I’d missed his birthday.
His birthday had been the day after we met Kali on that beach.
I’d planned things for him, just like I had the year before, when I missed his birthday because I got kidnapped by Cass. This time, we were going to have a party up on the deck. Maygar was going to help me cook something. We’d joked about making him a curry-flavored cake, with bourbon in the batter.
I had presents for him.
I had Balidor and Yumi grab books for me, from the casino hotel at Macau––Russian novels, if they could find them, or anything that looked decent if they couldn’t. I’d also painted something for him. I’d been working on it for weeks, mostly when he was locked up in here.
Reaching up, I touched his face.
His jaw hardened as I traced it with my fingertips, right before he turned, studying me as closely as I studied him, but still without fully meeting my gaze. I saw tiredness in his expression, but also lingering nerves, what verged on fear.
“Forget it,” he said, giving me a taut smile. “We’ll do it next year.”
I clicked at him reproachfully, but he cut me off before I could speak.
“…We’re still a few days away from the staging area,” he said, gruff.
Still watching his face, I nodded, knowing what he meant.
He was talking about Dubai.
“Do they need me up there today?” I said.
There was a silence.
He shook his head, once.
“Not unless you want to be,” he said.
Exhaling, I relaxed my muscles, lying back on the bed. I winced at my sore rear end, rubbing my wrist with the fingers of my other hand. My wrist didn’t really hurt, not like other parts of my body, and even those, I didn’t really mind.
“No,” I said, wincing again as I adjusted my body. “Not in the slightest.”
He looked at me directly.
“Good,” he said, blunt.
From the way he said it, and the clicking sound he made under his breath after he spoke, I could tell he meant it.
The anger emanating off his light didn’t feel aimed at me. The main emotion he continued to aim at me verged on caution. He looked at me almost like he didn’t know me, or maybe like he wasn’t sure whether he knew me or not––or maybe like he wasn’t sure which version of me he would be getting after last night.
“What about you?” I said, still studying his light.
He shook his head.
“No,” he said only.
I could tell there was more to that answer, both from his light and from the slight hesitation after he said it. When he continued to avoid my eyes, I let him drop it.
I smelled coffee then, and food.
As soon as that much penetrated my awareness, my stomach made urgent little gurgling sounds. I looked past him, to the tray he’d left on the desk.
“Is that for me?” I said, smiling.
“Mostly,” he said.
I nodded, still looking over the contents of the tray, even as I felt him take the opportunity to look at me. I saw a bowl of what looked like blueberries. Next to that, a smaller bowl of what had to be yogurt––probably made of goat milk, considering how many of those we had on board. As far as I knew, we still had only one cow, a chubby black Holstein everyone called “Bessie,” originally as a joke, but the name kind of stuck.
A small pitcher of milk or cream sat next to a tall, dark carafe of what I hoped was coffee.
I knew the cream also probably came from a goat, but I didn’t mind that, either, since I was pretty used to it by now.
Toast sat on a plate next to that, along with eggs and what looked like bacon but was probably some kind of substitute, given the rarity of real meat on the ship. I even saw a glass of orange juice, probably left over from the frozen stuff we had.
“Wow,” I said, propping my upper body on my elbows. “You went all out.”
He stepped closer to me, his expression still unmoving.
I watched his face as he leaned toward me, fascinated by that strange caution I felt on him. He slid a hand into my hair, studying my eyes. He didn’t move for a few seconds as he continued to caress my hair back from my face, sliding his fingers deeper into it behind my head and massaging the back of my skull.
“Do you feel okay?” he said, his voice back to gruff.
I nodded, looking up as he touched my face with his other hand. I felt his light merging into mine, the longer he stood there, almost like he couldn’t help himself. When I didn’t keep him out, he sighed, and I felt that caution in his light melt into something closer to relief.
He moved away a few seconds later, but only long enough to pick up the tray and bring it back to the bed. Once he stood over me, he motioned with his fingers for me to move, to give him space to put it down, then waited for me while I complied.
Once I’d scootched back far enough, he set the tray right on the mattress, on the side nearest to the night table. Then he climbed over it and me, to lay behind me so he wouldn’t be between me and the food.
Or more to the point, between me and the coffee.
He grunted a little.
I heard humor in it that time.
I was already pouring coffee into one of the ceramic mugs as he settled his weight behind me. He slid under the covers as I poured cream then added honey, which I hadn’t even seen in its small, glass jar behind the cream. Once he was under the comforter and sheets, he wrapped his arms around me, coiling a hand back into my hair from behind and caressing it away from my neck. He pressed against me as I popped a few blueberries into my mouth, and I felt him sigh again, that relief more prominent in his light.
He just lay there, his face resting on my spine and the back of my neck while I ate. He raised his head only to kiss me, using light in his tongue and lips, pausing every few seconds to press his face against my skin. When he still didn’t say anything, I focused back on the tray, going up on one elbow so I could pour a refill of coffee, then munching on a piece of what tasted like turkey bacon.
He wrapped his arm around me tighter, crosswise that time.
