Angels and Ministers of Grace

by Michelle O'Leary

  Jar gave her a small smile. "You put 'em all to sleep."

  "I did what?" Anya said again, rubbing her temple. "That's impossible."

  "One would've thought," Jar murmured, her smile widening.

  "W-why? Why would I do that?"

  The three women looked at one another again, their faces equally serious. Rie sat forward and took her hand, eyes sliding into a blue as deep in color as Anya's own. "We believe you felt you had to, to prevent an attack on the station."

  Rie's hand was cool in Anya's grasp, the fine scales a silky distraction for her fingertips. She stared down at the shiver of rainbow color across the alien woman's skin and tried to comprehend how she could think herself capable of such an act. And what could have driven her to it. Questions swam in desperate circles in her mind, but she was stunned by what she'd already learned. Numb and aching, she held her tongue and watched the light play across Rie's hand with abstract interest.

  The silence was broken by the door opening. Anya looked up to see the expectant expression on her friends' faces and frowned. Now what? The people that entered the room made her heart clench with dread.

  The first person was a small woman with a brisk step and sternly beautiful features. She wore a uniform, and Anya supposed she ought to know what rank she was, but she couldn't focus. Behind her was Jason, the man who'd been the first person she'd seen upon awakening. His eyes immediately found hers and clung with a hunger that was both unsettling and intriguing. Behind them and surrounded by guards was a woman with a very familiar insignia on her collar. Her pale blue eyes were full of hate.

  Anya drew in a quick breath and tried to sit up. "Why is she here?" She stopped moving when she felt a force clamp down on her mind, concentrating her strength on keeping the telepath out. "Get out of my head!" she hissed, feeling a swell of hatred that matched the white fire in the other woman's eyes.

  At the edge of her concentration she saw Jason turn, draw his weapon, and place it with calm control against the woman's forehead. This effectively broke her eye contact with Anya. "Gently now," he murmured.

  The telepath paled, her form stiffening as she stared at him.

  With a sound that could have been either disapproval or amusement, the small woman stepped forward, addressing Anya. "This telepath is here to return your memories, Anya. Guild Member Gaul wants to return home." She paused to glance over at the telepath. "Don't you, Sarah?"

  It was amazing to Anya that a person's voice could be so soft and so threatening at the same time. She eyed the small woman with a new respect, but couldn't ignore what she'd said. "Exactly how is she supposed to do that?"

  The small woman's eyes returned to hers, the hard gleam softening to sympathy. "I'm afraid you'll have to let her in."

  "In…where? My head? Are you people nuts?" Anya felt a swell of panic close with painful pressure on her chest as she tried to control her breathing.

  "It's the only way, Ani," Jar murmured at her side, voice gentle but face cold as she stared across at the telepath.

  "She won't do it anyway. Can't you see that?"

  "Oh yes, she will," Jason responded in a tone cold as death, still staring into the telepath's eyes, weapon not wavering from her forehead.

  The woman visibly trembled at his words.

  "But I—I can't. I can't let her in my mind!"

  "You have to, dear. You deserve your memories back," the small woman said.

  "Please, Ani." Her friends murmured encouragement and pleas, but the panic rose from her chest to clutch at her throat.

  "Are you all crazy? I can't! Have you seen her eyes? She'll—"

  "Anya." Jason's voice cut across hers with implacable calm.

  When she looked up at him, his eyes were vivid, alive with dark fire. He said nothing else, but the intense demand in those eyes was clear enough. She swallowed, wondering at the shiver that cascaded down her spine. She felt Jar lean close to whisper, "You won't be sorry."

  With an effort, she pulled her gaze from Jason's and glanced at her friend, confused by the amusement she'd heard in her tone. The calm confidence in Jar's eyes decided her. She'd trusted this woman with her deepest secrets, her worst nightmares. She'd always been her steadfast calm in the storm. If Jar thought this was what had to be done, then she'd do it.

  "F-fine," she whispered, shivering with a fear she couldn't quite manage to hide.

