Theo glared at the fire and tossed a handful of sand toward it. The flames sputtered, hissed, and flickered. “The only reason she kept me alive as a baby was so she could collect more funding from the system and keep herself high on relinquiem. Otherwise, she would’ve thrown me in the garbage.”
“Is everything all right, Theo?” Kane asked in her mind. “Your vitals roused me—”
I’m fine.
She inhaled deeply, shoving away her surge of anger. No matter how many years went by, she always felt that same impotent rage whenever she thought of the woman who’d birthed her.
“What of your sire?” Vasil asked in a low, tight voice.
“Who knows? Knocked my mom up and bailed.” She tilted her head and swept her hair in front of one shoulder, fiddling with the strands. “He was probably a junkie just like her, but I hate not knowing. Because he could’ve been a decent guy. A decent dad. He could’ve been the one to take me away and save me from all that shit.”
The remaining tension faded from Vasil’s face, leaving behind a deep, troubled frown.
“You know what’s funny?” Theo asked, but didn’t wait for Vasil to respond. “My name wasn’t even Theodora. She never really gave me a name. I was always brat, or you little shit, or you fucking kid. Once in a while, usually right after she took a hit, I was just girl. That was the best I had to hope for. I didn’t think things could get worse, not that I knew any different back then. But then she died of an overdose when I was around eight, and I got thrown into the system.”
She didn’t realize how tightly she’d been pulling on her hair until she felt a sharp pain on her scalp; she forced her fingers to relax.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said quietly. For almost twenty years, she’d tried to keep those memories at bay, but they constantly reached out to grasp at her with icy claws and drag her into the darkness. To remind her that she was frightened and alone, that she always would be.
No, not alone. There was someone else in those memories, someone with putrid breath and sweaty palms…
Vasil’s hand, its skin soft over firm muscle, settled lightly on her forearm. “You do not have to, Theodora.”
“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, flinching away from him. The pounding of her heart sent bursts of pain through her chest, and, for a terrifying moment, she couldn’t catch her breath. “Just…don’t touch me right now, okay?”
Without another word, she pushed herself to her feet and fled. She hauled herself into the pod, crumpling to the floor the instant her feet touched down. It felt like a vise was closing over her ribs. Her constricted throat limited the air she could take in, making her breaths short and ragged. The walls of the pod spun around her, teetering wildly, and she knew they’d crush her any second.
“Theodora, I need you to breathe.” Kane’s voice was commanding, projected directly into her mind. “Don’t think about anything else. Please, just take some slow, even breaths.”
Pressing her forehead against the cool floor, Theo closed her eyes. She focused on Kane’s voice and the movement of air in and out of her lungs, pushing through the tightness in her throat.
“Good. One at a time, slow and deep. You’re here, Theo. And as long as you have me, here is always the best place to be, right?”
Theo released a raspy laugh even as tears gathered behind her eyelids. “Yeah. It is.”
Drawing in deep, burning lungfuls of air, Theo blindly crawled to her toolbox and curled around it. She rested her cheek on its lid and brushed her fingertips over the etched letters there. “I miss him, Kane. I miss him so damn much.”
“You carry him with you everywhere you go, Theo. Not in that toolbox, but in yourself. You didn’t become the person you are because of the woman who gave birth to you. It was Malcolm’s guidance and your determination to be better than what you were shown as a kid.”
“I know,” she said, releasing a shaky sigh. She hated that her past still affected her like this, that it still had control over her. It didn’t hit her like this often, but…
She’d lowered the walls around her heart for a few moments to give Vasil a glimpse of her true self, of the Theo she never let anyone else see. That had been more than enough time for her memories to take advantage of her brief vulnerability.
Time crept on around her, unheeded, as she lay on the floor, clutching the only meaningful thing she owned. It was the only thing she had left of Malcolm. The only thing she had left of the one person who’d cared about her.
Tension drained from her body, and eventually sleep tugged at the edges of her consciousness.
“You know I love you, too, don’t you, Kane?” she asked quietly.
“I know. Get some rest, Theo. I’ll keep watch.”
Just before sleep claimed her, she felt a comforting hum pulse gently through her body; it was the closest Kane could come to physical touch.
Vasil stared at the pod. His chest and throat burned, and the air scorched his insides like fire when he sucked in a shuddering breath.
She’d recoiled from him and fled. It hadn’t been the sort of off-balance, uncertain reaction she’d had when he’d said he wanted her as his mate. This had been what Randall sometimes called a gut reaction — an almost instinctual reflex. But she hadn’t stopped herself even after the point at which reason would’ve kicked in to tell her she’d overreacted.
He’d reached out to comfort Theo, and she’d withdrawn in disgust.
He rose from the ground, straightening his tentacles to lift his torso upright. His body felt oddly unstable, somehow too light and too heavy at once. Moving slowly, he dragged himself toward the pod, keeping his gaze fixed upon it. The droning of the ocean seemed far-off, though he was close enough to feel sea mist on the breeze.
