Ganriel

by D. B. Reynolds

  She blinked in surprise. “Oh. Well, good.” And then she started cutting.

  Gabriel couldn’t see the curly clumps of his beard as they fell, but he could feel cool air where it had never been before. At least not since he’d sprouted his first beard as a barely grown youth of fourteen. He kept his gaze firmly on the velvet smoothness of Hana’s cheek as she bent over him, fighting the desire to lower his eyes to the swell of her breasts. He was her protector, nothing more.

  Setting aside the scissors, she went to pick up the razor, but over­balanced as she reached over his shoulder. Gabriel reacted instinctively, putting both hands on her hips to keep her from falling. Hana’s own hands landed on his shoulders, and he was abruptly aware of how close she was. She’d moved forward while cutting his hair, until she was standing between his legs, and now their bodies were almost touching. Bad enough that his fingers were locked over her hips, her flesh firm under his grip, but he could feel the curve of her waist, the incipient swell of her ass that told him this was a woman in his arms. Not a child needing his protection. But a woman, fully grown. He looked up, intending to apologize, trying to persuade himself to let go of her, only to find her staring at him, cheeks once more flushed pink beneath the sun-warmed gold of her skin.

  Her hand cupped his jaw. “You have such wonderful cheekbones,” she said softly, her thumb rubbing gently over his cheek as their eyes remained locked. “It’s a crime to have covered those up.” Her tongue darted out to wet her full lips, and Gabriel’s fingers clenched on her hips as he struggled against the urge to pull her even closer, to tuck her between his legs until her thighs were pressed against the heavy weight of his cock, already half-erect.

  Her throat moved in a swallow, drawing his gaze to the elegant length of her neck. “I should probably . . .” Her quiet words were interrupted as she wet her lips again. Her chest swelled with an indrawn breath. “It’s getting steamy in here,” she whispered.

  Gabriel loosened his grip enough to slide his hands up to her waist. “I didn’t want you to fall,” he said, his voice rough with a desire he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, deepening the two small dimples just below her cheekbones. She’d confessed to hating those dimples when she was much younger, but he’d always loved them because they were uniquely hers. Her fingers rubbed through the short scruff of his beard. “I should finish this. Make you look even prettier.”

  He snorted, grateful for the small touch of humor that broke through the erotic tension of the moment. “Warriors don’t need to look pretty.”

  She leaned forward and touched her lips to his, barely a brush of skin, but enough to spark that tension all over again. Seeming to realize what she’d done, Hana straightened abruptly and flicked on the electric razor. “Pretty is as pretty does, warrior. But I’ll see if I can make you simply handsome instead.”

  GABRIEL STOOD IN the bedroom, still warm from his shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He was accustomed to the heat. The baths of his world had been hot enough to boil a man’s balls sometimes. But no bath could compare to the pounding heat of these showers, or the fall of clear water around him as he washed a few millennia’s worth of dust and sweat from his skin. He rubbed a hand over the bare scruff of his cheek, still feeling naked without a beard, despite the dark shadow Hana had left him. It had been a shock to see his own face in the mirror, though Hana had seemed to like it well enough. He frowned at the thought, reminded of that moment in the bathroom when he’d wanted nothing more than to have her straddle his lap and slide his cock between her thighs. A growl rose from his throat as he forced the thought away and grabbed the pants she’d found for him in a drawer.

  They were nothing he would have chosen for himself—soft and formless, too short in the leg and too big in the hips, black with a white stripe down the side. And they smelled like another man. He wanted to know where they’d come from. Did Hana have a lover? If she’d purchased this home several years ago, as it seemed, she could have had more than one man in her life during that time. The thought made him unhappy, even though he knew it was foolish. She had been his hope, his main contact with the outside world for so long that he’d begun to think of her as his. She was his, but his to protect, to fight alongside. More like a fellow warrior than a . . . lover. He hesitated to say the word, even in his head, terrified of tempting the gods to toy with him more than they already had. He was certainly no virgin. During the years he’d spent fighting under Nicodemus’s leadership, victorious in battle after battle, the women had thrown themselves at him and his warrior brothers. And he’d bedded his share. The battles had been fierce, but so had the victory celebrations. No matter how sedate the banquet that began the festivi­ties, the end had always been the same—him and a pile of well-satisfied women in a big bed. He couldn’t say he’d minded it, either.

