by JC Cassels
It hadn’t been that long ago.
He’d tried sleeping but the nightmares came back. Awake, he couldn’t shake the memories. Drinking seemed the only reasonable course of action left to him.
The fragile young woman, pale and small in his bed, should never have been exposed. No one should ever be exposed to ditoxicin. His stomach clenched as he thought about it again. With a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, he reached for the drink on the table beside him. Holding it up to the dim light, he studied the potent amber liquid for a long moment.
It was almost the same color as her eyes. Turning the glass first one way then the other, he tried not to think too deeply about that. It was hard not to.
Pushing the thought away, he closed his eyes and drank deeply, as if he could wash away his nightmares. Once he’d drained the glass, he pressed it against his temple in a futile effort to cool his hot skin.
One by one, ditoxicin had taken his team. He’d had nothing in his medipak to stop the toxin’s progress as it burned its way through their bodies. The stasis field generator hadn’t lasted long enough. He’d watched helplessly as their lungs had congealed. It was pure dumb luck that he’d been rear guard on that patrol. Not even the pilot they’d gone in to retrieve had long survived the attack.
They’d been as close as brothers. Watching their conditions deteriorate, knowing that the same fate awaited him, and then by a miracle being located and treated before it was too late – that was his own personal hell. He hadn’t been able to talk about it. No one could comprehend the horror of it, least of all his brother, so he hadn’t even tried to explain it. When he’d shown up at Chase’s door, he hadn’t been sure if he wanted to live or die. Ditoxicin was a nightmare – his nightmare.
He’d thought he’d left it all behind him. One way or another, the Inner Circle was determined to drag him back, no matter how he tried to escape them.
He should have snapped Larianne’s neck right there on the dance floor. If he had, he’d probably be home in bed with some ambitious holofeature actress by now instead of sitting here in the dark holding vigil over a Joy Babe who had been near-fatally poisoned.
No, he corrected himself. Not a Joy Babe. Joy Babes didn’t blush. Her reactions to him had been honest and unrehearsed. She wanted him and that had nothing to do with his name or his occupation. She wanted him.
He’d watched her flirt with Tennova. She was smooth, practiced, accomplished, just like any Joy Babe or covert agent he’d ever seen in action. But standing there against the window, she’d reminded him of a wild thing, wary and poised for flight, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and keep her safe from whatever it was that had her so frightened. Then when she’d come through the door of the dance club, she’d looked desperate to escape something. When she’d homed in on Tennova, the calculated look on her face had been his undoing. He didn’t care what she’d been ordered to do. Men like Tennova destroyed women like her all the time. He’d be damned if he’d let that happen here. What it all boiled down to was that she belonged to him, and he took care of his own. That damn primal response had him tied up in knots. Now to figure out what the hell to do about it.
Something about this whole assignment was off. It smacked of a setup. First, agents with tarnished service records, second, ditoxicin, in the small aerator, made it the kind of assassin’s tool that bypassed most security checks. If there was an assassin on board, who was the target? Had his past finally caught up with him? He was going to have his hands full keeping Chase safe in that case. Maker help him, he really didn’t need to add another person to his list of family to protect. Whether he needed it or not, she was there and he would protect her… with his last breath, he would protect her.
Her breathing changed. His eyes opened and he watched her carefully. She drew one deep breath after another, stopping when she winced. Slowly, underneath the covers her hand reached over and touched her side. Coolly, she took inventory of her condition. Watching her unguarded expressions, he knew by her frown when her wandering fingers found the synthiflesh patch. He also knew when she realized that she lay naked under the sheet.
His lips quirked in admiration. He revised his opinion of her. She assessed her condition like someone accustomed to waking up injured.
She lifted a hand to her face, touching the respirator mask. Her wandering fingertips moved higher to the bandages over her eyes and stopped there.
Slowly, painfully, she reached for the edge of the bed, searching for the controls that would summon help from the medic on call. He waited patiently for it to dawn on her that she was not in a medical bed. When he read that understanding in her expression, he smiled to himself and set his empty glass aside with a loud click that echoed through the quiet room like a gunshot.
She stiffened and grew very still as she tried to identify the sound.
“Good, you’re awake,” he said. Slowly, stiffly, he rose from the overstuffed chair he’d slept in for the past two nights and moved to the bedside.
She lifted the mask from her face. “Lav,” she rasped.
“You need to go to the lav?” he asked.
She nodded.
He removed the mask and gently brushed her hair from her face. Her skin reddened by the ditoxicin, she was still beautiful.
Sliding one arm under her, he easily lifted her to the edge of the bed. She awkwardly swung her legs over the side. A becoming flush spread across her face and shoulders. Ducking her head, she modestly tried to cover her breasts with her arm.
His lips twitched. Her modesty came a bit late. He doubted there was a millimeter on that beautiful body he hadn’t seen and touched when he washed all the ditoxicin from her skin.
