Prodigal (Maelstrom Chronicles)

by Jody Wallace

  Two more seconds of that, and he ejaculated with gusto. She tasted him like he’d tasted her, his pleasure becoming part of her as she drank him down.

  He tried to say her name, but he was too choked up. How could he tell her how he felt when he didn’t understand himself? He had nothing to compare this to. Was he in love with her? Or was this how anyone would feel after an experience this intimate?

  She pulled away, licking her lips. He stared down at her, past her swollen mouth and firm breasts, and noticed her juices glistening on the black hair covering her pussy. The sight nearly enticed his cock to harden again.

  Claire sucking him off had been glorious. But coming inside her—he knew it would be better. It just wasn’t safe.

  She averted her eyes as he scrambled for something to say, some way to explain. She stood, edged around him, and spoke first. “This doesn’t have to get weird.”

  What would she define as weird? Asking what love felt like? Behaving like this hadn’t happened? Proposing that they get themselves some birth control and stay in this room for the next week, relearning all the sex things?

  “I don’t know what weird is,” he said. “How do you want me to act?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t do that. For guys. What we did, I don’t do that.”

  “Are you saying you’re usually with women?”

  She shook her head. “Look, I’ve never given a guy a blow job. I always thought it would be degrading.”

  His stomach plummeted. “I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.” He reached for her, but she leaned over to pick up her clothes. “I thought it would be safer, since we don’t have condoms.”

  “I’m not saying I didn’t want to do it.” She took a deep breath and pulled her T-shirt over her head. “God. It was… All of this was… But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to like it. Being on bottom. I’ve never been that way, ever, and I can’t change who I am.”

  “I’m not asking you to change. I lo…like you how you are.” She twitched when he said that, as if she sensed the mistake he nearly made. “You’re the boss out there. You know how to defend this town. But you don’t always have to be in charge.”

  “I do,” she argued.

  He advanced—and she stepped back. “You need a break from supporting the world on your shoulders. I need a break from not knowing where I stand anywhere, with anybody. I don’t know who I am, but tonight? I’m the guy you begged, Claire.”

  Her face darkened. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth.” Whatever frustration she felt for him outside the bedroom turned into passion inside it. Giving into it benefitted them both. Relieved their stress. Enhanced their trust. “I’m the guy who made you come. I’m the guy—the only guy—who’s going to be on top of you again the next chance I get.”

  “This can’t happen again. I can’t have this kind of weakness in my life,” she gritted out, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

  They went to sleep without saying anything else to each other, and his nightmares were so vivid that he woke smelling of shades.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire slept restlessly. She thought Adam did, too, tossing and turning. At one point she half woke and he was out of bed, but the light in the restroom was on and the door was shut.

  She rolled over and buried her face in the blankets, too humiliated to face him. Maybe ever. Who the hell had she turned into the minute he’d kissed her? Some other person. Some sighing, gasping, clutching, impulsive person. That kind of person couldn’t kick asses, take names, and face down daemons.

  The quiet tick of the clock and the faint purr of the damned cat on her bed were the only noises in the room. Had Adam passed out on the toilet? Was he reading? Oh, God, what if she hadn’t satisfied him with her amateur blow job, and he was jacking off?

  No. She wasn’t thinking about that. She was determined to get more sleep. Refusing to peek at the clock, she deliberately shut her eyes and stilled her breathing.

  I will sleep now. I will sleep now. I will not think about Adam’s cock between my thighs. My lips. I will sleep now…

  A good soldier caught winks whenever she could. Too many sleepless night and her faculties would be shit. She finally passed out, the weight of the cat pinning the blankets around her feet more comforting than she’d ever admit.

  …

  “What is the smell?” Claire shoved her feet into her boots crossly. She and Adam had slept in and didn’t have much time for breakfast. Her console beeped with messages, two from Hurst about coming to see the pod. “It’s like zombie crossed with rotten milk.”

  “Guh.” Her sluggish roomie, who, she assured herself, was absolutely nothing but a roomie, sat up in bed, the covers falling down to reveal…that he’d put on his clothing at some point during the night. “Smells like shades to me.”

