by Joss Ware
Quent met her eyes. “Now, dammit,” he muttered, and lifted her hips. She helped, her eyes dark and avid, and when he settled her down on top of him in a deep, perfect slide, he nearly went through the roof.
Everything disintegrated after that—his thoughts, his concentration, his sense of place and time—and funneled into a whirl of pleasure and need, hard and hot and slick. Cinnamon and musk and silky, warm skin. Zoë.
As he moved inside her, feeling his body coil with readiness, watching her face settle and stretch with desire as she shuddered in the slam of a release, he almost let it go. Almost gave in, almost ignored what he knew…but at the last minute, the very last possible second, as the build became almost too intense to think, his conscience won. Quent rolled from beneath her, twisting them into an awkward heap as his world exploded.
When at last they lay, panting, sprawled, toes curled and bodies sticky, he reached over and touched her. Closed his fingers around her wrist, gently. Intimately.
Their fingers curled into each other, hers, slender and rough, his large and enveloping. And they slept in a slice of moonlight.
“Why the hell do you always do that?”
The low, annoyed voice dragged Quent from the first real rest he’d had in weeks.
“Huh?” he muttered, scrambling to clear his mind of dead sleep laced with afterglow. But when Zoë moved, pulling away, his brain sharpened enough to send the signal for him to hold on. He tightened his fingers around her wrist.
She stopped. Then, with a quick movement, jerked her arm away.
That caught Quent’s full attention and he rose quickly. She was not going to sneak out on him again.
Zoë sat there, naked and seemingly unconcerned about that fact, if the position of her body was any indication. Completely bloody distracting, the way she was sitting, with one leg bent so her knee was straight up and her other leg bent with her ankle tucked near her inner thigh. The room had begun to take on a lighter glow with dawn easing the distance, and Quent could hardly keep his breath steady, looking at her.
“What were you saying?” he asked.
“Why the hell do you always fucking do that? It sort of blows the moment, doesn’t it?”
Always? Do what? They’d been together…twice. They’d met, what, four times—the first time she’d saved him from the gangas with her arrows, then there was the wild and crazy session in this very room…then at the festival where they did nothing but eye each other…and then this. What always was she talking about?
“Pull away. At the last freaking minute.”
Right then. Pull out, she meant. Yeah. That sucked.
And since birth control was practically illegal—or it would be if there were lawyers anymore—and certainly nonexistent in this post-Change world anyway, Quent supposed she was probably not aware of it. “I don’t want to get you pregnant.”
“Pregnant. Oh.” She eased back a little, as if the thought hadn’t really occurred to her. It probably hadn’t. After all, in some ways this world was more than a little backward. Women were sort of expected to be pregnant as much as possible—not regimented like they were in Falling Creek, but it was a good thing to procreate. To add to the human race. And pregnant women were well cared for, pampered, and lauded by everyone.
Plus, there were no such thing as STDs anymore. According to Lou and Theo, anyway.
“I never pay any attention the other times,” she said with a shrug.
The other times.
For some reason, those blasé words stopped him cold. Not a good image, Zoë and her “other times.” Not at all.
Quent steadied himself. He didn’t know anything about this woman, other than her Robin Hood-like skill with a bow and arrow. Nothing but the way she made him feel. The way she touched him. From the first, it had been the way she touched him. And the way that, when their eyes met, he felt as if bloody rockets were shooting off all over his body.
For all he knew…she could be married. She could have a partner. She could have other guys with rooms that she sneaked into, stole back arrows from, visually undressed in bars and made promises to with those sloe eyes, whatever…all over Envy, all over this buggered up world.
He opened his mouth to say something. To ask. To demand. Then closed it. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t him. Quent Fielding didn’t care beyond the moment.
“Yo.”
He opened them and found her watching him, even more clearly illuminated now as the half moon aligned itself better to the window. “You okay?”
“Zoë. This…is really good.” He spread his hand around to encompass the bed, the room, her and him.
She gave another wicked flash of smile that sent a streak of heat down to his belly. “Damn straight it is.”
“Why don’t you…stay. Awhile.” Bollocks, Fielding. Could you sound more like a knobhead?
She drew back, stiffened. Even adjusted her position, sliding both legs so that her feet were on the floor. Ready for takeoff. “No fucking way. And don’t even try to make me.”
Quent eased back, settling into a reclining arrangement, hoping to alleviate her skittishness. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
She seemed to relax, and he breathed easier.
“The other night, when we saw each other in the Pub…why did you leave?”
She smirked at him…but he saw a glint of bravado in her eyes. Arrogance, almost. Or…maybe…some sort of shield. “You looked like you had your hands full.”
“Uh.” The truth was…and he’d never admit it…he’d completely lost interest in Nadine the minute he saw Zoë. And hadn’t thought about following up on that moment on the dance floor since then.
“Kind of ballsy of you, eye-fucking me while you got your hands all over some other woman’s ass,” she said with an unmistakable edge to her voice. “Besides, I saw someone I needed to talk to.”
“Who?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Someone.”