He reached for the shirt he’d tossed across the back of the other chair earlier. As much as he hated to cover her, she would feel more comfortable wearing something. The shirt would still provide him with easy access to the synthiflesh patch.
There was something proprietary about dressing her in his clothes. With her awake and responsive, it was much more challenging to maintain the façade of professional detachment. He draped the soft, supple garment around her shoulders. With his help, she managed to stuff her arms into sleeves that were much too long for her. Her fingers fumbled for the fasteners and he brushed her hands aside. He fastened the shirt closed for her and rolled up the sleeves before he helped her to her feet.
“Take it easy, now…”
With one arm around her waist, he steadied her. She gripped his other hand tightly, waiting for her legs to stabilize underneath her.
“You got it?”
At her nod, he slowly stepped back, pulling her with him. Her entire body trembled with the effort it took as she followed him, leaning heavily on his arm.
He knew firsthand the tremendous leap of faith she was taking by allowing him to help her. His lips twisted in amusement. He only hoped that when he’d been in her position, the medic helping him to the lav hadn’t been enjoying himself quite as much as Blade was now. She felt good in his arms, pressed up against him.
“Now, I’m going to lead you, just like this. I’m not going to let you fall.”
She frowned as she concentrated on the simple act of walking. He found her utterly irresistible. Leaning close to her, he breathed deeply, taking in her elusive scent.
He guided her to the lavatory, waiting patiently while she relieved herself. As soon as she had finished, he slipped one arm around her and took her hand, leading her back to the bed.
She probably didn’t realize who helped her. He sensed it in her wariness. The wild thing he’d gentled in the embarkation lounge hovered on the brink of flight even now. He could afford to be patient.
She coughed and winced, doubling over with the pain. He stopped and patiently waited. She reached gingerly for her side and the synthiflesh patch. Her brow furrowed.
“Your left lung started to fill with fluid,” he explained. “I had to drain it. That’s why your side hurts.
“Are you a h
ealer?” she asked. Though her voice was still rough from her injury, she spoke with a definite Second Sector accent that hadn’t been there before. There was a slightly awkward fullness on her vowels. Though she spoke Basic well, it was obviously not her native language.
His brow furrowed. Had she been playing him? Could she really be that good?
He nudged her back into motion towards the bed. “I’m a medic.”
“The ship’s medic?”
“No,” he said.
“You’re pretty well-equipped for a passenger,” she observed.
“I stole what I needed from the infirmary,” he explained.
“Why not just take me to the infirmary?”
He helped her back into bed. “I have my reasons.” He pulled the covers up over her and settled the mask back over her nose and mouth.
She lifted the mask away. “I’d feel more comfortable in the infirmary,” she said.
“Not really. If I’d taken you to the infirmary, you’d be dead right now.” The bed dipped as he sat down beside her. “They wouldn’t have known how to treat your injuries. You wouldn’t have survived. Believe it or not, you’re safer here,” he said quietly.
“Holding me in your stateroom against my will is kidnapping.”
“I prefer to call it protective custody,” he said. “Ditoxicin is a chemical weapon, it’s not something you accidentally make by mixing lav cleaners together. There’s an assassin on board this ship and until I find out who the target is, you’re safer here. Can you think of a reason someone would want you dead?”
What little color she had drained from her face. “I’m just a Joy Babe…”
He smiled to himself and he smoothed the covers over her. “So you say, but I don’t think so. How long do you think you’d last in the infirmary once it got out that you’re not a Joy Babe?”
“You’re insane,” she muttered, dropping the mask back into place as if that were the end of the conversation.
“Perhaps I am,” he said not bothering to hide his amusement. “I’m also right. I know accents and yours slipped. You’re Second Sector. I’m guessing Consular Guard. You and your so-called client are here about Tennova and the schematics to this weapon he claims to have.”
She lay still and quiet, her every muscle tense, waiting for him to continue.
“Tennova knows that most of the people he’s lined up to negotiate for it are IC or some other government agents. Why do you think he started that brawl in the bar?”
“He wasn’t even there,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask. “It was that trader from Gol…”
“Hired by Tennova,” he finished for her. “It was a diversion.”
“What kind of diversion?”
“Probably so they could kill someone, considering the ditoxicin and the delivery method.”
Reaching out, he stroked her hair away from her face. The wary wild thing in her recoiled from his touch. He reluctantly withdrew his hand.
“Are you sure no one wants you dead?”
She laughed nervously. “Why would anyone want to kill a Joy Babe?”
“You’re not a Joy Babe.”
“Because I’m not a Skyhopper?”
“For one, because when your guard is down, you speak with a definite Second Sector accent.”
“My mother was a concubine to a Second Sector noble,” she said with a hint of condescension. “I didn’t grow up on Altair. I grew up in my father’s court. I didn’t go back to Altair until after my mother died. My name is Marissa Kiara of the Kiara D’or Choh. Call and ask my Aunt Misou if you don’t believe me.”
