Kellee sucked air through his teeth, making a sharp, jagged sound, and swallowed. He didn’t want to answer. I couldn’t place a time he had lied to me—ever. Even when he’d seduced Sjora, his words had been real. He had asked me if we were friends, if he thought we had a spark, and later, he had told me it was an act, just like my many faces. Only his act was true. Like this one. He didn’t want to answer because the answer was yes and if he admitted he was as old as the fae, as immortal as they were, then what was the difference between them? Pointed ears? Harder eyes? Kellee was just as beautiful as them, maybe more so because he had a wild, unfettered nature that the fae effortlessly kept in check. But not him. He was fae. Unseelie fae. But still fae. And he hated that about himself.
I had always thought of him like the saru. Human, but made for the fae. I had thought he and I were alike—bred in captivity, chained in service. I’d been wrong. He was no more like the saru than Talen was.
I ached to ask if he had any human in him, but I feared the answer.
He had needed me—the face of Kesh Lasota—because he knew if people ever found out the truth of him, they would never follow him. And he so wanted to save people. Perhaps that was the human in him. He wore his golden star and he saved people. That was Marshal Kellee, a hero with an unseelie heart.
He folded his arms and leaned back against the consoles. The lawman mask was back on, locking away my chance of getting any answers out of him. “Tell me about the guardian.”
I had been so close to knowing more, and now he was turning the questions back on me. I knew what he was doing. He knew I knew. And yet here we were, playing the same game as always. “Why?”
“I want to know the fae I’m dealing with.”
“You’re not dealing with him. I am.” Sirius would kill Kellee. No leniency. No chances. The guardians weren’t just Oberon’s pretty trophies. They had teeth, and blades, and magic, and they were known for their ruthless efficiency with those weapons.
His eyes flashed. “Were you lovers?”
It was such an insane, un-Kellee-like question that I blinked at him, and then laughed. “Lovers?” I couldn’t even wrap my head around the idea of it, or where that thought had come from. “He’s a Royal Guardian, Kellee. Do you truly think he would look at me with anything other than disgust and hatred?” And oh how Sirius had looked—watched—while Oberon had poured poison beneath my skin. My screams, before I learned to silence them, had likely been music to the guardian’s ears. My smile writhed on my lips, like a thing in pain, but I kept it there for Kellee to see.
“Devere was a royal emissary,” he said. “Oberon’s envoy. You didn’t disgust him.”
I almost laughed again, which, considering the thunder building around Kellee, would have been the wrong thing to do.
He didn’t like that I’d fucked Lord Devere, never mind that I’d killed the lord right after. Well, two could play that game. Hadn’t he done the same to Sjora? He was being ridiculous. Maybe the last few days had shaken him. They had shaken me. But I expected more from the marshal.
“Jealous?” I purred, remembering all too well how Kellee had sunk his teeth deep into Sjora’s breast.
He blinked lazily, unfazed on the surface, but still waters run deep and Marshal Kellee’s were bottomless. “I’m just trying to understand who you are so I can take the guardian out without you getting in my way. If there are feelings between you and him, I want to know now, not when it’s too late.”
Feelings? I fought my smile, even as it turned bitter on my lips. Sirius had seen more of me than any other fae, besides Oberon, and that wasn’t something I was getting into with Kellee now. Maybe never. Sirius likely knew me—the real me—better than Kellee, maybe better than Aeon. Because he had seen me plead with my then-prince, and later, seen me worship Oberon. If I told Kellee any of that, he’d twist it around and make it wrong. “The best thing you can do is stay out of my way if you want to live a few more thousand years.”
“Is that a threat?” There was no humor in his eyes. Marshal Kellee was dead serious.
I laughed again and turned my back on him so that when my smile cracked and my face crumbled, Kellee wouldn’t—couldn’t see it.
I had thought we were past all this. I had thought we had found a peace between us. I had thought… we were friends. And now he was treating me like the Wraithmaker all over again. It wasn’t just Devere. We were destined to clash and there was no getting around it.