  But his feelings for Hana were different. Maybe it was because she’d been his salvation over the past few years, the first light in the desperate darkness of his prison. But if he was honest with himself—and he liked to think he was an honorable man—his feelings for her went well beyond gratitude. That much had been made clear earlier. But she wasn’t a woman to be bedded and cast aside. She was beautiful and intelligent, and yes, a fierce fighter. That last trait was something he’d never thought would have appealed to him. And yet, with Hana, it did.

  And here he stood, jealous of the man whose clothes he wore, jealous that some other man had been familiar enough with his Hana to leave clothing in her home.

  “You almost finished in there?” Hana’s call snapped him out of his reveries. He shouldn’t be moping around in a lovesick fog. There were far more important issues to consider. Like who wanted Hana, and how he could make her safe. He almost smiled when he considered her probable reaction to that thought. She’d accept his help, but she’d also insist on being part of her own defense. The very idea of doing other­wise would have made her laugh in disbelief.

  He donned the “T-shirt” she’d provided—simple white cloth, but much softer than he was accustomed to, and also too small. He took a visceral satisfaction in knowing his rival was a smaller man.

  “The clothes are fine,” he said, walking into the larger room, “but too small. Your . . . man is not a warrior?”

  Her dark eyes scanned him from head to toe, a smile playing over her pretty lips. “I don’t have a man. Grandfather knew of this place and suggested some time ago that I acquire a few pieces of men’s clothing, just in case. At the time, I assumed he might want me to provide a safe house for some of his . . . less savory business acquaintances.”

  “He would have trusted that kind of man with your safety?” Gabriel winced at hearing the very words he’d told himself not to say.

  Her dark eyes narrowed predictably. “First, I provide for my own safety. And second, no, Grandfather was very particular when it came to limiting my contact with his men.” She scowled. “How do you know what kind of people he did business with?”

  Gabriel shrugged. “I knew Himura-san for many years before I met you. He was a child when he first found me in his father’s garden. As he aged, I became a confessor of sorts, someone he could confide in without repercussions, either in business or otherwise. He was a good man, but even good men do bad things.”

  Hana’s eyes closed as a wave of grief passed over her expressive face. “From the time I was small, I knew he sometimes did terrible things. That’s why his son, my father, moved to the other side of the world, to get his own sons away from that. But Grandfather was always my Jiichan, and I loved him.”

  Gabriel fought against the desire to comfort her, to put his arms around her and let her grieve. His Hana was strong, but even the strongest warriors sometimes needed to be held. He and his brothers had wept on each other’s shoulders more than once in the aftermath of a brutal battle, mourning their dead, even as they’d thanked the
fates for sparing each other. At least until the fates lost their collective minds and favored that butcher Sotiris instead.

  He came as close as he dared, then reached out to cup Hana’s soft cheek. “I mourn him, too. No matter his faults, he was my friend.”

  She tilted her head into his hand, eyes closed for a moment. Then, as if drawing the strength he so desperately hoped to provide her, her expression firmed and her eyes opened. “We should eat before the steak gets cold. I cooked it rare . . . bloody,” she clarified at his look of confusion. “But the pan’s still hot, so I can easily cook it more, if you prefer.”

  They’d crossed to the table while she’d been talking. He stared down at the meat sitting on his plate in a pool of warm, bloody juices. His mouth watered, and a different kind of need tightened his chest. His voice came out ragged with hunger. “Bloody is fine.”

  “I figured. You want wine or beer? Or I have water.”

