This phantom alternative, to which nobody could brainstorm even a remotely reasonable notion of, came in the form of a vehicle column out of the northeast. The dust cloud on the horizon spoke initially of alarm, but that quickly faded when binoculars provided confirmation that the vehicles were marked as Raven. Veronica’s gift from beyond the grave extended in the form of Alondra’s soldiers, rushing to Tombstone’s aid, perhaps a night too late, but in time to preserve those who survived. The rider, Fiona recognized her as the one she’d given Veronica’s missive to, stood at the front of the column like a conquering hero returning home.
The orders for the Marine Captain in charge of the expeditionary force were to assist if possible in any way the White Rook Gieo saw fit. Gieo instructed everyone to scavenge whatever they could from the ruins, refuel the airships with every last drop of Slark fuel they could find, and then the whole of them would return to Albuquerque. The Captain, who had initially seemed a little glum about missing out on the obviously exciting combat of the night before, took the orders as an opportunity to complete his mission without taking losses—an acceptable substitute considering Alondra’s dislike of casualties among her men.
Nothing was going to feel like victory to Fiona at that moment, but the escape provided by Veronica postmortem could suffice as catharsis in a weary moment.
Gieo spent the better part of an hour in the shower of Alondra’s guestroom that she and Fiona were sharing until their accommodations could be arranged. She switched the water from cold to hot and back again half a dozen times just because she could. She scrubbed, shaved, and exfoliated her skin until the water slid off her like silk over glass. Fiona had already been through the bathroom on a similar errand, but hadn’t tarried under the stream of water even half the time Gieo was planning.
Heaven was the only worthy reward for the Asian sky Napoleon and that was precisely what Gieo felt she was given. Wrapped in a towel with her purple hair, grown out nearly to solid black, still wet from the shower, she exited into the bedroom to find Fiona sprawled across their bed. The warm, afternoon sun creeping through the Venetian blinds set lines along the gunfighter’s long, shapely legs. Gieo’s heart caught in her throat at the sight of her lover dressed in a black Victoria’s Secret silky pushup bra and boy-cut panties set from the Angel clothing line Fiona used to model.
“I thought you didn’t like underwear,” Gieo whispered.
“I don’t,” Fiona replied, “but you do, and I thought you deserved a reward.”
“We both do.” Gieo tossed her towel aside, slid onto the bed, and met Fiona halfway for a long, powerful kiss that would have taken her legs from beneath her were she standing.
About the Author
Cassandra Duffy spent most of her childhood being precocious, which stopped being entertaining or impressive when she grew into an adult, at which point she had to start being precious. She writes a free-lance sex advice column found in various lesbian magazines, and has written a handful of short story collections and novels found on her website at http://cassandra-duffy.com/. She lives and writes in Orange County with her partner and soul mate Nichole and their two cats: Dragon and Josephine. She encourages readers to contact her at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @SapphicPixie
The Gunfighter and The Gear-Head Page 34