Incorruptible

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Besides, if she was driving, he could study her all he wanted, hurriedly looking away when she glanced nervously in his direction or grimaced as if her head hurt again.

  “You could speed up a little,” he managed. His chest was full of the slow flame of healing, and with her nearness flushing his marks with grace it would take far less time than usual. Still, he was more than uneasy.

  He was, in fact, flat-out perturbed. A hazazel, with enough diaboli minori to overwhelm a legionnaire? Add the spider-unclean at the window, and you had a concerted, planned attack, not just a few unclean stumbling across an Incorruptible’s trail.

  And that should not have happened. At least, not so soon, in a city full of enough mortals to provide the white noise of cover for a single Incorruptible.

  Jenna’s mouth tightened, her lower lip compressing. “I hate backseat drivers.” Her pretty hands, filthy with decaying ichor and stripes of drying blood—all Michael’s, thank the Principle—rested exactly at ten and two o’clock on the wheel, and her knuckles were white.

  What could he say to put her at ease? “Technically I’m in the passenger seat.”

  “Driver picks the speed, passenger shuts his pie-hole.” She touched the brakes, and the truck rolled to a stop precisely before a white painted line. The stoplight threw a rubescent glow into the cab, and there was precious little traffic at this hour. The Corolla had turned down a side street, probably relieved to be free of impediments.

  “Yes ma’am.” Why was he smiling? Probably because she was, a tight curve of her pretty lips that filled him with a different heat. A fresh flood of grace filled him toes to hairline, and he luxuriated in it. “Any place will do, Jenna. Just find us another hotel.”

  “I’m working on it.” A welcome flash of irritation, much better than fear. She freed a hand to push her hair back. Silken strands clung to her fingers, and he longed to touch them as well. “You crushed my phone, or I could find one in two shakes.”

  Was she still angry? There was a lump in his throat. “They’d track your phone.”

  “Looks like they’re tracking us anyway, right?” She glanced at him, a quick flicker of dark eyes, but the light turned green and the truck rolled forward again.

  “Not sure.” It wasn’t a lie, he told himself. He wasn’t completely sure, he only suspected, and besides, she didn’t need anything else to worry about right now. His chest ached, the marks clustering the wound and re-knitting unmortal flesh.

  “You’re not sure? What was that, then?” Her irritation was blessedly natural, reaction setting in. The battle was over, now it was time for the fallout.

  “I don’t know yet, lumina.” Michael sagged against the seat. It was the first time someone else had driven his truck, and they were a tiny red beetle crawling between stacks of concrete, caught in a tangle of one-way streets. “I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. If they’re not tracking us, how did they—”

  She was bright in more ways than one. “They sense Incorruptibles like we do.” Michael touched his chest, wincing slightly. A hazazel, and he’d survived—and she’d had the presence of mind to pull the blade free. Otherwise he might still be there, pinned like a butterfly. “It could just be bad luck.” He didn’t want to tell her his other, darker imaginings.

  Not yet.

  “Great,” she muttered, stopping at yet another white line, rolling forward, stopping again as she peered to the left. At least they’d made it out of the parking garage before the cops showed up. Scrambling the security cameras on their way out had taken a great deal of his waning strength. “Pretty much the only kind of luck I have, anymore.“

  “I wouldn’t say that.” From where he was sitting, it looked they were doing unreasonably well, considering the circumstances. “We’re still alive. And you threw light in sliptime. That’s pretty considerable.”

  “If it makes me feel like this, I’d probably rather not.” She was still smiling, but her mouth was much softer now.

  He was lucky, to be able to see as much. The Principle was kind, and she was doubly so. It probably hadn’t even occurred to her to leave him behind, or to leave the knife in him. He would have returned to conscious motion as soon as the thing was extracted, but fighting free of a morgue and tracking her down in a diaboli-infested city wasn’t the best way to make a good impression. “Next time, you just run. Run as far and as fast as you can, I’ll find you. But you can’t stay if I’m put out of commission, Jenna.”