  She sniffed, caught another trace of the odor, and wrinkled her face. “I’m thinking it’s cat shit. Where is that mangy feline?”

  “The cat left through the vent when you were in the shower.” Adam scruffed his hair, and she ignored the sexy glint of beard on his jaw. Most especially she didn’t wonder what it would feel like on her breasts.

  If she pretended like last night hadn’t happened, then it hadn’t. Unlike the last time she’d had sex—with Nikolas, who’d burst through the condom with his super sperm—Adam hadn’t ejaculated inside her. She had nothing to worry about.

  She’d go see Tracy about birth control anyway.

  She’d already had the Shipborn general’s lovechild after a one-night stand. If she had the Chosen One’s lovechild after a one-night stand, the first damned time she’d had sex in three damned years, she’d start to wonder what in the world her uterus was made of.

  “Did you stay up late reading on the console?” She felt pretty rested today, but Adam looked like death warmed over.

  “I don’t remember. I guess I’m not awake yet. I don’t think I read last night, after…” He paused and studied her face, and she kept it calm. “I was tired.”

  She thought about asking him what he’d been doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, but that might be more personal than a week of close quarters and a one-night stand warranted. “And cold, I see.”

  “What?” He glanced down at himself, obviously puzzled that he had on clothing. He flipped the covers down, and his boots had smeared mud all over the sheets. “Ah, dammit.”

  “That’s a dick move,” she said. “Muddy shoes in the bed?”

  Adam coughed. “I don’t think it’s mud. But I do know what stinks.” He swung himself out of the bed, stripped it quickly, and stuffed the sheets in the hamper. “It’s some kind of poop.”

  The smell grew stronger. “Ah, jeez. That’s nasty.”

  Claire tied her boots before she was done lacing so she could get away from the smell. “Where did you find shit to walk in? Snow’s all over the ground out there.”

  Adam stared at the offending boots, turning up the soles. Brown mud and probably feces crusted in the treads. “I don’t know. I don’t think I went to any farms yesterday.”

  “You don’t think?”

  He rubbed his face again. “I’m having trouble waking up.”

  “Probably that damned cat.” Claire eyed Adam as if she’d never seen him naked.

  He eyed her back as if he’d never seen her naked, either.

  A little disappointed, she firmed her lips and found her sensor array in the pocket of the parka. She’d started wearing it more with everything going on. “I’ll show you where the laundry is, and you can get cleaned up. Watch where you walk in the future, okay? If you get cold, there’s an extra blanket in the bottom of the dresser. You don’t have to wear your manky clothes in bed.”

  A shadow crossed his face. It seemed to stay beneath his eyes. “Okay.”

  She zipped up her parka with a more cheerful snap than she felt. “You look rough.” Because she wanted to see what he’d do, she tiptoed around
what had happened. Gave him an opening. “We didn’t stay up that late.”

  “I’ve been having vivid nightmares,” he finally admitted. “The usual things you’d expect from the Chosen One. Shades. Daemons. More shades. Me swimming in shades. Me trying to grab the shades with my hands.” He grinned wryly. “You’ve probably seen worse things to have nightmares about. I guess I’m delicate.”

  “We can go see Tracy,” she offered. He snapped on his blaster band and slid his arms into his coat. “The Shipborn have good drugs, so I bet she knows something that would help.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll shake it off. I have every other day. It’s becoming clear I’m not a morning person.”

  “Makes two of us.”

  “I was hoping…” He quit speaking and grimaced. “Never mind.”

  “Oh, come on. I always mind. Might as well spit it out.” They left the room, him carrying the hamper. The hallway was cold and vacant, the only signs of the vigil from the night before a few burned out candles on a camp chair. “What were you hoping?”

  Adam cleared his throat. “I was hoping if we slept in the same bed, and I was touching you, I wouldn’t have nightmares.”

