The Huntress

by Michelle O'Leary

  "Hammond, what the fuck are you doing here?"

  Conley sounded hostile, but Stone's reaction was much more primitive. He surged off his seat and stalked towards the blond.

  "I didn't come here to fight—"

  "Too bad," Stone snarled and pounced on him.

  Even without metal on his bones and extra strength, he'd learned a few things from Conley. Hammond was taken off guard by the ferocity of Stone's attack and though he threw a few blows, he was mostly on the defensive. Stone broke his knuckles again on the man's face, but when Conley finally restrained him, Hammond was bleeding from several spots and was clearly in pain.

  "Still think she's yours?" he managed to snarl before Conley yanked him completely off, thrusting him unceremoniously in the other direction.

  "Hunter Hammond, you are hereby on suspension indefinitely for leaving Belata without permission. Get your stupid ass off this station and back to HQ before Stone and I start taking turns."

  The blond hunched out of the room, and Conley flashed a hard grin over his shoulder at Stone. "Felt good, didn't it?"

  "Hell yeah."

  "Let's get those knuckles fixed before Regan sees you."

  Stone used the station's med lab instead of having to deal with Ema. He knew what she'd have to say about it. Besides, he didn't want Regan to know, and Ema wasn't known for keeping secrets.

  The high from the fight didn't last long. It had been a good release of aggression, but it didn't solve anything. Mea still refused to see or speak to him, and she was still adamant that he leave the station.

  He barely ate and barely slept, waiting for a reprieve. As time passed, that hope dwindled away to nothing, but he still couldn't leave. The fourth day after Mea's miraculous recovery, Regan bounced into the lounge, smile bright and eyes sparkling. Some of that left when she saw him.

  "Hey, Dad. How's it going?" Perching on a seat next to him, she watched him expectantly. When he did nothing but grunt, she frowned at him, nibbling on the inside of her lip.

  "Say, Dad, I'm hungry."

  He didn't get it. "You know where the cafeteria is."

  "I don't want to go by myself. I want you to take me."

  Confused, he frowned at her. "You go by yourself all the time. What's different today?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Dad, you really are dense! I thought Mom was just being mean." Bouncing to her feet, she grabbed one of his hands firmly. "Come on, we're going to the cafeteria."

  "What the hell—" he started, but she was tugging on his hand in a determined way, and it was just easier to get up and follow her. "What else did she say about me?"

  Not looking up at him, she widened her eyes innocently. "Mom? Nothing."

  Then she started rambling on about the staff, and he was pretty sure she was making half the shit up. Shaking his head in total confusion, he followed her to the cafe. She fixed two plates, one for each of them and sat them down at a little table, continually rambling. Resigned, he sat. Watching her have this one-sided conversation, he was aware that she was avoiding his gaze. She ate most of her plate and frowned at his untouched one, but only muttered something under her breath before grabbing his hand again.

  "Come on, you need a shower."

  He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn't seem to notice. She led him to a room with a sanitary, still chattering on about nothing while he cleaned up. Her only comment before she herded him back out the door was, "That's better; you were pretty stinky."

  They wandered back to the lounge and sat in silence for a long time, Regan constantly shooting him looks out of the corner of her eye. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "What!"

  "Dad—" She gnawed on her lip and frowned at him earnestly. "Why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

  He opened his mouth to tell her that it wasn't that easy, then snapped it shut again.

  The kid was right. Mea needed to know that it didn't matter how many times she told him to get out—he wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't. She was just going to have to accept that, and he was getting sick of waiting for her to come to it on her own. He'd made a mistake when he'd left them on Xerxes, but he couldn't let her force him into making another one—he couldn't let her push him away. He deserved—he didn't know if he deserved anything, but he was going to be heard, by god.

  Surging to his feet, he marched out the door and down the corridor to Mea's room. Riding a wave of determination, he didn't hesitate to stride right in.

  The sight of her sitting on the bed in one of those wraps that drove him so crazy froze him in his tracks. Her dark hair was curling over her shoulders, and her skin had a healthy glow. She looked as though nothing had happened to her, and he wasn't prepared for the desire that slammed into him and held him helpless.

  She glanced up from a digital pad she'd been reading and eyed him as casually as though he was just one of the staff.

  "Still here, huh?" Tossing the pad onto the bed, she slid off the side and started toward him. "I guess I'm well enough to remove you myself."

  She moved without a limp, but he could see by her slow movements that she wasn't fully recovered. Desperate to keep her from trying anything physical—and desperate to keep her out of his reach—he blurted the first words that popped into his head, "Tell me what's wrong with me."

  Her eyebrows raised as she studied him coldly, folding her arms across her chest. At least she'd stopped moving towards him.