  “Oh, so I should have just left you there with a demon knife in your chest? Duly noted.” She winced, pushing her hair back, her left hand still clutching the wheel. “Good thing this is an automatic. Manuals hate me.”

  “Duly noted,” he echoed. By all rights he should be driving, letting her recover from the shock. She was running on adrenaline now, and the crash would come sooner or later. “I’m serious, Jenna. You have to stay alive and reach L.A.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Michael. I’ve been running all my life.” She exhaled sharply, spotted a freeway sign, and stepped on the gas. “Hallelujah. Do me a favor and just start looking for hotel signs, okay?”

  “Yes ma’am.” He sagged in the seat, fingering the crusted, ragged hole in his T-shirt. Pinned on ruined carpet, hearing her sobbing breaths but unable to move—that was hell, and he was grateful she’d stopped to take the spike out of his chest. She was saving him instead of the other way around, and that wasn’t good. He’d never make centurion, or even stay as her legionnaire once they reached Los Angeles, if this continued.

  They might not reach the last Eyrie in North America at all, if he kept fucking up. But a hazazel with a hunting party? Coming right to their door instead of working a hotel floor-by-floor to find their prey?

  It was easy enough to figure out how. He just didn’t want to believe it, and that was dangerous.

  Michael settled himself to the work of healing, drawing as much grace as he could from the volcano in the driver’s seat. His marks prickled, sang, filled with slow fire-honey. She had the Breath, so she was slightly more durable, but still, she shouldn’t have had to attack at all. She should be safe in a plush suite in the Eyrie already.

  Why hadn’t they arranged a helicopter or a private plane? Did the Legion not have the means it once had?

  Forget about that. Figure out how to keep her safe. He would have to hope the planned rendezvous tomorrow wasn’t a trap. And, more importantly, he had to plan.

  Just in case it was.

  Dawn was clear and chilly, the mercury plunging and weak sunshine unable to do much more than gild a few edges through a Motel 6 parking lot in Aurora. The wound on his chest was fully sealed, the scar shrinking hourly, and he was only hungry. Fueling the healing was hungry work, and one of the few times a legionnaire outright required mortal food. Even the amount of grace she emitted couldn’t bring him back to full capability fast enough.

  Jenna, however, was having a little difficulty. She examined the pink scar over his heart, the bandage she’d insisted on taping down last night innocent of any stain. Her dark, liquid gaze stuttered to his face and Michael suffered it, hoping he had an appropriate expression on. They’d never told him what to do when a tank-top-and-boxer-clad Incorruptible insisted he take his shirt off and sit on a closed toilet. The first-aid kit she’d placed solicitously in their shopping cart several towns ago rested on the bathroom counter under high-glare fluorescents, the red cross on its blue cover a reminder of other battles.

  Mortal battles. Now he was engaged in other ones.

  The tank top hid nothing; her legs were long, smoothly muscled, and incredibly distracting. “That’s so freaky.” Fascinated, she extended a fingertip and touched one end of the scar.

  Michael’s jaw set. The contact was electric, grace spreading in hot, concentric rings. Cool air mouthed his bare skin, every nerve tingling at her nearness. It was exactly like waking from a dream of victory to find his body behaving like a mortal’s, and he gripped b
oth sides of the plastic seat with aching fingers.

  It wouldn’t do to lose control now. Of course they told you about the effect an Incorruptible could have on a legionnaire, but feeling it was something else.

  In all senses of the phrase.

  “I heal fast,” he muttered. It made sense that he was… receptive to her. Who wouldn’t be? She was flat-out gorgeous, stunningly kind, and so brave it could break a legionnaire’s heart, let alone a mortal one. How could any of them, even with their dulled senses, been unkind to her? “See? I’m all right.”

  He didn’t want his lumina to move away. In fact, the only thing he wanted was to lay his hand over hers, flattening her palm against his bare chest to bathe in that warm, forgiving grace, and it was the thing he couldn’t do.

  You did not force an Incorruptible’s touch. It was a gift to be accepted, not sought and definitely not stolen.