  Gabriel forced himself to look away from the nearly raw meat and consider her offer. He knew that drinking water was much safer now than it had been, but other beverages had likely changed as well. He glanced up at her. “How’s your beer?”

  She grinned. “Possibly too strong for you.”

  It sounded like a challenge, and he welcomed the distraction. “I’ll have beer.”

  HOURS LATER, GABRIEL sat on the too-soft, too-small bed, his back against the wall, as he watched Hana sleep soundly in an identical bed only two feet away. She seemed to have no problem with the size or anything else. She probably favored it. These were her beds, after all. She had apologized, saying she hadn’t known she’d be hosting a warrior. That made him feel better about the possibility of past lovers. If she’d had a lover in this apartment, he must have been a very small man to fit in such a bed. Or a fool who didn’t mind sleeping apart from her. He couldn’t imagine any man making that choice, and then realized he wasn’t sleeping with her either.

  He scowled as he swung his legs over the side and picked up his boots before slipping quietly out of the room. He’d slept a few hours after dinner. The food had been delicious, the bloody steak far more tender than the meat of his time. Even the vegetables, which she’d pulled out of the freezer along with the steak and forced him to eat, had been surprisingly good, tasting of a variety of herbs and butter. And the beer. . . . He laughed silently. She’d watched covertly as he downed the first glass in two long draughts. The beer had been flavorful and rich, with a heady aroma that made him want to swoon with pleasure. He’d immediately opened a second container and downed half of that, too. Her gleeful expression had told him she’d expected an untoward reaction to his rapid consumption. But while it had been a strong brew, it was nothing compared to the beer of his time. Had she really thought he’d pass out from one glass? Or even two? Her glee had been replaced by a charming frown by the time he finished his third glass.

  The memory made him smile. They’d “crashed” as Hana put it, after that. But now he was wide awake. He’d already slept for thousands of years—or near enough. He now knew that he’d spent millennia trapped in the dark of that volcanic cave. If not for a chance bit of nature’s capriciousness that had spit him close to the surface, and the sorcerous curiosity of Hana’s ancestors, he might be there still. He wasn’t going to waste his newfound freedom sleeping.

  It wasn’t only that, however. He was restless, as if it were the night before battle. He sat near the table in the kitchen and pulled on his boots, tying them as securely as he could. Time had not been kind to the leather, and they needed to be replaced, but where he’d been able to make do with Hana’s spare clothing, boots were another matter. He couldn’t go barefoot, so these would have to do until they purchased something better. Standing, he placed a hand to his hip and clenched his jaw when he found nothing but his belt knife. That was another item on their list for this morning. Weapons. Hana had a gun, along with a short blade. But while his own knife was a good one, it wasn’t enough. He longed for the familiar weight of his favorite sword, feeling empty and unbalanced without it. He hadn’t been holding it in the instant of Sotiris’s curse. His squire had noticed a loose bit of leather on the hilt and pointed it out to him as he’d strode out to take his place at the head of Nicodemus’s army, next to his brothers. He normally would have let it pass. Once the battle lust was upon him, a stray bit of leather wouldn’t matter. He’d happily slice himself bloody to vanquish his enemy. But his squire had offered to run it to the smithy and get it fixed. Gabriel had agreed, too busy talking to his brothers and trusting that the blade would be returned in time.

  But then the curse had hit, and he’d been left without it, albeit not without any weapon at all. He was a berserker. His body was a weapon.

  His gaze scanned the security panel that Hana had pointed out to him earlier. She’d demonstrated how it worked, made him memorize the code, and then armed it before they’d gone to bed. The small light shone a baleful red now, indicating it was on and working. And the silence told him there were no threats. At least none that the device could detect. He crossed the room and parted the covering over the window overlooking the street, studying every detail. For all that this world had far more light than the one he’d come from, there were still too many hiding places. He stared until his eyes burned, until the first pale color of a new dawn began to creep into the shadows, but found nothing amiss. For the time, at least, it seemed they’d foiled their pursuers. They both knew it wouldn’t last, however. They’d discussed their next steps at dinner but hadn’t agreed on anything. Hana had decided they needed more information, and he couldn’t argue with that. This was her world, after all, not his. They’d be moving somewhere else this morning. But first, Hana wanted to stop at several banks and pick up money and papers. Gabriel knew what banks were. They’d featured prominently in the news stories both Hana and Himura-san had read to him over the years. He also knew that one couldn’t travel freely in this world without identification papers. So he understood the need to wait until morning, but his instincts, which had been quiet until now, were telling him their enemy was much closer than they thought.

