some of the most difficult sounds to produce with our vocals. For example, Raspea would say ‘A Evo Ra’ and Tulevri ‘Mahalraka kitasinu varhakohev’.” I paused to clear my throat, taking a sip of the water. “Raspea has the fluid vowel sounds of Italian. Teharan sounds like Polish mixed with dogs fighting.”
He laughed. “My second- and fourth-in-command are both Tuveri, and our stablemaster is Tulevi. I don’t disagree with your opinion.”
“They might.” I smiled. “Back to your original question, Elysii is probably my favorite, if I had to choose. The diversity there outweighs all other Planes, even in criminal behavior…”
“Kinan, what is something else about you that I don’t know?”
I used my free hand to bring the glass of wine to my lips. “I—” love you, too. “—have never set foot inside a Sithen.”
Surprise crossed his face for a moment, but he hid it behind a bite of salad. “Your parents never took you? Or your uncle?” He’d reverted back to English.
I reached for a roll to keep my hands busy as the recent dream resurfaced. My fingers made small indentations in the soft bread, and I ripped it apart. Then I tore the half into a fourth. “My parents died when I was young, and my uncle was not fae. Related by love, not blood,” I admitted in Ferente to prompt him to do the same.
He nodded. “Have you ever tried to find out what Sithen your family hails from?”
“No. I wouldn’t know where to begin, really. Your family is the most Tuatha de Danaan I have ever met.” The words trailed off, and the realization hit that Eliecha knew my parents; she’d know what Sithen they had left to travel the Terra Plane. I carefully chewed before washing the bread down with another sip and changing the subject. “Random, I know, but your dad is soulsiblings with a man who has adopted me as a lost waif in need of hugs, home-cooked meals, and the occasional lecture about taking better care of myself.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Triswon? He’s a good man to be friends with.”
“He’ll coax away more than his fair share of pie, but he and his wife are a lot like your parents.” I smiled at the comparison. Eliecha was psychic; Karyn was intuitive. Both Mycal and Triswon were protectors. Very similar. “I am not sure you or I would like the person I would have become if I hadn’t bumped into his wife after Uncle Dukon died. And I’d be dead if I hadn’t dropped on your parents’ stoop. The Goddess favors me more than I deserve sometimes.”
Rankar squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Kinan.”
I returned the gesture. “I’m happy to be here with you.”
A tray on her shoulder, the waitress approached with our food. I stole my hand back to move the shredded pieces of roll and the glass. Setting the tray on the empty table nearby, she checked the dishes before placing them in front of us. “Does everything look correct?”
My petit filet was surrounded by a baked potato larger than my fist and a healthy serving of grilled asparagus. As he’d requested, his potato was piled generously with sour cream. “Perfect,” he assured her, cutting into his steak. Knowing I could eat mine cooked anywhere on the meat spectrum, I agreed.
When I cut it open, though, the meat was exactly the right amount of pink. The bite of potato melted in my mouth, and the asparagus had just enough seasoning. “I strongly approve of your choice of restaurant,” I commented before plopping another slice of steak in my mouth.
He waited until I finished chewing and offered me a bit of his ribeye. Self-consciously, I accepted the bite off his fork. The well-marbled flavor distracted me, though, and I closed my eyes to better enjoy it. Finishing, I reciprocated, and he accepted the slice of filet. My eyes lingered on his mouth as he chewed, finally going back to my plate when he smiled.
I finished chewing before prompting in Ferente, “By the way, you never answered your own question earlier. What is something about you that I don’t know?”
“I juggle.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You what?”
“Juggle,” he repeated, grabbing the three rolls in the center of the table and putting on a quick performance.
I hummed “Entry of the Gladiators” under my breath until he dropped them back in the basket. Then I quietly applauded. “Very impressive. You could definitely join the circus if you decide you no longer want to protect a large compound full of interplanar people and horses.”
He half-bowed in his seat. “Glad you approve.”
I eyed him. “How many weapons do you have on your person right now?”
“Four knives—including one in each boot—and one gun. You?”
“Three knives—one in each boot plus the base of my wristlet contains a switchblade—and one gun. And my belt has a garrote, but if I need it, I better have at least a minute to prepare. I’ve only used it once, and the belt wasn’t being worn when I realized it would be the quietest option.” I tipped my glass to him. “So you, sir, win the award for being more armed.”
He touched his nearly empty glass to mine. “I notice you didn’t say ‘better armed.’”