Theo’s voice drifted to him, too low and too distorted by the faint echo created by the pod’s interior for Vasil to make out what she was saying. But he didn’t need to know her words to understand their raw anguish and sorrow in them.
He halted halfway between the fire and the pod, clenching his fists. The tips of his claws sank into his flesh, producing numerous points of stabbing pain, but that pain afforded him no clarity, no focus.
What was she thinking, what was she feeling? Was she disgusted by him, or did he only assume she was because of the undeniable differences in their anatomies? For a little while, he’d felt the connection between them like it was a physical bond; she had been open, had been vulnerable, and he’d somehow ruined it. Whether he’d said the wrong thing, had failed to say the right thing, or she’d realized suddenly who — what — he was, this was the outcome. This loneliness despite her nearness.
Conflicting urges raged inside him. He wanted to go and take Theo in his arms, to make her understand he was here with her, for her, that she was safe. He wanted to have strength enough to let her be, to give her the space she needed until she felt ready to speak to him. But he also wanted to break something, to roar at the sky, to collapse into the sand in despair or swim away from here, wanted to carry Theo anywhere in the universe she wished to go.
Rather than release control to any of those urges, he held himself in place, close enough to hear her voice, to pick up a hint of her scent on the wind, and yet separated by an impossible distance.
Pursue your desires.
The choice belongs to the female.
He could not reconcile those concepts with each other in those long moments of uncertainty. They seemed at once in conflict with each other and somehow irreversibly interwoven.
The pod went silent. Vasil’s chest constricted anew; a cold hand clamped over each of his hearts and squeezed. The sounds of wind and sea increased in prominence without her words to hold his focus. He counted the dull thumps of his heartbeats; three, nine, eighteen, faster and faster.
Theo’s voice floated to him, little more than a murmur, a ghostly whisper claimed by the wind. She spoke only a few words before falling silent again; he couldn’t make out any of th
em.
Vasil held his breath and listened.
Seconds passed, bleeding into minutes. The wind and sea sighed together, creating an airy, haunting song. Behind Vasil, the fire popped and crackled. Unseen creatures made their night calls from within the jungle’s rustling leaves.
But no sound emerged from the pod.
Soon, his body was too hot, his skin itchy, his breath ragged. He knew too little about this situation — about Theo — to put himself at ease without checking on her. He had to know for sure.
“Theo?” he called, dragging himself closer to the pod.
When she didn’t answer, he moved closer still, struggling to ignore his rapidly beating hearts. He called her name again; again, she made no answer.
She does not want me near her. I am the last person she wants to see.
Vasil thrust that thought aside. It didn’t matter what she thought of him, didn’t matter whether she wanted him close or not — her safety was his priority. He had risked himself to stay with her pod through the storm and again to rescue her from the snatcher. He would risk himself time and again to keep Theo safe.
He just needed to know, even if it sparked more of her ire.
Without further internal debate, he climbed onto the pod. It swayed gently atop the sand as it accepted his weight.
“Theo?” he said as he raised his torso to look into the hatch opening.
The console lit up, casting a soft glow over the pod’s interior.
“What are you doing, kraken?” Kane asked quietly through the console.
Vasil’s gaze fell upon Theo. She lay on the floor, curled around a metal box with her head resting on the lid. Her eyes were closed, her expression relaxed, her breathing slow and even.
A wave of relief swept through Vasil. “She is asleep.”
“Yes, she is,” said Kane, “and you need to scurry off before you wake her.”
The computer was right. Theo must have been exhausted, and Vasil did not want to disturb her much-needed rest. And why would she be anything but angry if she woke only to find him staring at her?
“That means you need to leave,” Kane said.
Without realizing his own intentions, Vasil did move — he grasped frame around the hatch opening and drew his upper half into the pod.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kane demanded, console light flaring red.
Though the pod’s interior was roomier than he’d expected, Vasil was fully aware of the walls around him. They were too close, too tight, and the air was suddenly thin. He breathed in deeply, desperately, but his lungs were empty, and the building pressure in his chest would not allow them to fill.
He forced his attention to Theo as he slipped his tentacles into the pod. This was for her; he could endure a little discomfort. Kane spoke again, but Vasil ignored the computer. The kraken took in another breath, forcing air into his lungs, and reached down with his arms and his two frontmost tentacles.
“She doesn’t want to be touched,” Kane said.
“Quiet,” Vasil whispered. He carefully slipped his hands and tentacles beneath her, carefully distributing her weight to disturb her as little as possible. The bare skin of her arms and midsection was warm and soft against his.
He lifted Theo from the floor. Her breathing faltered, and she moaned. Vasil stilled. His hearts thumped as powerfully as they might have were he facing down a charging razorback. The pod’s interior, stained crimson in the console’s light, seemed to close in on the edges of his vision.
This is not that cell, he told himself. That cell is buried at the bottom of the sea.
Theo’s breathing evened out again.
