The Last Twilight

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “So, what you are saying,” Amiri replied carefully, “is that these men are established, somewhere in this jungle.”

  “Established and safe, with helicopters coming and going at all hours.”

  “What a terrible way to keep a secret,” Rikki muttered. “How do the other people here feel about all this?”

  “They know little of the politics. All they care is that this is a new park, with little competition for research spots. Almost all the people here are graduate students, like the couple who are caring for the child you brought.” He shrugged, chewing a peanut. “Blind to everything but the wildlife. Some may be leaving soon, though. The forest has begun to … unnerve them. They claim to have seen strange creatures. Bouda, specifically.”

  “Bouda?” Rikki echoed.

  “Shape-shifters,” Amiri said, voice flat. “Members of a tribe that have been attributed with having the power to transform into hyenas. More of a western African myth than central, I would say.”

  “Nonetheless. The students tell me they have seen animals who walk on two feet. Golden glowing eyes.” Ekemi gave Amiri a long searching look. “To be honest, when I first saw you, I wondered. I have never met a man with eyes such as yours.”

  “Superstitious,” Amiri said, but he thought of what the children had told him, back at the village, and the hairs rose on his neck like little claws. He felt Rikki watching him.

  Ekemi pushed away from the table. “I have sleeping bags you can use. I would offer you my own bed if I had one.”

  “I will be going soon,” Amiri replied.

  “Not yet,” Rikki said.

  Ekemi hesitated, glancing between them. “Will you sleep in separate rooms?”

  “No,” they answered, in unison. Amiri cleared his throat, daring the Ranger to say anything. The man was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. He showed them to the storeroom, which was mostly empty except for open boxes of canned food and water, as well as bound stacks of toilet paper and an open first-aid kit. Someone had been searching for Band-Aids.

  Ekemi pulled two sleeping bags free of some boxes. “There is an outhouse just behind this building. I will be around if you need anything.” He hesitated, pushing up his glasses. “Do not go tonight, sir. Wait until morning.”

  Amiri could make no such promises. He was keenly, almost painfully, aware of Rikki’s presence, and her voice was low, strained, as she said, “They could come here looking for us. You sure you’re up for the risk? All of these people?”

  “Are you protecting something important, Doctor Kinn?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Then all will be right in the end. Besides, Jean-Claude would never forgive me. And he is a far better shot with his gun.” Ekemi saluted Amiri, left them the flashlight, and closed the door securely behind him. Footsteps faded, followed by the gentle click of another door closing.

  Amiri said, “Do you trust him?”

  “Seems too good to be true. But … my gut says yes. I would assume yours does, too, given that you’re planning on leaving me here.” Rikki’s gaze was flat, cold—but worse, disappointed. “Don’t suppose you thought to ask me how I felt about that.”

  “I did not think. I simply … spoke.”

  “Eager to get things done?”

  “We must,” he said, aching. “But that does not mean I want to leave you here.”

  “You’re afraid.”

  “Terrified of the possibilities,” he admitted. “But I suppose you think this is little different than what you proposed earlier. That I leave you behind.”

  “Gee, no,” she replied. “Certainly nothing along the lines of ‘You will have to shoot me first.’”

  “Circumstances have changed.”

  “As far as you’re concerned.”

  “And can you run twenty miles in the dead of night, Rikki Kinn? Can you keep up with me?”

  “You know I can’t. And I’m not saying it’s a bad plan.”

  “You are still unhappy, though. I can hear it in your voice.”

  Rikki turned away from him, and began unrolling the sleeping bags. Amiri touched her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He tried touching her waist, and she batted his hand away. Panic swelled. As did irritation.

  When he grabbed her the third time, he did not let her push him aside. He held on tight, pulling her hard against his chest. Warm and small; her scent was raw, female. Memories filled him: her hot mouth, the taste of her body on his tongue. Lust warred with his temper.