  “Oh.” Not what she’d expected. Heat burned her cheeks. Because she was so dark-skinned, he wouldn’t see the blush, but she sure felt it. Her ears rang with the intensity of it. “Is that what last night was all about?”

  He got in front of her at the foot of the stairs. She halted before she ran him down.

  “No. Last night was not about that.”

  She found herself leaning toward him, despite the fact he was balancing a laundry hamper full of shitty sheets on his hip. “Those beds are small as hell.”

  “Are you saying the only way we’ll fit in one together is if I’m on top of you?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked. “That can be arranged.”

  “Shut up.” She pushed past him, cheeks burning again. Last night had been born of fear and desperation. When she’d thought he might be dead, it had wrenched open her heart, and she’d had to suture it closed with sex before she bled out.

  “Claire, wait.” He pattered up the stairs behind her, but when they entered the room at the top, they were no longer alone.

  “Morning.” Obadiah Gentry, from the night before, and a blond teenager Claire didn’t recognize sat on one of the common room couches. A gun lay across the teen’s lap. “You’ll be happy to know there was no traffic last night except from official residents.”

  “Good.” Claire speared the blond girl with a glance. “Did you pass the weapons tests?”

  She puffed out an exasperated breath. “You know I did, Claire. You taught me to shoot.”

  “Oh, shit.” The voice helped Claire see the person beneath the makeup—or the lack of makeup, as it were. “Kenna. Holy crap.” The kid had been part of the mission where Claire had helped Niko and Sarah retake Ship before it could leave the system forever. “I didn’t recognize you without blue hair and goth eyeliner.”

  “I’m going natural. Too hard to get my hands on Manic Panic.” She stood and addressed Adam. “I’m Kenna. I’m eighteen, I’m an excellent shot, and I’m going to guard you today.”

  “No, you’re not,” Claire said, annoyed. “And what does it matter how old you are?”

  “The Chosen One mustn’t be left unprotected,” Obadiah said gravely. “It’s the decision of our people.”

  “Obadiah, we appreciate your concern, but your club doesn’t have the authority to overrule me.” Fuck. How long had he and Bitty lurked outside her door? Had they heard Adam and her going at it? The man wasn’t giving her the hairy eyeball for desecrating the Chosen One, so she assumed they’d set up camp in the common room like Adam had suggested.

  Adam nodded to Obadiah, set down the laundry, and shook Kenna’s hand. “Kenna, nice to meet you. I’m Adam Alsing, I’m not sure how old I am, I’m a mediocre shot, and Claire says you aren’t guarding me today.”

  The girl grinned. “It’s still a free country. What’s that smell?”

  “Shit,” Claire and Adam said in unison.

  Claire’s sensor array lit up like Christmas—unconnected to the shit, she assumed.

  “Sheriff,” Hurst said over the line. “Did you forget my request yesterday? And my messages? We need you to come to the scientists’ compound at once. We have news.”

  She told Hurst, again, to hold onto his britches, before cutting off the comm.

  “All right, you can come, Kenna,” she decided. The kid couldn’t get up to much trouble hanging out at the old church the scientists had retrofitted for their use. “But we have to go. Hurst called again. He’s never this pushy, so it must be something big. Maybe the scientists have confirmed what the hell is up with those pods.”

  …

  Along with Kenna, Adam and Claire drove to the Shipborn scientists’ camp. It was outside the walls of Chanute, but the scientists had their own sensor system to warn of daemon or shade attacks, plus a shuttle for quick getaways. They stopped outside a blue, glowing network of protection that surrounded a large building and some of the surrounding grounds. The jungle gym of wires blazed hotly, glinting off the snow.

  Claire called someone with her sensor array to let them in. While they waited, Adam inspected their surroundings. The building that housed the scientists appeared to be a former church. A vivid blue cloudless sky promised a snow-free day.

  A figure on the other side of the shield appeared, manipulating the filaments until a doorway opened.

  “Sheriff Lawson. Always a pleasure. Good to see you, Mr. Alsing.” Emissary Hurst, this time clad in a ski outfit with matching padded pants, shook Adam’s hand vigorously. His palm was warm, as if he’d been sitting by a roaring fire. “And who is this?”