“I will.” He smiled to himself at her haughty tone. Maker help him. Even though she needed to rest her voice and respiratory system, he couldn’t bring himself to stop baiting her. His little wild thing had teeth and claws. She would strike out if provoked. He idly rubbed his jaw at the memory.
With a trembling hand, she reached up and pulled the mask away from her face.
“You said ‘for one.’ What’s the other reason you don’t think I’m a Joy Babe?”
He had to give her high marks for unpredictability. He had honestly expected her to be offering to pay him some kind of bribe or ransom by this point in the conversation, or trying to seduce him. He’d been looking forward to the seduction.
Before he could stop himself, he lightly traced the line of her jaw with his index finger, from her stubborn chin to her ear. Her physical response was immediate. A deep flush colored her face. Smiling to himself, he leaned down and lightly kissed a rosy patch of skin just below her ear.
“That’s why,” he said, softly in her ear. “I’ve never seen a Joy Babe blush.”
Every muscle in her body tensed and she held herself very still.
“I’m not a thing to be pawed.” She said. “Get your hands off me.”
The authority in her tone was real. Whoever Marissa was, she was accustomed to being obeyed. Whoever the hell she was – whatever the hell she was, he was in danger of getting completely addicted to her.
Reluctantly, he chuckled and sat up.
“Well, you did ask,” he reminded her.
“I asked you for an explanation,” she said. “I didn’t ask you to touch me.”
“You’re right. I was completely out of line. I apologize.”
“You may apologize, but you certainly don’t sound sorry.”
He laughed. “You’re right. I’m not.” He slowly ran his fingertips lightly along the hollow of her throat and down into the deep vee of his shirt front.
Without warning she lashed out at him, aiming for his throat. He easily blocked her. It was a basic Consular Guard hand-to-hand combination favored by Second Sector jet jockeys. Interesting.
“Stop that before you hurt yourself,” he chided, capturing her wrists in his hands. She struggled to free herself. “Quit trying to hit me and I’ll quit making you blush. You don’t know what a good deal I’m offering, so I suggest you take it.”
Breathing hard, her mouth set in a determined line, she complied with one last long exhale.
He held her wrists until he was sure she wouldn’t try to hit him again before he finally released her.
“I like watching you change colors. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a woman with enough feeling left in her to blush. I’m not at all sorry that I can touch you and make you change colors. I think it’s adorable.”
“Adorable…?”
“I’m sorry, are you offended by that as well?” He shook his head. “It’s a very odd Joy Babe who gets angry with a man for finding her attractive.”
“You’re confusing me,” she said. “I can’t think.”
“So you’re a Consular Guard officer,” he said. “Sub-commander? Commander, perhaps?”
“I’m not…”
He settled the mask back over her mouth, effectively cutting off her protest.
“I am really not in the mood for lies and subterfuge right now. As much as I enjoy our witty conversation, you’ve already excited yourself enough. Ditoxicin is an ugly thing and it does ugly things to people. You need to rest and be happy that this is as ugly as it’s going to get for you. Things can only improve from here. Your respiratory system should be back to normal in a few days. Your eyesight may take longer to return – if it returns at all”
She lifted the mask off her mouth again. “What do you mean? I could be permanently blind?”
It was the first unguarded response he’d seen from her since she realized he was there. She grew very still.
“Now you’re suddenly quiet?” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “You can’t tell me something like that and stop talking.”
She swallowed hard and he realized she was fighting tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I wish I could tell you that everything will be fine, but I honestly don’t know.”
She lay there, unnaturally still for several long moments, as if she were afraid to move. With one deep shuddering breath, the
dam broke. Her body shook with heaving sobs, but she made little sound. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing. There was no great wailing to match the spasms that rocked her body. Her silent tears disturbed him far more than noisy sobbing would have.
He tenderly slipped the mask over her mouth once more. Carefully, he lay down beside her, on top of the covers, pulling her to him. With one hand he cradled her head against his shoulder, his other arm held her close.
“Shhhh… breathe…”
Her fingers dug into his arm, holding on as if he were her lifeline, taking the comfort he offered.
“You’re safe,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, his arms tightened around her. Tears filled his eyes.
If only his Inner Circle cronies could see him, he thought bitterly. Lying there in the dimly lit room, he didn’t need to hide his emotions from the sightless woman. He curled protectively around her, finding reassurance in their shared misery. Battling his own nightmares, he tried to block out the memory of the attack and the faces of the men he’d struggled in vain to save.
“Your eyesight may come back,” he said softly. “Mine did.”
She swallowed hard and drew a deep breath. “You’ve been through this?” she asked tremulously.
He gripped her tighter and said nothing until he could trust himself to speak. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I was lucky. My friends weren’t.”
Her grip on his arm eased. With a feather-light touch, her hand trailed along his arm, tracing the way to his face. She stopped when her fingertips found the dampness on his cheek. His jaw clenched and every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for her reaction.
“I’m so sorry…”
With only a slight hesitation, her hand gently caressed his face, then her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, giving him permission to grieve.