  Rie stroked her hand with soothing fingers. "We will be here, Anya."

  "No harm will come to you, I promise," the small woman said, eyes compassionate.

  Scarce comfort when they led the telepath to her bedside. Jason had reholstered his weapon, but she noticed that he kept a hand on it and stood very close, his handsome face hard and eyes watchful. His vigilance made her feel a bit better, until she looked into the hateful gaze of the telepath again. Those pale eyes bored into her without mercy, and she trembled uncontrollably.

  "Tell her, Sarah. Tell her how safe she is in your presence."

  Anya couldn't see the small woman, but the silky danger in her tone was clear.

  The telepath's gaze wavered, and she blinked rapidly, her face whitening with fears of her own. "I—I will do my best not to hurt you. But you must relax your guard or this will be…uncomfortable," the telepath said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.

  Anya again felt her mental touch, but this time it was much more gentle. Swallowing her fear and clutching Rie's hand tightly, she released her barriers in careful degrees. It was the most terrifying thing she could ever remember doing, letting a telepath step into her mind. She'd avoided these people all of her life with a dread that bordered on superstition, knowing that the Guild had the power to utterly destroy her life and everyone she loved. According to her friends, they'd made a good effort to do just that and had nearly succeeded. Yet here she was, putting her trust in a person who had done her harm once before, who hated her with a passion that was stunning in its power.

  In spite of that, they seemed to be managing. Anya let her in slowly, and the telepath moved into her mind just as slowly. Anya could feel the wariness and animosity in the other woman, but her entry was gentle. It was when Anya felt the telepath reaching for her deepest, most innermost self that she panicked. She could feel the other woman doing something to her, and it triggered a response that was beyond her control. She began to struggle with a mindless terror, trying to push the telepath out. The woman refused to go, and what she was doing began to hurt. A lot.

  Someone cried out, and she heard Jason say, "Stop! You're hurting her!" as if from a great distance. But the pain continued, becoming a catalyst that changed her fear to a violent rage. Something down deep, some memory of malice, made her open her eyes and stare up at the telepath. Meeting those ice blue eyes, Anya stopped fighting to push the woman out. She attacked instead.

  With a gasp, the woman stumbled back from the bed, tripping over her own feet to sprawl on the floor. Her mental touch went with her, a sudden exodus that left Anya gasping with relief. She leaned over far enough to catch the woman's eye, gripping the side of the bed with white-knuckled fingers. "I remember you," she snarled, trembling with rage.

  The telepath squirmed away, but went still as Jason trained his weapon on her again. Those hate filled eyes went from him to the small woman. "You lied," the telepath said in a flat tone. "She knew nothing of what had happened to her."

  "You're right," the other said in a placid tone, taking a step over to crouch next to the telepath. "I lied." With that, she touched something to the woman's temple. Those ice-blue eyes rolled until the whites showed before she collapsed in a boneless heap.

  Anya let herself fall back against the pillows with a whimper. Her mind was on fire. Lifting a hand to her forehead, she realized that all eyes in the room were on her. "Are you all right?" someone asked, but she wasn't certain who. The room had started to spin crazily, and her brain was filled with jumbled images.

  "I'm—I don't know," she answered, wishing that the world would stop rus
hing around her like that. "My head hurts."

  "I'll get the doctor," a voice said, a familiar voice, but one she couldn't place with the flickering images.

  "What do you remember?" That was Jar, she was certain. Her worried face swam into focus above Anya.

  "I can't— It's all so broken…oh, my head." She clutched desperate fingers to her throbbing scalp and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make everything stop, to still the patterns and colors into something she could understand.

  There were more voices, but she paid them no attention until one close by said, "Sleep now. You need your rest," in a baritone. The doctor she thought…until a sweep of blackness took thought away.

  Chapter 25

  Anya woke to a dim room and a soft, mechanical murmur. Blinking up into the faint lights, it took her a long moment to realize where she was. Medical, right. But why was she here again? The answer to that took longer, and she stirred in restless impatience. At her movement, a shadow shifted closer, resolving into a man with deep, intense eyes and an anxious expression.