  "You want the long or short version? Never mind, the long will keep us here all day. You are a stubborn, pig-headed, obstinate, unfeeling, unreliable son-of-a-bitch who's so blind you couldn't see the truth if it bit you in the—"

  "I can't eat."

  She stared at him for a second with her mouth open before snapping it shut and eyeing him warily.

  "I can't sleep."

  She dropped her eyes to bare toes peeking out from under her wrap and leaned casually against the bed without comment.

  "I can't stop thinking about you. What's wrong with me?"

  "Well," she murmured without looking up at him, "if you were a normal person, I'd say you were in love. But we both know you're not normal." When she did look up, his heart sank to see her eyes still cold and her mouth in a bitter line. "So I'd say either you need to see a doctor or you're mocking me. Either way, I think it's now going to hurt a lot when I kick your ass out the door."

  She began moving toward him again and he backed away, desperation roughening his voice. "Damn it, Mea, I can't survive—" He broke off with a growl of frustration. In her present mood, she wasn't likely to believe him if he finished that sentence without an explanation. "Okay, I am stubborn and blind and stupid."

  She halted, tipping her head to one side and narrowing her eyes at him. He could practically see her trying to figure out his angle. Using this opportunity, he began to pace, saying his piece rapidly before she booted him, "Look, I didn't believe you at first. I couldn't. My life was survival and that's all—always has been. I grew up in a place where there were two kinds of people, predators and prey. To survive, I was a predator—I killed to stay alive. It's not an excuse; that's just how it was. I didn't deserve any better, so how could I think somebody'd offer me better? You were too good to be true, so I couldn't believe that you'd care about me or want me in your life. Then you left me on Xerxes and I—"

  Stone ran a hand around the back of his neck nervously. Would she understand? Would she see how he needed her? Not looking at her, he continued to pace and forced the words out of his dry throat, "I figured out that you were telling the truth. I figured out that—that without you, I was gonna end up back in the hole. Without you, I'd want to be there." He stopped pacing and looked at her, fists clenched at his sides. "I wasn't mocking you, but I don't have a clue what love is. It doesn't matter. I need you in my life. I can't—survive—without you."

  Heart thundering, he waited.

  She watched him without expression for what had to be the longest minute of his life before turning away. Still mo
ving slowly, she paced over to the controls on the wall and dimmed the lights to a point where they wouldn't hurt his eyes. Then she walked back toward him.

  He slowly tugged the goggles down, watching her with increasing anxiety. She paused in front of him, carefully studying his features long enough to make his head pound with tension. Whatever she saw in his eyes and face made a small smile curve her lips and her green eyes began to warm. He felt his throat close with relief and desire.

  "Say that again," she murmured softly, but he couldn't speak, captured by her beauty, her warmth, and god the scent of her—

  Reaching out with shaking fingers, he buried his hands in her hair and pulled her close, mouth slanting across hers desperately, saying it again, but in a different way. Her response nearly dropped him to his knees as she wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on tip-toe to fit her body snugly against his and kissed him back just as ravenously.

  Starved for her after so long, Stone ran his hands compulsively along her curves, groaning hungrily when she arched into him. She began making those little noises in the back of her throat that drove him so insane, and he wasn't even going to be able to wait long enough to get her to the bed.

  Until she flinched. He tried to gentle his touch, restrain himself enough not to hurt her, but her hands were reaching under his shirt and over his hot flesh…

  She flinched again. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. She didn't realize his intent and wasn't going to make it easy for him, purring in his ear and nibbling at his earlobe. He shuddered as goosebumps chased each other along his skin and placed her carefully on the bed before wrenching away. Taking two large steps back from the bed, he stood shivering and gasping as though he'd run a race.

  "Bay! Get back here!" she exclaimed, her expression a combination of demand and entreaty.

  "No. I hurt you."

  "You think having you is not worth a little pain? Please!"

  He nearly caved at the desperation that matched his own in her voice. "No, damn it, you're not done healing. I need you too much. I'd hurt you."

  "That's—" she started breathlessly, then stopped to swing her legs with languid grace over the side of the bed. "Telling me you need me is not the way to cool me down."

  He looked away from the heat in her eyes, but couldn't escape the enticing purr in her voice. She leaned on one hand and crossed her legs, contriving to bare one nearly to the hip. Looking him up and down like cat eyeing its prey, she murmured softly, "As I recall, there was a time that you held me down and drove me crazy. I suppose it's my turn."

  The thought made him burn from head to toe and he twisted away, agonized. "Goddamn it, Mea, do you want me to hurt you?"