“A man?” As if he’d know the guy. But, he’d gotten the impression that Zoë didn’t come to Envy often. He knew she didn’t live here. So how would she know anyone? Unless she had another booty call besides him lined up.
“Yeah.” She lifted her chin as if to challenge anything he might say.
And what the hell could he say? After all, the last time she’d seen him, he’d—as she’d put it—had his hands all over another woman’s ass. Aside of the fact that they were nothing to each other but a quick, easy lay.
Right?
Right.
Right.
“Someone who lives here?” Christ, why couldn’t he shut the fuck up? Or, better yet, grab her and slam her back onto the mattress and put all thoughts of everything out of her mind but him and what he could do to her sleek, cinnamony body.
Zoë was eyeing him speculatively. “No. Someone who might be able to help me. I’ve been looking for someone for a long time.”
Quent stilled and the prick of annoyance eased. Just a bit. “Remington Truth?” he breathed. Just…just as a wild guess.
Her eyes widened in shock. “No. I’m not looking for that. But…how did you know about it?”
“That? You mean Remington Truth?”
She nodded. “The gangas have been searching for Remington’s Truth for years, for the Strangers. As long as anyone can remember. The Strangers are terrified that someone else might get it first. Do you know what it is?”
“It? Remington Truth is a man,” Quent told her. “A man who lived before the Change, and, most likely helped to cause it. As far as we can tell.”
“A man?” She seemed to turn that over in her mind. “Hot damn. That makes total fucking sense. He’s a man.”
He reached over to the table next to the bed and scooped up a printout of Truth’s picture. “This is what he looks like. Ever see him?”
She took the photo. “No.”
“Why is it so important for them to find him?” It occurred to Quent that he didn’t know something very important about Zoë—like
, which side she was on. For all he knew, she could be booty-calling Strangers till their crystals glowed. She could be on the wrong side of this equation…but probably not. After all, she hunted gangas with her bow and arrows.
“The Strangers are afraid of it—him. Him.” She was nodding, and he saw intelligence light her eyes. The moon had shifted to shine even more boldly now, and the room had taken on a light gray coloring that disclosed more nuances of her face and its expression. Her features settled in thought, and as if it were possible, it made her appear even more attractive. Softer.
Quent swallowed. His heart was pounding and his fingers itched to touch her. But he held back. For the moment. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
She shook her head. “But finding him would be a good thing. Before the Strangers do. Although if they haven’t found him after fifty years with an ass-crap army of ganga-zombies, how the damn hell is anyone else going to? I’ve only heard bits of conversation, from a distance…but they’re desperate. Remington Truth must hold some hella big-ass secret that would damage them. Or help them.”
Quent nodded. This was exactly what the Waxnickis had suspected, and why they were working so hard to find the man. Before the Strangers did. And Zoë had just confirmed their suspicions. “Want to help us find him? You could stay.”
Her eyes flashed to him, then zigzagged away. “I told you, I’m not fucking staying.” Then, her demeanor changed and her eyes took on a sly, smoldering look. “But I’d stay for another fuck.”
Quent’s belly dropped as she tossed away the picture of Remington Truth and leaned toward him. Is that all I am? A good fuck?
But he didn’t say it. After all, that’s all she was to him.
He closed his eyes and drew her close…lost himself in the pleasure.
Because he hadn’t anything else.
At last, the searchers seemed to give up on their quest and accepted the fact that whatever had caused the railing to fall, it entailed no threat to them or their activities.
Sage allowed Simon to pull her to her feet, and she was careful not to bump into anything again. All they needed was to alert the men below again. But, wow.
She was completely weak-kneed. And even a little dizzy.
That kiss…wow. Wuh-how. Those beautiful lips…
She’d waited till Simon’s face disappeared before leaning forward, taking the chance. She’d figured she’d be assuaging her curiosity, and wanted the cover of invisibility in case he wasn’t…interested. Or was even revolted.
Because, after all, he’d made a point of absolutely not touching her since they’d left Envy, except to guide her tonight.
But once she fell into the kiss, Sage had forgotten everything. Literally everything.
The men could have stormed into the room, guns blazing, she wasn’t certain she’d have noticed.
She swallowed. He’d kissed her back. Oh, indeed. He’d kissed her back. Even now, as they slipped out into the hallway, his hand, as always, tight around hers—impersonal, guiding. Steady and strong. Just like the man himself. Even now, her belly fluttered and her breath caught. He’d kissed her back. And it had been so much more than …nice.
At the top of the stairs, Simon gestured her to another flight. This one was not quite so grand and winding, and it led to a fourth floor, accessed through narrow steps beyond a small door. Some of the treads made soft creaks, and Sage froze, her heart in her throat every time she stepped on one. But Simon urged her on, and she realized that distance masked them from the other occupants of the house, which had returned to the basement.
By the time they reached the top, Sage felt her nose itch with dust and the grind of grit beneath her fingers from the stair’s railing. Obviously, this part of the house was never used and, as Simon had suggested earlier, would be a good place to install one of the Network Access Points that would allow Lou and Theo to extend their secret communications system.