  “Yeah.” Thankfully, she took her hand away, gazing at his face. Her worry taunted him, turning her dark eyes sad and highlighting the shadows underneath. Her hair was a soft, glorious tangle from restless sleep on one of the sagging double beds. A cheap motel was no place for her, but of course she wouldn’t complain. “So, we’re meeting up with more of your guys today.”

  Hopefully. If I’m wrong. And I’d love to be wrong. “Yes. That means you’ll be safer.” His hands tingled, throbbed, ached with the craving to reach across a bare few inches of space, maybe close around her soft, fragile wrist.

  She straightened slowly, nervously gathering her hair with both hands and backing away as far as limited space permitted. Her hip brushed a stack of white towels on the counter. A fresh set of clothes for her were on the other side of the sink, neatly folded, but she refused to clean up until he was taken care of. “What if they don’t show?”

  Then I know I’m right. But he didn’t want her worrying about that. Not yet, not for as long as possible. “We keep driving. They’ll catch up.” Another statement that was only partly an untruth, but an acceptable one, he hoped. The calmer she was, the better. “You want a shower now?”

  “My hair’ll probably freeze. But yes, I should.” She drew away, busied herself fussing with the unnecessary first-aid kit. A tiny tremor ran through her arms, barely visible, but her hands were steady. “Funny, huh? I can deal with demons and bad dreams, but you getting stabbed and it closing up… that’s a little, you know…”

  “Troubling?” Would it reassure her to know she was handling this far more gracefully than most mortals? The Legion protected the Incorruptible from humanity’s howling, cheated jealousy, but mortals were masters at not-seeing the darkness or the weird until forced, and then deconstructing as soon as it was thrust upon them.

  “And comforting, I guess.” Another one of those small, sipping glances, checking the emotional weather on his face. He longed to find the man who ground that habit into her, and wrap his hands around the mortal’s throat. “I guess you’re tougher than you look.”

  “I hope so.” It would be easy to reach out, touch her arm, the back of her bare hand. To feel that drugging, drowning grace again… oh, the temptation was amazing, and he didn’t have the strength to keep it at bay for much longer.

  So he did the only thing he could do, pulling his cheek in and biting down, savagely. The pain helped center him, and he tasted mineral blood. His was still thin and red as a mortal’s, not the thick amber ichor of the twisted and unclean. It hadn’t occurred to him to be grateful until now; if he was bleeding clean, he had not deviated.

  Oddly, Jenna laughed—a soft, nervous sound, tightening his skin and brushing velvet along his shoulders. “You’re a very funny fellow, Michael.”

  “Yeah.” He searched for something else to say, some way to amuse her, steady her. “I’ll, uh. Just go get dressed. Packed. Yeah.”

  “You do that.” She closed the kit with a snap, and when he unfolded, he was very aware of how small and slim she was, and how close in this small space. She glanced at him, hunching her shoulders, and Michael moved past an inch at a time.

  He had to say something. Anything. “If you get a headache again, tell me.” He made it to the door without grabbing her arms or burying his face in her long dark hair to inhale the scent of the Principle clothed in warm, beautiful mortal flesh. “I think you’re sensing them.”

  “At least I can do something useful.” She turned, extending the kit in both hands like a gift. “Here. I…thank you, Michael. I was really scared.”

  “I know,” he mumbled. He should have told her she was more than useful, that she’d saved him, but the words tangled in his throat. “I’m sorry.” He took the kit and fled while he still could, shutting the door, and didn’t move away from the thin pasteboard and cheap, locking doorknob until he heard the water start in the tub.

  Thinking of her sliding her pajamas off and climbing under a shower’s warm flow wasn’t calculated to help him stay calm, either. So he retreated, step by step, and set himself to repacking his duffel.

  It was going to be lighter today, because he was going armed with every mortal weapon he had, as well as grace.

  Strictly Human

  What did you talk about with a man who had just been stabbed in the chest? Nothing in Jenna’s life had ever prepared her for this particular situation. Fortunately, Michael was monosyllabic once she got out of the shower, and she glimpsed a shoulder holster under his hip-length, high-collared leather jacket. She even him tuck a knife into his boot, and he pushed the hem of his jean-leg down over it without glancing at her.