He pressed his whole body against me and I felt him against the back of my thighs. Pain seethed off his light, catching my breath, but also bringing a rush of affection from me.
I leaned back against him, and felt another pulse of pain leave his light.
“So are you going to tell me?” I said, tilting my head back to look at him.
Given the awkward angle, I only caught a bare glimpse of his face.
“Tell you what?” His fingers were massaging my back.
“The damage,” I said, taking another sip of the coffee. I sighed in ecstasy at the taste. Between that and the back rub, I was feeling pretty much in heaven. He’d brought me real espresso mixed with water, and he’d made it damned strong, the way I liked it.
I gestured vaguely with a hand, taking another long sip.
“You know.” I sighed, putting down the mug carefully, so I wouldn’t spill a drop. “Whatever pieces I have to pick up from this. With the planning of Dubai. With Balidor and the Children of the Bridge. With the infiltration team. With Loki’s op. With, you know… whatever. All the stuff I blew off when I left.”
He let out a low grunt, gripping me tighter.
“None,” he said.
I looked back, meeting his gaze that time. “Meaning what?”
“You might need to apologize to Jon,” he said, quieter.
I winced, and he held me tighter.
“It’s all right, Allie. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He didn’t let go of me, but shifted his weight so he lay more on his back. I noticed that his black hair was getting longer again, even as he shoved a lock of it behind one ear.
“I took care of the rest,” he said.
When I only looked at him, he shook his head, clicking at me softly.
“Don’t worry about it.” His fingers tightened on my back, right before he went back to massaging the musc
les there. “…I mean it. And don’t worry about Jon. He’s not mad at you. He’s mad at me. A lot of people are.” Swallowing, he tilted his head in a shrug. “I covered you in the planning meetings. I made them wait on anything where I thought you might have an opinion. They’re working on multiple scenarios right now. You’ll have something to work with before we get to the staging. I told them to leave you alone until then.”
Another pulse of pain left his light. Shaking his head, he pulled me closer, wrapping his arms tighter around my body.
“Allie, do we have to talk about this right now?” he said.
I shook my head, lowering the mug after another sip of coffee.
“No,” I said. “Is Lily okay?”
He gripped me closer, his mouth firming against my neck.
“Not really, no.” His voice grew quiet, sad, but softer. “She knew something was wrong. You should go see her. Soon, I mean.”
I felt my mouth tighten as I thought about his words. When I felt him waiting for me to acknowledge them in some way, I nodded, exhaling.
“Okay.” I looked back at the tray, and realized I was pretty full already. I took another few blueberries out of the bowl, popping them in my mouth. Chewing, I glanced back at him.
“Do you want to come with me?” I said. “Or should I go alone?”
“I want to come,” he said.
When I started to slide off the bed, moving carefully so I wouldn’t tip the tray, he caught hold of my arm, pulling me back down.
“I didn’t mean right now, Allie,” he said.
“I know.” I looked at him, blowing warmth at his light. “I know you didn’t. But I don’t want to fall back asleep. I should go now, while the coffee’s still working.” Smiling at him, I held up the mug. “I can bring some with me, right? I want to begin my brainwashing of Lily early, so she doesn’t inherit your anti-coffee genes.”
Looking at me, he grunted a little, then smiled.
Something about that smile made my chest relax.
Even so, that harder tension was still coiling off his light, along with flickers of guilt, a more confused uncertainty. We hadn’t talked much the night before. We’d hardly talked at all, despite how different I felt now.
Still turning that over in my head, I set my mug of coffee on the tray, then picked up the whole tray and placed it carefully on the floor.
I felt him watch me do it.
Once I had it down there, I flipped to my other side.
Leaning on him, I started massaging his chest, right in the middle, where mine had been hurting the night before. He closed his eyes as I continued to massage him, sinking into the bed.
Sending light through my fingers, I tried to reassure him, to warm his light, feeling that fear in him more intensely as he opened. Biting my lip as I looked at him, I said it anyway.
“Turn over,” I told him.
He tensed, opening his eyes.
“Please,” I said. “Just let me see.”
That fear on him worsened, but he did as I asked, sitting up.
Without my asking specifically that time, he reached up to his collar, pulling the shirt he wore up over his head. Tossing it to the floor, he rolled over and lay on his stomach. I felt pain on him as he did it, but more than that, a denser grief. He lay there like he expected me to hurt him, although probably not with my hands, or any other part of my body.
I looked at the marks on his back, visible even with the scars there.
I could tell they’d already faded, more than I would have thought from just a few days. I traced them with my fingers anyway, lightly at first. I fought to wrap my head around him, around what he’d asked of Ullysa, around the night before.
He didn’t wince as I touched him. He didn’t move at all.
“What did she use?” I asked finally.
“A belt,” he said, his voice flat.
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Did you lie on her bed?”
There was a pause, then he shook his head. “No. I sat. In a chair.”
I nodded, swallowing. “You don’t want to show me?”
I felt that fear on him worsen.