  Amiri dragged in a rough deep breath, trying to control himself. She had been hurt. Tortured. And he had already been rough with one woman today. He did not want to remember that look on Mireille’s face ever again.

  Monster, whispered a tiny voice. Amiri gritted his teeth, relaxing his hold on Rikki’s arms. She did not move away, simply pushed deeper into his body. He closed his eyes, savoring the contact.

  She turned. The flashlight was still in her hand, pointed at the floor. The ambient light gave her a ghostly pallor, her eyes huge, haunted. She tried to say something, stopped, cleared her throat.

  “If you go,” she said slowly. “You will come back to me.”

  “I will fly to you,” he whispered, stooping to peer into her eyes. “My skin is your skin. All that I am, yours.”

  He saw her swallow hard, her gaze uncertain. “Sounds binding.”

  “Unto death.” He kissed her gently on the mouth, and after a moment, Rikki relaxed, sagging against his body. Her fingers trailed down his spine, featherlight. Gentle, tender. So few had ever been gentle with him in anything; tenderness, rarer yet. He could not fathom what it did to him—just one touch, her acceptance. No fear. No fear, when fear had guided so much of how he lived his life. Survival begged absolute distrust—of everything, everyone.

  But Amiri had trusted more than he should. He had loved more than was safe. He had broken the rule of fear, and it, in turn, had broken him—with his capture, with all the little betrayals and deaths that had accumulated over a lifetime. So much easier to be alone.

  Rikki had changed everything.

  And now you cannot go back to being on your own. She is home. You are home.

  For the first time in his life, home.

  “How do you do it?” he murmured, stirred by a tenderness that was low, deep; an ache he imagined poets must share. He felt like a poet with her.

  “Do what?” she breathed.

  He kissed her ear. “I am not lonely with you.”

  She went still in his arms. Then, carefully, she pulled away, just enough to stare into his face. Her expression, profoundly grave. No words, just that look, that glimpse of wonder in her eyes, that lovely light like the shimmer of some spring morning, first light of dawn: golden and sheer and young.

  He kissed her. He wanted to be gentle, but the moment his lips touched hers, he could not help but drag her close, hard against his body. He forced his tongue past her lips and she moaned against his mouth, kissing him back with a ferocity that sank like fire into his bones. Her fingers dragged at the wrap around his waist, tearing it away from his hips, pushing down on his underwear. He could hardly think past her mouth, her hands—she slid her fingers down the crease of his backside, tugging, squeezing, and he hardened so fast and so painfully, he broke off their kiss, gasping.

  “We cannot,” he breathed, but he could barely think past the sight of her swollen lips and drowsy eyes, the scent of her desire pouring over him in waves. Rikki flung out her hand, reaching for the first-aid kit. She knocked it over and dropped to her knees, rummaging, and after a moment, held up a condom. Electricity shot through him. Even more when she yanked his underwear all the way down to his ankles and placed her mouth over his erection. She did it fast, in one smooth movement, leaving him totally unprepared for the sensation of her tongue caressing the underside of its head, her hot breath, the wickedness of her fingers dancing light over the shaft; and lower, to his testicles. He reached out, wild, knocking aside one of the boxes, and Rikk
i started laughing, quietly, with him still in her mouth.

  Amiri pushed her away, sinking to his knees in front of her. He felt all bent up, crushed with pleasure, but he forced himself to hold back, to think.

  “I do not want to hurt you,” he said, shaking with the effort not to touch her. “I do not want you to be frightened of me.”

  Rikki’s eyes darkened and she reached out, grabbing his penis with both hands. She squeezed, and the pleasure was so close to pain, he threw back his head, breath rattling in his throat.

  “Does this look like a frightened woman?” Rikki murmured throatily, brushing her lips against his open mouth. “I want you to touch me, Amiri. I want you inside me.”

  He grabbed the back of her head and caught her mouth, sucking on her lower lip. Rikki sighed, melting into his body, and he reached down, breathless and hesitant, to touch her breast through her shirt. She stiffened, but he thought it was with pleasure because she made another low sound, squirming against his hand. Her hard nipple rolled against his fingers, and he squeezed gently, pulling. Rikki cried out, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulders.