  He’d turned completely businesslike, but he didn’t seem angry. Still, Jenna kept a weather eye in his direction. He piloted the truck through a coffee shop drive-thru and ordered tea and a cranberry scone for her, then pointed them at a McDonald’s and paid in cash for a truly staggering amount of fast food. One of the employees had to bring out two armfuls of paper bags, almost staggering under the weight.

  “Need to fuel up,” Michael said, and began to eat. Jenna watched, fascinated. He didn’t seem to get much pleasure out of his breakfast; she nibbled on the scone while he chewed and swallowed mechanically, bolting a cup of coffee doused with creamer and several sugar packets for good measure.

  Finally, though, she had to say something. “Good Lord. Do you even like it?”

  “Cheap calories. The healing takes energy.” He slanted her a somewhat sheepish glance, taking the turn onto the freeway with one hand on the wheel and the other holding yet another breakfast sandwich. “Oh. You probably want something nicer, huh?”

  “I’m good, I like scones.” Though I wouldn’t mind a hash brown or two. “I just don’t want to get in your way.” A joke lingered on the tip of her tongue, but she throttled it.

  She didn’t think he’d take it the wrong way, but better safe than sorry.

  The truck rocked slightly, its engine purred, and acceleration held them both in its weightless grip again. Michael checked over his shoulder and merged with light early morning traffic, still chewing. “I can order more—”

  “I’m kidding, Michael.” She shouldn’t expect him to guess, though. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m just pretty focused.” His nose was a little too long and his cheekbones a little too wide, but when he relaxed, the effect was a good one. Shaved and in fresh clothes, there was no sign of last night’s haggard, staggering man with a giant hole in his chest. “We have a little time before the meet. Figured I’d fuel up and get us onsite early. If there’s setup I want to see it.”

  It was comforting that he was trained for this, but it was doubly comforting that he was smart. Jenna took a bite of scone, relishing the tart sting of cranberries. “Like a spy movie, right?” She swallowed hastily. Don’t talk with your mouth full. “Whoever gets there first gets the jump on everyone else?”

  “So to speak.” A pleased smile lit his face and he swallowed the rest of his sandwich with only two token chews. “We swung by it yesterday, too.”

  And I didn’t even know. Jenna watc
hed a few cars up, where a light pink sedan had forgotten to turn off its left blinker. “You like to be prepared.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He crumpled a McMuffin wrapping, tucked it into the bag holding nothing but empty, greasy paper, and reached for another one. “Better I prepare, the less chance of you getting hurt.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” A shiver worked up her back, and she wished her tea would cool down. Some caffeine would make this a lot easier to deal with.

  “It’ll likely be a ten-man team.” He took another giant bite, barely chewing. “Four’s the bare minimum for moving an Incorruptible even in safe territory, so they should send more. In any case, they’ll have comms and linkups with Los Angeles and we’ll get out of here fast. They may leave me to drive decoy and take you—”

  “No.” It was out before she could stop herself, a bark of refusal almost spraying scone-crumbs all over the dash. Jenna swallowed hastily. “I’m not going anywhere with strangers. I don’t care if they’re like you.”

  “Jenna—”

  “No.” Being carried along like a doll was just fine with monsters running around, but something about the prospect of being spirited away from the only halfway-familiar person she had left called up a strange, panicky feeling behind her breastbone. “You’re coming along. Someone else can drive your truck, right?” Great, Jenna. Just assume he’ll leave his car behind.

  Michael didn’t sigh, but he was silent as he consumed two more sausage sandwiches with big, efficient bites. His throat worked, carrying the last of them down, and he finally spoke. “Jenna, I’m just a grunt, I’d just be in the way. They’ll be a good team, high ratings, to pick up an Incorruptible. They won’t want me in the mix.”

  “But I do.” She stared at her tea, wincing a little as the truck curved through an onramp and hot liquid sloshed inside the paper cup. He knew where he was going, at least. If he was going to get mad at her for disagreeing, now was the time. “I trust you, I’m not sure about anyone else.”