He didn’t answer, and I clicked at him, shaking my head. “Forget it, Revik. I––”
“I’ll show you,” he cut in. “I’ll show you anything you want.”
I fought to think if I wanted to do that, given the fear I could still feel on him. It felt wrong somehow, when he wasn’t freely offering it.
“I am, though,” he said, softer. “I am freely offering it, Allie.”
I shook my head. “No, you’re not. You’re offering it because you’re afraid to say no. That’s not the same thing.”
There was another silence.
I bit my lip, not wanting to ask, but needing to.
“Revik,” I said. “Just tell me. Please. Tell me the truth.” I hesitated, watching his profile. “Am I not enough for you?”
There was a silence.
Pain slammed my light.
It shocked me, hitting into me so intensely it disoriented me, even as he closed his eyes, letting out a low gasp. The gasp seemed to actually hurt him, even as it curled him into himself. It took me a few seconds to realize he was crying, that what I’d heard was him trying to suppress it. Fear expanded off him, off his light, along with a grief that cut my breath.
His pain worsened, so much so, I could barely think past it.
It wasn’t separation pain that time. Not even close.
Without thinking, I wrapped myself around him, coiling my arm around his chest after I shoved it under his body.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured into his neck. “I’m sorry for asking that.”
He only shook his head, but the pain in his light worsened.
I let him cry. I didn’t try to talk to him again, or to read him. I just waited until he’d finished. As I did, I realized I didn’t need to see it. I didn’t need to know the details of why he’d gone to Ullysa. I could feel it on him, even now.
I knew what this was about, what it was always about with him.
It wasn’t because he didn’t love me. It wasn’t even because he needed to be with other women––or men, for that matter.
It was about being left alone. It was about what happened last year.
“Yes,” he said, his voice gruff, still thick. “Yes.”
Gripping him tighter, I nodded. When he opened his light more, merging into me, I sighed, resting my chin on his back, rubbing his shoulder with my fingers.
“So you don’t wish I was… I don’t know… different? More feminine?” I swallowed, remembering Kali on the beach. “Softer, like them?”
Disbelief left his light, confusion. “What?”
I shook my head, biting my lip.
“Why don’t you want me to see it?” I said finally.
He caught hold of my hand, bringing it down to press against his chest, so that he half-lay on my palm and fingers. He exhaled, and I felt him fighting to control his light. Even so, whispers of his mind reached me, things he might have meant for me to see, or might not have.
After another pause, pain slid through me.
“Dalejem,” I said, quieter.
He shook his head, vehement that time, almost angry. “Not like that,” he said, his voice harsh. “Not like that, Allie. Gods––”
“Then how?” I said, keeping my voice low with an effort.
Revik exhaled, opening his light to me more.
“He left me,” he said finally. “He just fucking left me.”
I lay next to him, gripping his fingers where he held my hand.
I turned over his words. I could feel it, what he’d just said. Without knowing any of the details, I could feel the hole Dalejem left behind when he disappeared, the inevitability Revik built around it, if only to protect himself from being surprised like that again. I resonated with that inevitability, with that self-protection.
I’d gotten mine from my parents––my biol
ogical parents, Kali and Uye.
Weirdly, I’d gotten it partly from Dalejem, too.
They’d left me. All three of them left me under that overpass.
We lay there, silent, for what felt like a long time.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally.
I shook my head. I didn’t want to hear that.
“What do you want to hear?” he said.
There was another silence while I thought about that, too.
“I don’t know,” I said, sighing.
I didn’t, either.
He nodded without looking back at me. Gradually, as he lay there, his pain worsened. That time, some of it felt like separation pain, but I still felt flickers of the other, of what I’d picked up on before, whenever he remembered his time in San Francisco. Even as I thought it, he closed his eyes, fighting to shove it away, not really succeeding.
I felt his muscles soften, even as he let out a low sound.
“Gods, Allie…” He fell silent. I felt him fighting what he wanted to say.
“What?” I frowned. “Do you need me to say it? I’m sorry about Cass, Revik. I’m sorry about San Francisco––”
“No.” He shook his head, grimacing. “No.”
“Do you want me to apologize for leaving the other night? For going to stay with Angeline?”
He shook his head, but I saw his jaw tighten. “No.”
“Then what?” Watching his face, I frowned, biting my lip. “We need to cut the crap, Revik. We need to cut the crap about all of it… including sex. We need to be honest about this stuff. Both of us.”
He nodded, wincing, not quite meeting my gaze.
“I agree,” he said.
His pain flared at my words, and I found myself watching his face, seeing conflict in his eyes. Something I could see there brought my own separation pain back in a dense wave. I slid my arms around him, half under his body. He gave a low groan when I started unhooking his belt, but he only lay there, looking at the far wall, his eyes half-lidded as he seemed to be struggling again for words.
“Tell me to stop,” I said. “If you want me to stop, tell me, Revik.”
I felt that fear slide through him, even as he shook his head, his breath catching.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He turned over when I got his pants undone.
Prophet: Bridge & Sword Page 41