He studied her, more impressed than angry. He’d had evidence enough of her bravery and determination. But for her to leave the only home she’d known—to go among her enemy to help someone she loved … No survivor had ever attempted such a thing. And while he’d learned better than to judge an enemy based on size, sex, or species, she looked like the last person to pull it off. He suppressed a smile as he remembered how she’d managed to knock him flat on his back within the first fifteen minutes of their acquaintance.
“Did you hear me?” she said. Her words had a desperate edge.
“That’s not a betrayal,” he pointed out. “You didn’t even know me.”
“I’m not finished.”
He breathed evenly, steadying the response of his heart. “What else?”
“I told Cleo if she got me into Al Campo I would give you to her.”
He knew this from the exchange during the confrontation in Al Campo, but still the confession jarred him. The fact that she’d come up with it on her own.
“How did you think you were going to fulfill your part of the bargain?”
She winced at the change in his tone. “I knew eventually you’d come for me. I wouldn’t have to do anything but wait for you to find us.”
Now came his punishment for his softness toward her. For his inability to treat her like the enemy she was. She had learned he was weak with regard to her, and she had used it.
“Smart girl,” he said dryly. “It all went just as you predicted.”
She shook her head. She started to say more, but then seemed to change her mind.
His heart had gone numb. He’d lost the desire to ease her suffering, and he had no sympathy for his own. He felt like a fool.
“I want you to understand,” she began again. “You were my enemy. But sometimes it seemed you weren’t. You were kind to me, but there was always this threat between us. What if I’d come here to harm you? It turned out I had come to harm you. And when I remembered my father was here—that I’d come to find him—I became desperate. I clung to the person I was before I knew you. It was something I never considered—that in the time between sleeping and waking, I might become someone different.”
“Nothing is ever as simple as it seems,” he said softly, more to himself than to her.
“No,” she agreed. Fixing her eyes on his face, she continued, “I needed you to understand why I made that deal with Cleo, but I also want you to know that I immediately regretted it. I tried to see a way out, but it was too late to go back. The trap was set the moment I ran away from you.”
The anguish in her face loosened the stone from his heart. “You did what you set out to do. I respect you for that. I knew very well that those secrets locked inside you would eventually make true enemies of us. How could it be otherwise?”
She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t know what ‘enemy’ means anymore.” Her eyes ranged around the room as she worked through her thoughts. He realized she was logical like him. When logic provided answers that didn’t make sense, she was lost.
“You saved me from Beck,” she continued. “Micah saved us from Cleo. You’ve joined them both against your father, and I’ve left mine behind after coming all this way to find him.”
He bent toward her, drawing her eyes back to his face. “Why did you do that?”
SLEEPER
Asha’s heart quivered. “Why did you risk so much to come for me?”
“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
He held her gaze, and the machinery of her brain locked up. All she could think about was the kiss in the alley. She’d blamed curiosity for the lapse, and sagrada, though the chemical fog had dissipated by the time his lips met hers. She couldn’t blame either of those things now.
But just as her eyes moved to trace the line of his lips he looked away, reaching for a roll of bandages. He scooted around behind her, murmuring, “Lift your tunic again and I’ll finish this. Then you can eat and rest.”
He unwound the second-skin, and a moment later she felt his fingers pressing into her back. The pain had dulled to a low throbbing thanks to the analgesic effect of the salve.
“I left my father because I saw he could take care of himself,” she said, “and because Carrick stayed behind with him in Al Campo.”
“I see,” he replied, applying another strip.
She closed her eyes, aware she was avoiding the very task that had brought her here. “Also because I wanted to talk to you. You deserved to know the truth about me. And about what I’d done.”
He pulled the hem of her tunic from her hands, covering her again. She could feel his eyes on her back.
“I’m not sure I did deserve it,” he said. “I’ve treated you like an enemy from the first moment I met you.”
She gave a tired laugh. “That was back when things made sense—when I was your enemy.” She threaded her fingers, pressing her palms together. “Maybe neither of us is to blame for the decisions we’ve made up to now.”
After a brief silence she heard him packing up the medical supplies. “When the second-skin sets you can bathe if you like. I think you’ll feel much better tomorrow.”
“It’s already much better. Thank you.” Remembering the wasp wound, her hand crept up to her throat, fingers searching for the second-skin covering and finding nothing but smooth flesh.
“Pax?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to tell me why you came for me. But I’m glad you did.”
He hesitated, and she held her breath. Finally he said, “Even though I killed him?”
She scooted around to face him. The color of his eyes, so suggestive of cool green vegetation she’d seen only in Archive photos before now, was more like some strange, alchemic fire at the moment.
“I feel numb about that,” she replied. “It probably should bother me more than it does.”
“He was volatile. But I regret it came to that.”
“I could see why he was angry,” she said. “There was a lot of evidence against me. He was older than me—he remembered his village being burned. He had scars from it, and his parents died.” She looked at Pax. “But I hated him for punishing me without giving me a chance to explain, just because he could.”