  "Oh," she murmured as something clicked in her mind. Without any fanfare at all, her memory was back. Every detail, from the avid gleam in the assassin's eyes to the taste of Jason's kiss.

  He settled on the edge of her bed, keeping a careful distance from her as he asked in a diffident tone, "How do you feel?"

  "Much better," she sighed, as she sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  She heard the catch in his breath and then felt the prick of tears in her eyes as his arms came around her with crushing force. A shudder went through his large frame, and Anya bit her lip to stop her tears, pressing her face against his neck and curling her fingers in his dark hair.

  They stayed that way for a long moment before Jason loosened his grip. But he didn't let her go, just hauled her onto his lap before cradling her securely in his arms again and burying his face in her hair. She had no complaints, settling against his chest with a sigh of pure contentment. She had never felt as safe and peaceful as she did in this man's arms. He filled her with a blissful warmth and tranquility that was just so—right.

  "I'm sorry I didn't remember you," she whispered, snuggling her face against his skin. And she was sorry—how could she have forgotten how this man made her feel? The memory of his stunned face above hers when she asked him who he was stabbed at her.

  "Me, too," he muttered, and she winced, tightening her hold.

  Raising her head, she murmured in his ear, "I'll make it up to you," before sinking her teeth into his earlobe.

  He inhaled sharply, his body tensing. Anya shivered as desire flooded through her, despite the ache in her head and weakness in her limbs. It didn't seem to matter in this man's arms, not when he could make her hot all over without even trying. She shifted closer, purring low in her throat as she felt his body changing under her hip. She was about to continue nibbling on his ear when he dislodged her from his lap without ceremony, surprising a squeak out of her.

  Hands firm, he pressed her back into the pillows and pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Cut it out, Anya," he said calmly, but his voice shook just the slightest bit. "You need to rest."

  "If you'll rest with me," she murmured, fighting off the blanket to run her fingers over the drawn lines of his face. "You look worse than I feel."

  Turning his head, he pressed his lips to her palm in a kiss that made a shiver run up her arm. "I'll live," he said and pulled her hand away, warm fingers curling around hers.

  He wasn't meeting her eyes, and Anya felt a faint spear of alarm. Keeping her voice calm with an effort, she asked, "Didn't you threaten to lock me up for the rest of my life?"

  "Yes, I did," he answered in a light tone, but when he met her eyes she nearly stopped breathing at the dark anguish there. "Believe me, lady, you do something like that again, and I'll make sure you never leave your quarters."

  Anya tightened her grip on his hand and smiled into his eyes, needing to kiss him so badly that it was a pain in her throat. "If you were there with me," she whispered, "I wouldn't mind a bit."

  That did it. With a swift indrawn breath, he leaned forward and touched his mouth to hers, lips moving over her own with a careful passion that drove her crazy. Sliding her fingers through his hair to rest at the back of his neck, she kissed him back with a demand that made him groan. Burying his hands in her hair, his cautious tenderness turned into a hungry onslaught of deep, drugging kisses that made her tremble from head to toe.

  But when she started pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his heated flesh again, he stopped her, tugging her hands away and sliding his mouth down her jaw to suckle at the sensitive skin of her neck. "My angel," he growled against into her throat, and a shudder went through her body at the possession in his voice. Everything in her cried yes in answer, her blood pulsing a primitive, rhythmic response, but he kept her hands from his body and sat up.

  "Jason," she breathed, but he ignored the protest in her voice, kissing each of her palms in turn before releasing her hands to stand next to the bed.

  "We can't," he murmured, stepping out of her reach as she stretched her fingers towards him.

  "Why the hell not?"

  He had the gall to grin at her exasperated tone. "You're still recovering. You need to sleep."

  "I don't feel much like sleeping at the moment," she said through clenched teeth, glaring at him.

  To her chagrin, his grin widened, dark eyes sweeping over her and setting off new fires in her blood as he murmured, "And they're monitoring the room."