  “I’m Adam’s guard,” Kenna said.

  Hurst nodded wisely. “Well, I’m the scientists’ prairie dog.”

  “You mean gopher,” Claire corrected, heading for the church while Kenna stayed behind to guard the Jeep against tampering. “Prairie dogging is something else.”

  The front wall of the church had been mostly removed, replaced with white prefab material that resembled sheetrock. Inside the security net, the air was warmer, and the snow on the ground had melted.

  “Gophers and prairie dogs are ground dwelling Terran rodents,” Hurst told Adam as they fell into step through the muck created by the melted snow. “Do you remember them?”

  “That’s not the kind of memories I lost.” A small shuttle and a couple pods lay inside the net next to the building. Nobody roamed outside except Hurst, though he knew at least one angeli patrolled the area for daemons and shades.

  “Fascinating.” Hurst tugged a brightly colored knit cap off his head, revealing messy black hair. The matching scarf was the final touch that transformed him into an ad for a ski resort. All he was missing were reflective goggles. “I take it the esteemed Dr. Sieders couldn’t restore your missing years?”

  “I don’t know if I want them restored,” he admitted. The closer they got to the church, the warmer he grew. It explained Hurst’s hand. “Apparently I was a dick.”

  “I didn’t meet you,” Hurst said. “You seem reasonable now.”

  Claire beat them to the makeshift door in the prefab. When they reached the interior of the church, he realized why the front wall had been swapped out.

  The latest silver pod was so bulky it took up most of the space in the chapel. The wall had been removed to bring the pod inside. Was it bigger than the one he’d been in?

  Pews lined the walls in stacks, and the neon blue of the security net twinkled through the stained glass windows. Bright lights hovered around the ceiling on tiny drones. Warm air circulated, and he unbuttoned his coat. The pod blocked his line of sight to the front of the church, but the hum of machinery and voices echoed through the building.

  As soon as his nose warmed up, he caught a whiff of shades.

  “We have air filters working overtime on the odor.” Hurst settled his hat
and scarf around the bust of some saint near the door. “Can I take your coat?”

  “We probably won’t be here long.”

  “You never know. Here, this place is a hot box.” Hurst set his and Adam’s jackets on the table with the bust. Beneath his ski coat, the sleeve of his shirt was hemmed, exposing his silver arm. Why did he display it? Was a bionic arm a mark of honor among the Shipborn?

  They rounded the pod to the side that had the door. The dark maw was open, and a person in a grey Shipborn uniform strode out of it.

  Claire first approached a smallish woman next to a table of scientific gizmos. “I was told you have news for me about the pods.”

  The woman wasn’t human. Her facial bones were more angular, her skin more orange, and her dark, shiny eyes didn’t blink as much as Adam would have expected. He’d researched the Shipborn enough to identify her as a cormoran, a species that had been part of the Shipborn almost as long as humans.

  “We cannot determine the metallic compound used in the construction of the vessel.” The woman spoke with a clipped accent, and her facial expression rarely altered. Watching her eyes fail to blink was unnerving. “I won’t bother you with the science—unless you would like me to?”

  “I wouldn’t understand it,” Claire agreed. “I just want to hear why Adam was in a pod and why they’re suddenly showing up everywhere. Is it connected to the shade deaths?”

  “We can’t determine if other pods contained people. All the ones found have been empty. Nor have we confirmed shades were in the pods, but there’s definitely residue, as there were in Mr. Alsing’s tests.” She glanced at Adam and Hurst.

  “Are they the same type of pod?” Claire asked. She unbuttoned her coat, responding to the high temperatures, too. Was the sauna for science or for comfort? Adam hadn’t been this toasty in as long as he could remember. That is, in about a week.

  The cormoran scientist activated a machine with a huge data tablet as its top. “The ones we have seem to be, but as far as any other pods, we have no way of determining that.”

  Claire scowled. “Jesus. Why are we here? Have you determined a single effing—”