Grinning, I shrugged. “To properly assess that, I’d actually have to see the weapons. This probably isn’t the time or place for that, so we’ll settle on the former.”
The waitress approached, taking my empty plate and asking if either of us wanted more wine. Rankar nodded, but I refused. My glass was still half-full, and I already felt like I ate a bite too many. With our metabolism, it would take much more than a couple glasses to dull his senses. However, I’d rather not fill up completely on the sweet alcohol.
Rankar tilted his head, studying me for a second. “What?” I asked, touching my face to make sure I hadn’t spilled something. Was the dang eyeliner smearing?
“You carry modern weapons, some of the best on the market. Why do you dislike other modern technology so much—phones, automobiles, and such?”
For a moment, I tried to remember what triggered my anxiety of riding in vehicles. After all, we had traveled all over the United States in Dad’s truck when I was too young to remember. We had flown to Germany, and I remembered my excitement as we boarded the airplane. What had changed? Nothing came to mind.
“I don’t know, honestly. I guess it started once I began traveling the Planes at eighteen. I’d come back from a year off-Terra and see all these new gadgets that I didn’t understand and could live just fine without… Perhaps I don’t dislike technology. I just don’t want it or need it. And I’d rather Gate than ride in a vehicle any day. It is faster, and I don’t feel the tingle of all that iron surrounding me.”
Rankar nodded, finishing the last bite of his steak and sliding the plate to the edge of the table. Just in time, as the waitress approached with his glass of wine and a slice of cheesecake covered in strawberries. “Compliments of the house,” she offered, setting it between us with two spoons. “You two are so adorably in love that you’ve warmed the place.” She moved away after asking if we needed anything else.
A blush heated my cheeks. She wasn’t entirely wrong. Rankar’s Gift of Fire literally brought the temperature up in the room. His presence was what earned us the free dessert. Shivering slightly, I realized it did give me the perfect excuse.
Scooting to the edge of the bench, I slid out and limped the two steps to his side. The crinkle at the corner of his eyes as he held in his objection to my walking without the crutch was totally worth the comfortable heat that washed over me as I rested my right hand on his leg. “Look at you. Brightening the room and getting us a sweet!”
He rubbed his hand over my arm, bringing it to rest on my wrist. “My presence alone has never scored me a free dessert, Kinan. You can’t credit my Gift with this one.”
Lifting a cheesecake-covered spoon to his mouth, I raised a brow. “The only complimentary desserts I get are from Elie, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count with family.”
He accepted the bite, following it with a sip of wine as he watched me take one myself. I swallowed, and he leaned forward and kis
sed me. The dry wine mixed with the sugary sweet and the utter deliciousness that was Rankar. Closing my eyes, I turned toward him in the seat while ignoring the twinge in my leg. Goddess, he tasted good.
He moved his lips to my cheek, chuckling softly. “We can safely assume, then, that we earned it as a couple… why don’t you finish it and we’ll head out?”
Another bite covered some of the awkwardness I felt, but he shook his head at my offer of a second spoonful, drinking his wine instead. “I don’t eat many sweets. If I’m really craving something sugary, I’ll go for a piece of fruit before I go for candy. I’ll sometimes do Mexican chocolate because it’s less sweet and has the chile pepper in it.”
I savored the next bite. “I adore sweets, especially from other Planes. Though my favorite is blackberry pie. Wild blackberries, not tame ones. So much sweeter.”
The waitress approached with the ticket, setting it on the edge of the table. She cleared away the empty wine glasses and walked away. I checked the balance, slipped enough US currency in the black book to cover the total and a generous tip, and moved out to get my crutches. His hand balanced me as I bent over to grab the one that had fallen.
I nodded and smiled at the waitress as I crutched by, and she waved. Near the Jeep, I paused as he opened the door for me and took the crutches to slip in the back. Slightly hidden behind the door, I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Hey, Rankar?”
“Hrm?” He rested his chin on top of my head.
“Thank you. This was nice.”
“My treat next time. And when you are steady on two feet, maybe we can go dancing?”
I grinned against his chest. “As long as you don’t mind that I can’t dance.”
His laugh made my heart beat faster. “I just want to hold you close as often as possible.”
“Deal,” I murmured, squeezing him tighter.
He returned the embrace then helped me in. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 14
We were on the main road when Rankar slowed and pulled onto the shoulder. He turned in the seat, facing me. My heart stuttered at his serious expression. “Kinan, would you like to see my house?”