  Under the heat in his eyes, it took a second for that to sink in. When it did, she felt a flush burn her face. "Oh." She cleared her throat, pulling the blanket up further. "I forgot."

  "Yes, well…" he started, but then fell quiet as if he'd lost his train of thought, eyes studying her face with a vivid intensity that speared her clean through. After a moment he shifted, his chest rising with a deep breath before he said, "I'll let you get some rest."

  He turned to go, and Anya felt a sudden sting of hurt and loss. "Jason!" she called, but when he turned back, his face was in shadow and she couldn't tell what he was feeling. And her head hurt too much to try anything with her talent. "You—you're leaving?" she asked inanely, pushing up onto an elbow.

  "I'll be back," he answered, his tone casual, though he didn't move to leave again.

  "But," she stalled, hunting desperately for some reason to keep him by her side. "I'd like to know what's been happening. With the destroyer and the Guild, I mean. Besides," she murmured, dropping her eyes to study the back of her hand intently, "I won't rest very well without you."

  There was a short silence while she held her breath and wondered what he was thinking. Then he moved, and she raised her head to see him step back towards the bed. The light caught his expression, but it was hard for her to interpret. She could have sworn she saw tenderness, and maybe relief, held together by amusement. But his tone was calmness itself as he said, "Move over, then."

  "W-what?" she asked, her heart beating out a sudden surge of longing.

  "You're not the only one who needs to rest, you know. Haven't had more than a couple hours in the past few days."

  He said it as casually as if he was discussing the weather, but she could see by the haggard lines of his face that even a couple hours was probably an exaggeration. Guilt burned like acid in her chest.

  "Oh, Jason, I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. Go to your quarters—"

  His scowl stopped her words. "I'll tell you what's selfish—hogging the whole damned bed, that's what. Move over, woman."

  "But…what about the monitors?"

  A ghost of a smile slipped by his scowl before he could catch it. "I promise to be good. I'll sleep above the covers and keep my hands to myself. Well?" he added when she blinked up at him without moving.

  Anya suppressed a smile of her own and shifted to make room for him. With smooth-muscled ease, he hooked a hip on the bed and then reclined next to her. It took les
s than a second for him to break his promise, slipping an arm under her head and turning her with proprietary strength so that her back was to him and his body curled around her, wrapping her in heat and comfort.

  "Besides," he murmured into her hair, "I couldn't get any sleep without you, either."

  With a smile of delight, she snuggled back against him and curled her hand in his, tucking it under her chin and letting out a sigh of blissful contentment. There was an edge to it, a slow throbbing ache of desire rolling in waves through her body, but it was manageable. Yes, I can sleep now, she thought as her eyes slid closed, lips still curved in a smile.

  "Got any questions, you should ask 'em now," he said in a voice slowed by fatigue. "It won't take long before I'm out."

  She considered not saying anything and letting them both slide into sleep, but once he got her thinking about it, the questions nibbled the corners off of her contentment. With an aggravated grumble, she asked, "What happened after I passed out on the destroyer?"

  "That telepath tried to wipe you. Frank shocked 'em both senseless. We locked 'em up and stuck the crew in holding while they woke up. You do something like that again and I'll beat you." Said in a sleepy mutter, the threat didn't carry much weight.

  "What about the ship?" she murmured, fighting the heaviness in her eyelids half-heartedly.

  "We've commandeered it. Working on getting enough crew to fly her. Central's in a spin, sending a squadron of ships. Captain's pissed at you for stealing her thunder. She had it planned, dramatic speech and all." He chuckled, the sound vibrating into her through his chest and the arms wrapped around her.

  She smiled in response until the meaning of his words sunk in. Her eyes popped open in alarm. "A squadron? Are you serious?"

  "Shh, s'okay," he mumbled, rubbing his face in her hair. "Wouldn't matter if it was the whole damned Fleet. Got it covered."

  "Jason…" she tried, but he was still muttering something unintelligible. Then his breathing evened out to the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. "Jason," she said again, but more to hear the reassuring sound of his name than to get a response.