  Emboldened, Amiri pushed up the hem of her shirt. Slow, easy, watching her reaction. She kept her eyes closed, but he sensed new tension. A furrow between her eyes. He hesitated, then said, “Lie down.”

  She finally looked at him, and her uncertainty branded him to the core. Amiri touched her face, as gently as he could. “Trust me.”

  Rikki swallowed hard, face flushed, and lay down on her back. Amiri said, “Turn over, and take off your shirt.”

  She hesitated. “If you don’t want to see—”

  He kissed her before she could finish. “Do as I say.”

  Rikki did, but she started to grumble, muttering things that even he could not understand. He bit back a smile, watching as she tore off her shirt and tossed it—with some anger—at a box. She lay down on her stomach.

  “Happy?” She sounded bitter. Amiri did not answer. He straddled her hips, and began to massage her back. Long strokes, following the fine lines of her spine and shoulders, tracing paths with his mouth and tongue and fingers, savoring her sighs of pleasure. He moved lower, his erection rubbing briefly against her backside, and had to stifle his own groan—and the overwhelming urge to take her right then.

  He removed her pants. Slid them over her hips. Heard something metallic hit the floor beneath her. She flinched, reaching. Much to his surprise, her hand came back with a scalpel.

  “Ingenious,” he murmured. “I hope you were not planning to use that on me.”

  “Be good,” she muttered lazily, and put the blade aside.

  Amiri nudged it aside just a little further, making her laugh—which turned into a gasp as he began kissing his way down her lower back. Her thighs shifted, the scent of her desire so strong and rich, he wanted to bury himself in it.

  So he did: slow, easy, reaching beneath her with one hand to raise her hips. He did not pierce her body, but rubbed himself against her, tight and hard, reaching out with his other hand to sink his fingers against her cleft, flicking lightly until she trembled. He moved deeper, his fingers sliding into her hot wet core; hooking, pressing. Rikki’s breath rattled, and she began moving her own hips against his hand as he pressed harder and tighter against that small spot. He took her almost to the edge before pulling away, turning her, ignoring her cries of protest as he made her recline on her back. He sank between her legs, reveling in her taste and scent as he went deep with his tongue. Her thighs tightened, and so did he, sliding his hands under her body to squeeze her closer. She writhed beneath him, and while she was distracted, he reached up with one hand to touch her breasts.

  Amiri felt the scars beneath his fingers. He remembered every mark, every ragged cut, each initial and brand. His fury was as strong as his lust, and the two warred together, making his heart bleed. He could not imagine what she had endured—at the mercy of sadists, men who treated her as less than human, tortured to the very edge of life. Forced to live, every day, knowing that the reminder of that pain would never leave her.

  But you are still alive, Rikki Kinn. Alive and strong and unbroken.

  And he could not admire her more—could not love her more—than he did just at that moment.

  He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, her ribs. She began to cover herself, but he pulled her hands away and covered her scars with his mouth, dredging up every ounce of gentleness he possessed. Trying to show her, in ways words never could, how much he desired her.

  She stopped fighting him, after a while. She began to relax again. But it was not until he moved to kiss her mouth that he tasted something salty, and realized that she had been crying.

  Everything inside him stopped. He could hardly breathe. “I hurt you.”

  “No.” Rikki swiped at her eyes. “No. Just the opposite.”

  “Rikki,” he murmured, searching her face, heart breaking. But she kissed him before he could say anything else, and a moment later pushed the condom into his palm. She had to help him put it on—his hands were shaking too much—and she started laughing, sniffing back more tears. Amiri kissed her brow, and Rikki straddled his lap, sinking down on top of his body.