“You haven’t answered the question,” he said, and for good measure, he asked it again. “Were you lovers, Kesh? It’s a simple yes or no answer.”
“I don’t have to answer.”
“You already have.”
Haven’t I done enough? I’d asked him that after killing thousands of fae. How many dead did it take? How many human lives saved? For Kellee, it would never be enough, because I couldn’t change my past. I could answer all his stupid lawman questions and it wouldn’t earn me his trust. Maybe it was time to let the dream of Marshal Kellee go?
“You think you know everything. You don’t—”
Arran’s whistle pierced the sizzling quiet. Outside a hangar, he waved, summoning us down.
“Stay here,” I told Kellee. “Keep your eyes on the horizon.”
Kellee’s gold-rimmed eyes flashed. “Whatever you say, Messenger.”
Somehow, I didn’t swing for him on the way out the door, but if he kept that lawman karushit up, he and I would clash, and soon. I wondered if Talen were here, would he tell me Kellee was angling for a fight. If Talen were here, he’d defuse this tension. He always had before. I missed my silver fae.
Arran was waiting for me inside the first hangar, and so was a sleek spacefaring ship the size of our usual shuttle. Some lower panels hung open, wires trailing over the floor, but the rest appeared to be in good condition.
Arran’s grin instantly lifted the weight of Kellee’s accusations off my back. “Ready to get dirty?” he asked.
“Always.” I rolled up my sleeves, eyeing exquisite pieces of tek strewn about the hangar. Kellee’s insistent questions fell far to the back of my thoughts where I locked them away.
We got to work.
Arran and I buried ourselves deep inside the ship’s hatches, surrounded by wires and mechanics. Tek glinted. Every piece I touched was a marvel. The air smelled and tasted metallic, just the way I liked it. It reminded me of Calicto, of Kesh Lasota’s life before the lies came undone.
Arran knew what tools I needed without my having to ask, and I often handed over a component before he emerged from the hole in the ship’s guts to find it. Words were superfluous. I had never gotten a chance to work on something as large as a ship with Aeon, but we had often crafted tek-trinkets together, and then, like now, we’d fallen into a wordless rhythm.
Hours into the repairs, I struggled with an unwieldy exchanger box, shaped in an awkward arch that refused to seat itself back where it belonged. I reeled off a string of curses that would have made Sota blush.
“Want help?” Arran peered inside the cramped hatch I occupied and arched an eyebrow at my colorful swearing.
I puffed my sweaty hair out of my face. “Definitely.”
He reached in, forearms and hands coated in grease, and locked his fingers around the grips to haul himself inside. It was a tight fit, the two of us squeezed in close, but we wrestled the tek together until it clunked home.
Arran’s victorious grin did something to that blackened thing in my chest I called a heart. And then I became acutely aware that we were both wedged into a space no larger than a delivery chute. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t noticed how his thigh was snug against mine, his knee braced against a panel close to my hip, and now that I’d noticed, I couldn’t think beyond the feel of him. Something tickled my cheek, hair or perspiration. I brushed at it, realizing too late how filthy my hands were. Arran laughed so suddenly and so freely that all I could do was stare. I didn’t recall him ever laughing before. His whole face
lit up. On him, a smile looked good enough to eat. Nerves tried to up my heartbeat and breathing. I was supposed to be backing off Arran, not wondering what it might be like to kiss him quickly, just for kicks.
He noticed my lack of laughter and let his fade to chuckles. “You er… you got a little…” He reached out, about to touch my cheek, then stopped when the awkward angle meant he would have to shift closer. Instead, he gestured at his own cheek. “Some… grease there.”
“Here?” I brushed at my face.
He winced and twisted his lips. “Kinda all over.” He wanted to reach out again, but instead he curled his fingers around a handle and pressed his lips together.
Well, this had gotten awkward real fast.
“You hungry?” he asked.
“Very.”
His eyes, once so old, were bright with a mischief I coveted. “We’ve earned a break, right?”
“Definitely.” And especially if it got me out of this hole and away from his delicious temptation.