  Abandoning the main windows, he slipped silently back into the bedroom and peered from that window as well. There was no street on this side of the building, only an empty space and then a second, nearly identical, two-story housing unit that was far too close. He could have opened the glass and easily leapt through the neighbor’s window. If he could do it, what was to say someone else couldn’t?

  Footsteps had him swinging around to stare at the door, where the red light still shone steadily. He nearly woke Hana anyway, but then realized the footsteps were moving down the stairs toward the street, not up from it. Neighbors. Hana had warned him about those. She’d said they’d be leaving with the dawn. The knowledge should have made him feel better, but his instincts were still screaming, and he’d learned a long time ago not to ignore them.

  Spinning on his heel, he moved silently back into the bedroom and crouched next to Hana’s bed. He had no idea how she’d react to being awakened. He felt he knew her in so many ways, but this wasn’t one of them. On the other hand, she’d been trained as a soldier in her grand­father’s private army. “Hana,” he said softly and placed a careful hand on her shoulder.

  She didn’t move, other than the brush of thick lashes against her cheeks as her deep-brown eyes opened and met his in question.

  “They’ve found us.” He didn’t know how he knew this was true, but he did. He stood and made his way back to the living room, as she swung to her feet and reached for her own boots. A moment later, he heard a noise from the stairs, the soft scuff of an errant step, quickly stilled. Going back to the window, he peered through the opening he’d left in the curtains and saw a man standing in the thinning shadows, his head turning slowly from side to side, eyes constantly moving. A lookout.

  Hana emerged from the bedroom, buckling on her weapons as she joined
him. She glanced down briefly at the guard on the street, then pulled him away from the window and brought out her cell phone. He knew what these devices did. She’d shown him hers soon after she’d gotten her first one, but she’d also kept him apprised of improvements as the years moved on. He understood in principle how they worked but had never so much as touched one. He watched now as she tapped the small screen and brought up a moving picture of the stairs outside her condo’s front door. He felt a moment’s irritation that she hadn’t made him aware of the device’s utility earlier, but that was quickly replaced by consternation at the sight of several black-garbed and well-armed men moving up the stairs nearly as silently as he could have himself.

  He did a split-second assessment of their chances. He was accus­tomed to taking on the impossible, but he wasn’t suicidal. Not now that he’d finally gotten his life back, and especially not with Hana’s life at risk, too. He thought of the bedroom window and hoped her neighbors wouldn’t mind a rude awakening, but when he reached for the window shade, she stepped in front of him with a silent request for him to let her take the lead in planning.

  When he nodded, she hurried back to the closet and came out with a coil of lightweight, but sturdy-looking rope and laid it on the bed. Moving back to the window, she held a finger to her lips for silence, then pushed the shade to one side, carefully flicked a metal latch on the window, and slid it open on a well-oiled runner. She picked up the rope and took the lead in one hand, preparing a knot as she leaned out and looked down between the buildings, as if getting ready to climb.

  Gabriel covered her hand with his to stop her, then moved her aside and stuck out his own head but looked upward instead. Leaning back, he took the rope from her shoulder and looped it over his own, then climbed up onto the narrow frame, flexed his knees, and leapt for the roof. It should have been an easy jump for him. He’d made far higher leaps under worse conditions. He managed it, but just barely and not with his usual grace. Apparently, a few thousand years of immobility had affected him after all. He supposed he should be grateful that bastard Sotiris had preserved him as well as he had.