Pax frowned. “I don’t know that he and I are all that different.”
“You fought against hurting me, and you asked your ship to protect me. You believed even your enemy deserved compassion.”
“Yet I didn’t show him any.”
She held his gaze. “Why do you think that was?”
Pax stood up, breaking the line of tension stretching between them. “It’s late,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair. “We’re both tired and hungry. There will be time for this later.”
She looked down, trying to hide her disappointment and frustration at the way he kept withdrawing. Changing the subject. She wasn’t sure what she expected from him. She just knew it was something more.
“Do you regret coming for me?” she asked in a voice she couldn’t steady. “After what I’ve told you, I mean? It’s okay if you do.”
He took a step back toward the bed, reaching out and lifting her chin. A current jumped from his fingers, racing through her jaw, causing her ears to buzz.
“I’ll tell you if you want to know. I’m not sure that you do.”
“I want you to tell me,” she whispered.
His thumb grazed her chin, and he raised a dark eyebrow. “I’ve tuned to you. In my mind—in my body, in my blood, in my flesh—you’re my mate. You’re part of me. I’ll always come for you. I’ll always fight for you.”
Her heart stopped. “I…”
“I don’t mean to frighten you,” he continued. “I said I wouldn’t hold you against your will, and I meant it. But you asked why I risked myself by coming for you. It was because I couldn’t do otherwise.”
“But we aren’t—we haven’t—” She broke off, confused and overwhelmed. She had felt his grow
ing attachment, but had never guessed that something like this was behind it.
“You’re right,” he said, releasing her chin. “You asked me, and I’ve told you. But I’ll never speak of it again. It’s merely a fact, and it need not affect you in any way—except that I won’t allow anyone to hurt you. Anyone who does will suffer for it.”
Still reeling, she rose to her feet, looking into his face. “I don’t understand. What happens if I decide to leave?”
The muscles of his jaw clenched and released. “If it’s me that you’re leaving, I’ll stay away. But I’ll never stop looking out for you. This is not a feeling or an emotion. It’s a physical change. It won’t fade.”
“This is some kind of Manti bond?”
“It’s not an insect-like trait, but I would guess it’s related to the genetic tampering. Maybe the intensified mating drive has an effect on bonding hormones as well. Though I don’t know why it would be selective.” He shook his head. “I’ve heard of it happening to others, but I never quite believed in it. I certainly never imagined I was susceptible. My father never experienced it.”
She lost the thread of technical details, still hung up on the earlier part of his explanation. “But it doesn’t mean you love me.” Afraid to watch the effect of her words on his face, she let her gaze fall to his chest.
His hand lifted toward her again, and she could almost feel his fingers on her cheek at the point that he let them drop. The uncertainty was so unlike him. “Right now I don’t know what it means. Only that it is.”
She glanced up at him, and he turned and walked toward the sitting area. She followed in a daze, still trying to get her mind around it all.
Sinking down on the sofa, he started digging through a crate that rested next to the low table. The crate was refrigerated somehow—she could feel the drift of cool air.
“How can I help?” she asked.
“Sit. Let me take care of it.”
She sat down next to him, watching him open containers and arrange food on plates. Dates, figs, almonds, and more of the spiced flatbread she’d eaten on board Banshee. There was also some kind of soft cheese with a fruity glaze smeared over the top.
“Do you do this in the palace, or does someone do it for you?”
It didn’t occur to her the question could be taken wrong until it was already out of her mouth. But Pax smiled. “You think I’m spoiled.”
Her eyes widened. “No, I—”
“It’s okay. I am spoiled. If by ‘this’ you mean putting food on a plate, I possess the required motor skills, as you can see, but usually someone does it for me.”
He handed her a plate, and she felt a smile stretching over her face. A full smile. She realized she hadn’t used those muscles in a while.
“Thank you.”
Next he poured a golden, gently bubbling liquid from a bottle into a glass. She eyed it warily as he placed it on the table in front of her.
“What’s that?”
He laughed. “Not what you think. It’s cava. Do you know what champagne is?”
“Yes.” Her sense of being small and unsophisticated ratcheted up another notch. She couldn’t bring herself to say she’d never tasted it, though he probably knew.
“It’s more or less the same thing, but our version has less alcohol, and enzymes to aid digestion. We drink it at most meals—hybrid digestive systems can be problematic. It might help you relax, but you don’t have to drink it.” He poured a glass of water from another bottle and placed that in front of her as well.
She picked up the cava and took a sip. It was cold and tangy, and the bubbles stung her throat. But she sipped it again and decided she liked it much better than the sticky sweet sagrada.
After a date and a bite of the fruit-sweetened cheese, her hunger cut through the layer of tension she always felt in his presence, and she gave all her attention to her dinner. When she finished she picked up the cava, angling her body and tucking one leg under her.
As Pax placed his empty plate on the table, she said, “I wanted to ask about your government … It’s just your father?”