  It had been a long time, and she was hot and tight and felt so good it was almost over on that first long stroke of her body. He kept strong, though, and fell into her rhythm as she began to move, her arms gripping his shoulders, her eyes closed and her head thrown back. She thrust hard, fast, and just when he thought she was going to climax, she stopped abruptly, gave him a breathless, wicked grin, and climbed off his body to turn so that he could enter her from behind. Which he did, giving himself over to every primal desire and raw ounce of lust, thrusting into her body as she writhed against him.

  Rikki slammed her fists into the floor, throwing herself forward on her elbows. He braced himself with one foot planted on the ground, bending over her body as he ground himself into her heat. She matched him, crying out his name, her sharp sounds of pleasure as loud as his own groans, and he felt himself tightening harder and harder, feeling her body do the same, and at the exact moment she flew apart, he finally let himself go, the sensation so rippling and long, so mind-blowing, he lost himself, body jerking spasmodically, his thoughts drifting free into warmth and an undercurrent of raw lust that did not go away, but only quieted, waiting.

  They collapsed together on top of the sleeping bag, and Amiri curled around Rikki’s sweat-soaked body, inhaling her scent, drowning himself in her warmth. Both of them could hardly breathe, and after a moment, Rikki started laughing again; quiet, almost a giggle.

  “You think anyone heard us?” she asked, still panting.

  Amiri laughed, weakly. “I do not care. I think I could have you again, even now.”

  Rikki groaned, reaching back to touch him. He felt himself harden immediately, and he buried his face in her hair, desperately trying to control himself.

  “Insatiable,” Rikki whispered, turning to look at him. Tears glittered again in her eyes, but she was still smiling. Amiri’s own eyes burned. His throat felt too tight.

  He would have told her what was in his heart. He was ready. But behind them, outside the storage room, a door slammed open and feet pounded the floor. Amiri dragged a blanket over Rikki as Ekemi burst in, breathless, sweat rolling down his face and his glasses askew. His eyes were wild—as was his scent, bitter as acid. He hardly seemed to notice they were naked.

  “There’s something you have to see,” he said.

  Outside, the world had changed. Everyone who had been sitting around the fires now stood, gazing south into the trees. Amiri and Rikki joined them, staring. Gazing deep into the tangle, where green fire burned.

  It flickered and shimmered like some arboreal aurora borealis: ghosts made of emeralds and starlight, spun from darkness. A stiff wind cut across Amiri’s face, carrying the familiar scent of spring rain, and on the edge of his hearing he imagined music, a pipe that was anything but cheery; instead dragg
ing a note as old as stone through the heart of his heart, like an anchor, or pain. Amiri clutched his chest, and noted Rikki doing the same, her palm pressed tight over her heart as she stared into the jungle. No one else seemed to hear that music. Ekemi, the men and women with him, did nothing but stare, and laugh nervously.

  But there was nothing to laugh about.

  “Stay here,” Amiri said, and ran into the jungle. Shouts followed him—everyone but Rikki, it seemed—though he felt her with him as he plunged deep into the twisting labyrinth of trees and vines.

  He ran for a long time. As he did, he felt as though he entered a different world. The air smelled different. Mist rose from the ground, which was no longer cut with vines and the thick unbending jungle brush, but soft, yielding, as though he ran through a meadow, unseen. No more light, no dancing specters, nothing but the stars—and somewhere, the moon.

  He ran until he found the man. A man sprawled in the thick jungle. Naked. Smoke, curling from his skin. Across his back was a sickening crisscross of deep lash marks that for one moment glowed faintly green.

  “Rictor,” Amiri breathed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mercy. Remorse. There was neither in the heart of the person who had hurt the man who lay on the long table in front of Rikki. She had seen a lot of things in her life, but this—even with her own injuries—was one of the worst.

  Rictor’s back was raw. Split open. There was not much light to see by—the lanterns hardly adequate—but even daylight would not have helped; his wounds were sickening. They were reminders of her own scars, the same determined cruelty: splitting a person open, peeling them apart, one strip at a time.

  His back had taken time. Someone had enjoyed this.