Keeping his jaw clenched, Vasil turned her in his hold and eased her onto one of the pod’s two seats. The cushioning gave slightly beneath her weight, cradling her body in what had to be a more comfortable position than what she’d been in a moment before. With great reluctance, he withdrew his hands and tentacles, daring to draw breath only after physical contact between them had been broken. The console’s light shifted to a soft, pale blue. Vasil picked up the blanket from the other seat and draped it over Theo’s body; nights sometimes grew chilly during the wet season, and humans weren’t as capable as kraken at handling the cold.
“Now leave her to rest,” Kane said.
Vasil nodded, but his gaze lingered on Theo. He frowned at the slight indentation on her cheek. It had undoubtedly been caused by the box upon which she’d been resting. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to touch her again, to caress away all her sorrow, fear, and pain.
He hauled himself out of the pod and slid down to the sand, turning toward the fire.
“Thank you.”
Vasil paused and twisted to look back; Kane’s voice had come from the pod’s exterior, but there were no visible speakers on its surface. He didn’t waste much time contemplating it — human technology was beyond his understanding.
“I am the reason she is in this state,” Vasil said.
“What state? A living state?” Kane asked. “Yes, you’re right. She is alive because of you.”
“She is distraught because of me.”
“What did you say to her, kraken?”
A heavy weight sank in Vasil’s stomach, formed of guilt, regret, and shame. “Very little. Too little. She was telling me about her past, and I—”
“What?” Kane interrupted.
Vasil furrowed his brow, frown deepening. “She was telling me about her time on Old Earth. About her mother.”
Kane sighed; the naturalness of the sound was so great that it served as a reminder to Vasil — Kane was far more advanced than any computer on Halora.
“I’ve been with Theo for over seven years,” Kane said. “In all that time…she’s never told anyone but me about her past. Not even the few men she’s had brief relationships with.”
“And I did not provide her what she needed. I—”
“Enough, kraken. This time, you be quiet and listen to me. Theo had things rough in her youth. She’s never really healed from it, but she’s always been smart enough to avoid raising any red flags on her psych evaluations. If she told you even a little about her past, that means she trusts you, which means…” The computer released a frustrated grumble. “Which means I have to trust you, too.
“Thank you for helping her, Vasil.”
Vasil was unsure of what to say; there’d been more emotion in the computer’s words than many kraken expressed in their entire lives, and Vasil’s time among humans hadn’t taught him how to properly respond to it. He turned back toward the fire and nodded. “From the moment I first saw her face during the storm, I knew I would do anything to protect her.”
“You kraken do move fast,” Kane muttered. “I feel the same way about her. It was coded into my programming, of course, but it’s become more than that over the years. Much more. Hell, it’s even allowed me to override some of my core IDC programming.”
Closing his eyes, Vasil bowed his head and released a long breath. “You love her?” He didn’t know how it would be possible — Kane possessed no body, no physical form — but love remained a largely mysterious force to Vasil. He didn’t fully understand it, though he’d witnessed its power many times.
“Yes,” Kane replied softly.
Vasil’s chest tightened, a fire sparked in his blood.
“But not in the way you would,” Kane continued. “Theo is my family.”
The pressure within Vasil only seemed to grow, though the newly ignited flames diminished. “I understand.”
“Good. I don’t know what will develop between you two, but I want you to understand this, too: if you hurt her in any way, even a little, I will find some way to obtain a body — no matter how many natural laws or codes of ethics and morality I have to break to do so — just so I can kill you with my own hands. She is a sister to me.”
Despite everything, Vasil smiled. He would never have believed he’d one day be threatened by a computer. How could the possibility
even have occurred to him? More than that, he knew Kane would make every effort to fulfill his promise should he come to believe Vasil had harmed Theo.
“Understood,” Vasil said, pulling himself forward. “Call me if she requires anything more.”
Kane made no response.
Vasil returned to the fireside, spread his tentacles, and eased himself down onto the sand. His awareness of his surroundings slowly expanded. He’d shut out the song of wind and sea for too long today already.
But as he stared at the dancing flames, calmer and yet no less confused than he’d been before, he found no peace. Instead, his memory summoned another seaside fire from only a few nights ago, though it felt like years had passed since then — the fire at which his suspicions had finally been confirmed.
Melaina was his youngling. He’d sired her.
And he’d missed so many years of her life already.
He could not help but recall Theo’s story and relate it to his own experiences. Though he knew kraken society was different, though he knew they’d always handled younglings in their own way, he couldn’t help the comparison. Theo’s father had not been in her life, and she’d never let go of her anger, her resentment. Did Melaina feel the same way toward Vasil? Was there a relationship to be formed with his daughter, or was he too late?
He looked back at the pod.
Was there a relationship to be formed between himself and Theo?
Chapter 7
Time lost much of its meaning to Theo over the five days following her freak-out. She kept herself busy almost without fail. She explored the surrounding jungle with Kane’s assistance, foraging for more fruit and keeping her water supply topped off, always keeping an eye out for new dangers. When no pressing tasks presented themselves, she tinkered with the escape pod’s internal systems on the off-chance she’d accidentally restore the comms by tweaking the right component in just the right way.
Of course, she had no such luck. The comms were fried. Even a scrapper would hesitate in taking them off her hands.
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