He folded his arms and leaned back, and her gaze caught where his muscles bunched above his hands. A swath of mesh fabric stretched across the hard plane of his abdomen. Her eyes fluttered up again when he began to speak.
“My father has advisors, and he’s responsive to the people, but you’re right. He’s the amir. A governing general the people have embraced as a ruler.”
“And you’re in line for his position?”
“That’s the assumption everyone has made. But it’s backward, and my father knows it. Our civilization should not be an inheritance. I’m the first Granada generation. We need to be thinking about setting precedent for the future.”
“Will you refuse, then?”
“I don’t know.” He raised his hands to the curve of his jaw, stretching his shoulders and thinking. Causing his muscles to bunch even tighter. “Elections were voted down. I don’t know what would happen if I refused. It might fall to Iris. And she’d never forgive me.”
“Iris doesn’t want to rule?”
“Can you imagine it?”
“Not really,” she admitted, mirroring the wry grin that had crept over his face. The cava, in contrast to the sagrada, was subtle in its effect. But it emboldened her to ask the question she’d hesitated to ask him earlier. “Is it strange to be a prince?”
“That’s a ridiculous word,” he said with a laugh.
“That sounds like a yes.”
He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. “Yes, it’s very strange.”
He turned the bottle toward her and she held out her glass. He filled them both and sank back into the couch.
“Do you have any children?” she asked.
She watched him closely and caught the shadow that passed over his face. “Not yet.”
She drank from her glass, then said softly, “That’s what Cleo wanted from you.”
His eyes moved to her face. “Yes.”
“She tried to trap you.”
“She told you?” he asked, surprised.
“I pieced it together from your conversation with her in Al Campo. You’re not as much of a slave to your biology as you believe, Pax.”
He shook his head. “I couldn’t let her do that to my family.”
“That’s my point.” Not wanting to press him on a topic that she knew made him uncomfortable, she asked, “What happened between her and your father?”
He raised his glass and drained half of the cava. “She was too pushy with her politics. She’s not patient, or subtle. She pressed her advantage with him. You can’t do that with my father.”
“So what she tried to do to you—it really was a political move.”
“It was, but you were right that it was also personal. When she became pregnant with Iris, she wanted an official union with my father, and he refused.”
“She loved him?”
“I honestly don’t know. I was very young at the time. But she wanted it, and he wouldn’t give it to her. He could tolerate her religious zeal in an unofficial relationship, but he wasn’t about to formalize their connection. He believed such an alliance would send a wrong message. She waited for eleven years for him to change his mind.”
“What happened after that?”
“She left him and built this temple.”
“And Iris?”
“My father forbade her to take Iris, but Iris did come to visit her here until … until she tried to use us.”
Bad blood, Micah had said. No question about that. “Do you really mean to help Rebelión negotiate with your father?”
He emptied his glass and set it down. “I do. Everything I said about that was the truth. I don’t like having the role forced on me like this, but I tried for years to get my father to listen to Rebelión’s concerns. DAB-lab is too powerful. They have too much influence over him. Over all of us. Eventually they’ll convince him to exterminate the people
in Al Campo.”
Asha choked on her cava. “Why would they do that? I thought you said human DNA was important.”
“DAB-lab wants us to move to synthetic DNA, so we can better control breeding outcomes. And use gene therapy in cases where breeding has resulted in undesirable traits. The problem is they’re the only ones with my father’s approval to work on synthetic DNA. It’ll give them too much power over us. I can’t believe my father can’t see that. He’s let their support of his regime blind him.”
“You’re starting to sound like Micah.”
He lifted his eyebrows, and his eyes settled on her face. “I think Micah and I probably agree about a lot of things.”
She shifted in her seat, letting her gaze fall away, and drained her glass. He reached for it, brushing her fingers with his in the exchange, and he set it on the table.
“Your bandages should be set now,” he said. “There’s both a shower and a bath, if you want to clean up.” He gestured toward the curtained-off area. “The clothes Micah brought up for you are there as well.”
“I’d like that,” she said, rising. “Thank you.” She swayed a little from the effect of the cava, and she could already feel the muscles in her legs stiffening from all the walking.
Inside the bathroom she fixed on the shower as the most expedient option, and she spent a few minutes fiddling with the closest thing she could find to a control panel. She managed to get the water flowing, and the right temperature and pressure, and then she rinsed away the blood and grime.
The bathroom was stocked with toothbrushes, combs, and various tubes, bottles, and jars. Too tired to explore the contents of anything but what was familiar, her toilet consisted of brushing her teeth and running her hands through her cropped waves.
She grabbed a towel to dry her face and studied herself in the mirror. You should have cut your hair a long time ago, her father had said. She tossed her head, liking the way the shorter locks moved, and the way their ends turned up to frame her face. She’d cut it in her darkest hour, and she’d really made a hack job of it. Her mother had insisted on fixing it, but she hadn’t paid any attention to it—or anything else about her appearance—since her father had vanished.
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