We dropped out of the hatch into the cooler air. Everything ached from being wedged inside the ship’s innards. I stretched out the stiffness, acutely aware of Arran’s attention lingering on me. The lack of light and my protesting muscles indicated we had been fixing up the ship for most of the day.
“They’re easier to work on than I thought,” Arran was saying, making idle talk as we entered sections of the main complex. “It’s like the tek wants to be together again.”
The lights in the building didn’t flicker on like they were supposed to, but enough ambient light spilled in through the many windows lining the corridors. We did a little exploring, Arran in front of me. He had a smear of grease down the back of his neck and in his hair where he’d run his hand through it. His clothes sat askew, twisted from working in confined spaces all day. Metal dust caked the back of his pant legs. Some of it sparkled on his boots. He looked like he’d rolled in dirt and then glitter. I probably looked just as dishevelled. I’d left my coat back in the ship and regarded the stains on my pants and vest. Machine grease was better than blood, any day.
In the sprawling kitchen that must have once catered to the salvage yard’s workforce, we found sealed packets of food inside cupboards. Arran and I emptied out anything edible and eagerly tucked in, standing at the counters. He tossed me a flask of water. I took a deep drink, threw it back, and watched him gulp it down.
Memories were everywhere. Sometimes, in Faerie’s jungle arenas, Aeon and I would drink from tubular leaves as we passed them, or climb trees and steal the sweet fruit while we could. Dagnu often withheld our rations, knowing the arena was the only time we could fill our bellies. It made us want to go into the fights just so we could eat. Killing was just one part of the show.
“I like this,” Arran said. “You and me, I mean.” His eyes glittered in the low light.
I slowed my chewing and swallowed hard.
“This, the tek… you.” He shrugged. “It feels right.”
I set the rest of my packet down, losing my appetite. He was supposed to forget everything. Aeon had wanted to forget it all. Whatever he felt between us, it was dangerous.
He noticed I’d stopped eating and set his packet down. “We were close?”
Dirt smudged his honest face, his eyes true. I wanted so badly for him to know me. “No, we hardly knew each other.” The lies burned where they touched my tongue. I reached for the flask. He handed it out, studying my reaction and probably reading some of the lie—maybe all of it.
This was a mistake.
I took the flask, or tried to. My fingers brushed his and I froze, the flask caught between us. I’d tried to hide the weight of my feelings from him, tried to bury it deep inside for his sake. He had earned the right to start over. I could not betray Aeon again by telling him the truth. Some secrets could never be told.
“We were friends. That was all.” And that was true. We had been too young for anything else, and when he returned after the Game of Lies, he’d returned broken. Used by the fae in every way. Saving Aeon meant letting him go.
Arran saw the truth in me then. He released the flask.
I drank hard and deep and licked my lips when done. He watched it all, his hands braced on the edges of the counter beside him, keeping still.
“And because we’re friends,” I murmured, “please don’t ask me questions about…” My hands shook, betraying too much. I set the flask down. “…before.” I would beg him not to ask if I had to, because if he did, and if he kept asking, I’d break. I so wanted to tell him everything, to bring Aeon back. I had never wanted to let him go and having him here, so close, and the way we had worked on the ship together, his laughter, that playful and mischievous expression of his—I needed that light in my life. I needed him.
“You’re a brave woman, Kesh.”
I closed my eyes on the pain those words caused, not wanting to see the scar across his throat.
“I feel that. I… I think whatever happened, it was hard for both of us. But our past, it’s important. We had something. And I’m sorry I let that go. I respect your wishes,” he said, sounding too damn understanding. “I won’t ask.”
My lip trembled. I bit into it and tasted blood, feeling the sting.
“You’re one of the good ones,” he added. “You think you’re not, but—”
“No.” The word sounded too harsh, but it needed to be. “I’m really not.” I made for the doors, keeping my pace slow though I wanted to run. Once this was over, I would send Arran away, somewhere he could carve himself a normal life, somewhere away from me, because if I kept him around much longer, I’d ruin him all over again.
The ship’s engines growled and grumbled but failed to start. Kellee sat in the pilot’s chair, muttering the same kind of growls as he tried to get the small vessel working.