The room into which Simon brought her was clearly an attic of some sort, and the half moon poured light through an octagonal window that had long been broken. Although not cluttered with trunks and wardrobes like the fascinating attics of fiction and film, the room did contain some furnishings. Light pooled onto a dusty wooden floor scattered with piles of debris and a few straggling plants.
“Do you need light?” he asked in a quiet voice, and gestured to the shadowy shapes of the two packs on the floor.
“Would it be all right?” she asked. “It’d be faster. I’ve only done this twice.”
Simon pulled the packs over and they settled on the floor together, then he turned on a small flashlight powered by a hand crank. Keeping the illumination low would hide the light from the windows.
Sage set to work as Simon angled the light for her.
“This will run on solar power,” she told him, showing him the box that would capture the network signals. “So we have to find a place where it will soak up the sun for a good portion of the day, but also be somewhat protected from the elements. Even though Lou designed it to be waterproof, we want to protect it as much as possible.”
“Right there,” Simon said, pointing toward the octagonal window nestled in a small, jutting dormer. “Outside there’s an overhang that will protect it from rain, but it’s a southeasterly window, so it will still capture a lot of rays. Unless you want to put it out on the roof itself.”
Sage nodded, pleased, and said, “All right. Let’s try it out, and hope that it still has some power.”
He took the box over to the little alcove beneath the window and positioned it on a table. The long antennas veed out like two long tails and Sage clambered to her feet to check it out. A little flip of the switch and the unobtrusive lights, designed for the bottom of the unit so as not to draw attention, illuminated. “We have power,” she said with satisfaction. “Now let’s hope it connects to the rest of the network.”
Pulling out the small computer Theo had built for her, she sat down and powered it on. This would be the first time she’d had the chance to send a message back to Envy since they’d arrived two days ago. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much news to report back other than the hopefully successful installation of the NAP.
Simon sat down in the small space as well, folding his legs to fit, angling his knees up. One thin strand of glossy dark hair had escaped from his neat tail, making Sage wonder if it had happened during their kiss.
He leaned against the wall facing her and she felt his eyes on her as she bent to the keyboard. A little shiver sprinkled over her shoulders when she thought about the fact that they would soon be back in their room…sharing a bed.
She had to retype her password three times before her clumsy fingers got it right, and then she settled back against her side of the dormer space. “Now we have to wait and see if the network connects.”
“Tell me about these Strangers coming tomorrow night,” he said without preamble. He must have been waiting since dinner to ask.
“When we first got here to Envy, I started to tell you about Hell’s Wall,” she said.
“Yeah. I wondered why anyone who survived the Change would build a settlement beneath something that looked as if an avalanche could destroy it at any time. You mentioned something about protection.”
She nodded. “I don’t really know all the details, but I’ve known since I was a kid—and everyone here understands—that the Corrigan brothers made some sort of arrangement with the Strangers—well, three of them. Three of the Strangers have created a crystal-powered guard, like a fence, to protect the city if there should be an avalanche or rockslide.”
Simon watched her, disbelief and question in his face. “Why would they do that? Why would they care? A crystal-powered guard?”
“My understanding is that the Strangers get some of our—Falling Creek’s, I mean—yield, a portion of the crops and food and cattle. In return, they protect us from the cliff. And…if you look very closely at Hell’s Wall at night, you can see the faint glow of blue crys
tal light. Very faint, but very powerful. I guess it’s like a shield that would stop anything from falling onto the city.”
“So they protect the settlement in exchange for food that you raise?” Simon’s brows knit together. “Very medieval.”
She nodded. “Classic feudal system. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
He shrugged. “I guess if it’s been working for fifty years, there’s nothing wrong with it. It seems like a fair exchange.” Then he looked at her steadily. “Unless the Strangers require other commodities as part of their compensation. Like…people.”
Sage blinked. “Like…slaves?” The thought hadn’t ever crossed her mind. Not when she was living here before. But now, years later, after seeing what she’d seen, and hearing from Jade about her experiences and observations in regards to the Strangers…“Oh my God. Simon, that could be true.” All of a sudden, her stomach felt like a ball of lead had settled in it.
“Do you ever remember people disappearing?”
That leaden ball sat heavy and hard in her belly. “Yes,” she whispered. “Once a year…usually about the time the Strangers came to visit. Oh, Simon.” Her gaze flew to his. “They come once a year like this and I remember when I was eleven, three girls ran away shortly after.”
“Ran away? Or were taken away?” Simon asked. But he didn’t really need to, because she read comprehension in his eyes. The same understanding that was rising in her own gaze.
“One of them was my half sister Gina. I remember being so upset with her for leaving. Running away, I thought. And never saying good-bye. And Bennie said five of our other sisters ran away over the years.” Sage’s belly churned. “And…the following year after Gina disappeared, when I was twelve…my mother…” Her voice trailed off.
The arguments. The shouts and crying and pleading from behind closed doors. The desperation in her mother’s face—desperation that Sage believed was weakness. Desperation that had caused her death.