  There was a long pause in which he refused to look at her, painfully aware of how close he was to giving in. Just the sight of the smooth skin of her thigh and her inviting smile would be enough to push him over the edge. The memory was bad enough.

  "All right, fine. I see you're just as stubborn as ever," she muttered acidly.

  He heard a rustling and glanced over to see her tucking her legs under the covers.

  "I'm only going to spontaneously combust. Where's the harm in that?"

  He watched her take a deep breath and hold it, eyes closed. After a moment she let it out on a sigh, and he took the opportunity to take a few deep breaths himself. Then she slanted a look at him out of the corner of her eye, and he stopped breathing again.

  "If I promise to behave, will you come sit?" She patted the bed next to her.

  "That's not a good—"

  "I'll keep my hands to myself, and I promise not to provoke you."

  She folded her hands primly in her lap and smiled at him. He stared at that smile like a man dying of thirst would look at a glass of water.

  "Doesn't take much," he muttered.

  "Please? I'll be good. I won't touch you. I just want you near me."

  His feet started moving before his brain had decided—the temptation to be close to her was too much. He gingerly sat facing her a couple of feet away, and she immediately broke her promise by scooting forward and laying her head on the shoulder closest to her. Though she kept her hands in her lap, she rested half of her body against him. In tense silence, he struggled to keep his hands off of her, but his need was too great. Slipping one arm around her waist, he buried his face in her hair with a low groan.

  At first, his desire kept him from relaxing and just holding her. He sat with his hands fisted and body trembling. After a while, he fought his way through it. Holding her satisfied different needs than just the physical, and little by little his muscles loosened. But strangely, she seemed to tense more and more as time went on.

  "I don't believe in love at first sight," she finally said into the silence. "I didn't figure out that that was my problem with you until later. What I felt when I first looked at you—besides lust—was recognition. Do you know what I mean?"

  He nodded into her hair, because he knew exactly what she meant. When he remembered looking into her eyes for the first time, he knew that's what he'd felt, too. An animal knows its mate, and she was his—it just took him a while to admit it.

  She didn't wait for his reply, though. "I recognized you for what's been missing in my life, in me. You are what makes me whole, what completes me. We're two of a kind, you and I, and we belong together. I do love you, Bay, but I also need you. That's why I can't—I won't—tolerate you leaving again."

  The last words sounded like she'd been speaking through clenched teeth, and he chuckled. Just like her to tell him to leave and then turn around and arrogantly refuse to let him go.

  "As long as you don't drug me again—"

  She didn't respond to his light tone, seeming to stiffen even further. Burying his fingers in the soft strands of her hair, he tugged gently to tip her face back. What he saw there was something he'd never seen on her face before—fear.

  "Mea, didn't you hear me before? I can't survive without you. I'm not going anywhere, ever, unless you kick my ass out. Even then I'd crawl after you. I'd—I would beg to stay." He flushed a little at that humiliating admission, but didn't take it back. "I'd beg now if it'd help."

  She studied his eyes for a second, her lovely face open and vulnerable, before she smiled. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and it damn near stopped his heart.

  "I love you," she sighed, and clasped his face in both hands, pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss.

  Chaste or not, it stirred him as much if not more than their passion earlier, reaching down into him with soul-sucking heat. He had no idea how he kept from pressing her down into the bedding, but he didn't move when she pulled away and lay back against the pillows.

  Her smile was still there, but it now had an edge of heat to it.

  "I am tired. Should probably rest." Her eyes told him that was a lie as they ran over him hungrily. "Why don't you go tell our daughter the good news?"

  His heart skipped a beat at her words, and he couldn't stop a grin from spreading across his face. She was letting him stay, and she was calling Regan their daughter. Something that had been painfully tight for a very long time—possibly all his life—eased in his chest, and he leaned forward to plant a hard kiss on her lips. Jumping up from the bed before he could convince himself that it'd be a good idea to stay, he strode out of her room, resisting the temptation to look back and see that smile again.

  Regan was pacing outside, biting her nails nervously. When she saw him, she hurried over, features tautly worried until she saw his smile. Then joy bloomed on her face and warmed him like a sun.

  "You're staying!" she shrieked and flung herself at him.

  He scooped her up against his chest and held her tight. "I'm staying," he murmured, more for himself than her.

  His world was expanding at an incredible rate, and he was having trouble convincing himself that it was real. Did he deserve happiness after all he'd done? A murdering hardcase convict like hi
mself? I don't know if I deserve it, he thought with a stubborn clenching of his jaw, but I'm not letting it go.

  Cradling his little girl against his chest, he realized that she was crying softly into his neck and he smiled. Was this love? It didn't matter. He knew what else it was and to him that was more important. It was—finally—freedom.