“I thought you fixed it,” he said.
“We did.” I gripped the back of Kellee’s chair, watching his hands dance across the controls. Tek, I could do, but piloting was not in my skill set.
The vessel coughed, shuddered, and then thundered to life. Kellee whooped in joy. Arran fist-bumped the arm of his chair, directly behind Kellee’s, and threw an electric grin at me.
I dragged a half-smile up from somewhere and fixed my glare through the screen. “Can we finally get off this rock, Marshal?”
The control panel flashed countless warnings. Kellee worked to clear the worst of them.
“Strap in, Kesh, this could get rough. Half of her is fighting me and the rest feels ready to fall apart, but she should get us orbit-bound.”
Once there, we could scan for Talen’s warcruiser. If Talen had left… I refused to believe it. Talen would be there, waiting, like always.
I strapped in next to Kellee, instantly regretting the front-row view. The vessel rumbled forward on its little wheels, emerging out of the hangar. The long runway ahead was clear, and beyond, Hapters’s moon-bright sky beckoned.
Kellee ramped up the thrust and the vessel screamed off the line, throwing us into our seats.
We’d screeched about halfway down the strip when a deafening alarm rang out. Kellee’s mouth twitched, but that was all. It sounded bad, but from his minor reaction, maybe it wasn’t. Something clunked off the hull and sparked outside the screen.
“Don’t need that!” Kellee yelled over the engine sounds, convincing himself and us.
The vessel’s nose lifted, the ground fell away, my gut sank to my knees, and we lifted off toward the wash of Hapters’s night sky. That wasn’t so bad. We had outrun the fae and Sirius. We would find Talen. And we’d go back down there and get Hulia and the others.
A thunderous explosion barreled forward from somewhere behind the cockpit. Hot air blasted the back of my head, throwing me forward. Straps dug into my shoulders as gravity took hold of my body and yanked me forward. The sky had changed. Gone were the moonlight mauves, and in its place was a world of rock rushing toward us. We’re crashing!
“Kell—!”
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The world screamed, or I did, and then all I saw was light.
Chapter 5
My head rang. Blood pooled in my mouth. I spat to the side and reached for something, anything, that made sense among the pain and throbbing noise. White blurs lay strewn about. I blinked grit from my eyes. Deflated crash bags. Thoughts slowly came together: We crashed. Those bags were the reason I’d survived. Wires crackled and hissed. Fire snapped and burbled. Instincts tried to get me to stand and run, but my cumbersome body wasn’t moving. I was hurt, everywhere and nowhere that I could find. After brushing a blur from my eye, my hand came away black with dark blood. That was bad, but my thoughts were taking too long to catch up with reality. I’d hit my head. That was probably bad too.
A hand looped around my wrist and pulled. I let it happen and may have blacked out again, only to wake as something tugged on my hip. Sota, I guessed. He often nudged me awake when it was time to get up and deliver messages for Merry. Where would my job take me today? Calicto’s A sector, perhaps, so I could see all the rich people in their shiny tek-towers.
Someone tall blocked my view of all the glass. Tawny leather-wrapped legs and a heavy cloak. He crouched. I peered up into eyes as green as Faerie’s rolling hills.
“We have the vakaru, guardian,” a voice said from somewhere behind. The voice didn’t matter, because the green eyes held me utterly bespelled.
Guardian. The male taking up my entire view leaned in. Long hair the color of wildfire spilled over his shoulders, and I knew him then. He had watched as I’d screamed, watched as a prince had shaped me into a tek-whisperer, watched as my body had been changed and marked, as my life as a saru had ended and I’d been forged into a weapon for a future king.
I held his gaze as my vision cleared, revealing the guardian in exquisite detail. He was made of smooth, pale Autumnlands skin, stubborn angles, and reddish lips on a mouth quick to deliver the king’s orders.
“Kill her companions,” Sirius said.
Kellee.
The Nightshade's Touch: A Paranormal Space Fantasy (Messenger Chronicles Book 3) Page 5