“So your father was older than your mother?”
“I guess. He was a long beard.”
“A what?”
“The boys—the human boys—they have hair on their faces. It grows and mostly they let it so it gets very long. Sir’s had no color, like the hair on his head. I never seen many with hair with no color like his.” She frowned. “Some of Ralph’s hair was like Sir’s—no color—and some … yellow. He was a long beard, too, but his wasn’t as long.”
They walked in silence for a time, peering into the gaping holes of dark, cave-like buildings they passed—those that seemed relatively whole. There was a good deal of rubble piled in places that were nearly as high as a mountain. When they paused at the intersection of two streets, Gah-re-al reached out and lightly ran a hand along a lock of Lexa’s hair. “This hair … did you get it from your mother? Or your father?”
Lexa blinked at him. “It’s my hair.”
He chuckled. “Was your mother’s hair this color?”
She shook her head. “It was dark like yours but not as dark.”
“Then your father.”
“His hair was no color.”
“The man who fathered you,” Gah-re-al clarified.
Lexa frowned. “Mother never talked about him.”
He shook his head. “Children usually look like one parent or the other … or sometimes like both. The color of the hair and eyes and skin. The shape of the facial features ….”
Lexa shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t see my face.”
A jolt of surprise went through Gah-re-al. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not know what her own face looked like, but he realized, then, that there were few reflective surfaces where she might have seen her face and those that did reflect also distorted.
“You look like your parents?” she asked curiously.
That question sent another unpleasant jolt through him because it was nearly as unexpected as the comment before and he hadn’t had time to brace for it. He shrugged. “My mother died at my birth and … I never knew my father.”
The sympathy in Lexa’s gaze discomfited him. “That’s … that makes me feel sad. My babies died and I cried for them because I never got to know them or got the chance to love them and know their love. How sad for you and your mother. She missed so much.”
Gah-re-al had never considered it from his mother’s viewpoint, naturally enough, only his own. He wondered if his mother would have felt as Lexa did—sad that she couldn’t be there to love him or know his love.
It wasn’t a thought he wanted to dwell on, however. It made him feel … hollow inside and he had spent many years trying to bury that sense of emptiness that had plagued his childhood each time he’d seen other children with their parents—and the anger.
Shaking the unwelcome memories, he redirected his mind and Lexa’s to his purpose for taking her to show her the city. “My people believe that it was your people who built these cities. They want to teach them the things that were lost so that your people can live as you once did—build new cities.”
Lexa’s heart was thudding, but although most of it, she was sure, was because of the way Gabriel had looked at her and touched her hair, some of it was excitement at the thought of living as these people must have—the way Sir had told her things were ‘before’.
She still felt some uneasiness, as well. “Why would they do that?”
He shrugged and grimaced. “I was appointed as a Lawgiver—to help to bring order to the wild territories because the gangs, particularly the roving gangs, create problems for the colonists. The ones that take over the villages usually only create problems for those weaker than themselves.
“Part of it is nothing more than that—to establish peace between our two peoples so that we can focus on our own comfort. There are also those who believe that your people will eventually perish if something isn’t done to help your people recover from the destruction of your civilization. If you are the people who built the great civilization of this world, your numbers have dwindled and this will only continue with such limited resources. They believe it’s the only way to save your people. They want to do it because the udai are a civilized people who consider the death of an entire civilization a great loss to all.”
He was saying they were all going to die if they didn’t learn from the angel-demons, Lexa thought, feeling uneasiness prick her?
Was that so hard to believe, though? She knew how hard it was to survive from personal experience, how hard she had to struggle every day to find food and water. She also knew that it had been hard even before she’d struck off on her own—for everyone. In all the time she’d wandered she hadn’t come upon anyone or any place where the story was different.
She thought about what Gabriel had said as they began to walk again and found herself trying to picture what it might have been like to have lived in such a place with all the things Sir had told her about that had seemed so wondrous. Water that could be had by simply turning on a faucet—whatever that was—but in every place. Food that one could get just by going to a place called a grocery store—all kinds of food and plenty of it.
She thought the angels must live like that. They never looked hungry and thirsty and she was almost always both. Everyone she knew or had ever known was almost always hungry or thirsty or both.
They had things that Sir had never told her about and she knew they’d come here from another world and she didn’t think even the ‘before’ was like that—that her people had traveled from one world to another. “That’s what the relocation and rehabilitation is?” she asked finally.
“Yes.”
Lexa frowned. “We wouldn’t have been so scared if you’d explained that.”
Discomfort wafted through Gah-re-al. “You have a point. I’m not sure they would’ve cooperated anyway—or believed, however. They don’t trust us.” He shrugged. “And honestly, I didn’t know they didn’t understand.”
Lexa shrugged. “You wiped out the king and his gang.”
“That should’ve built trust,” he said with disgust. “The kings and their gangs prey upon the weak. They’re the worst savages.”
Meaning they were all savages as far as he was concerned?
She knew he thought they were—primitive savages hardly better than animals.
He must think they were better than that, though, if he thought they’d built the great city? And he thought they could learn the things they’d forgotten?
It seemed to her that it would take a whole lot of learning, but then maybe not?
“It was scary the way you did it.”
He lifted his brows at her. “I didn’t think you stayed around long enough to watch,” he said dryly.
“I didn’t see much, actually. It was scary, but it was the judgment thing. It was like they do things. They just decide.”
Anger flickered through him. “You’re saying they weren’t guilty of the most heinous crimes?”
Lexa frowned. “Not sure what heinous is.”
“Rape, murder, torture.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know. I’d just got there.”
He shook his head in disgust. “I do. I’ve cleaned out my share of the vermin in my time.”
Lexa was certain he was right. She’d seen her share of them and she hadn’t seen any ‘nice’ ones. Ralph wasn’t even the worst she’d run across and he’d done some pretty horrible things. “What were you before you were a Lawgiver?” she asked curiously.
“A soldier.”
Lexa frowned. “What’s that?”
Gah-re-al looked at her blankly for a moment and struggled with a definition she might understand. Finally, he grinned wryly. “Pretty much the same thing I do now. A little different. When I was a soldier, I was part of a larger group that enforced the peace.”
“Oh. Were you born here?”
He glanced at her and then looked away. “No.”
“So you’re one of the angel-demons that came from the s
tars?”
He sent her an amused glanced. “Angel-demons?”
“That’s what my people call yours … because of the wings. They got it out of a book.”
Gah-re-al looked a question.
Lexa shrugged. “Sir said. He never said what book only that the star people looked like the beings called angels in this book and that’s what everybody called them. They were like gods, I think.”
Gah-re-al lifted his brows in surprise. “If that’s true, I don’t think I understand why your people seem to hate and fear mine.”
Lexa glanced at him with amusement. “They weren’t nice, I don’t think. They brought the wrath of god in a war on the earth and stuff like that. Mostly they punished people for doing things god didn’t like.”
He grimaced. “I think I see what you mean. We had no purpose in coming, though, except to find a place for our people to live.”
“So you came when the others came?”
“No. I came only a few years ago. Before that I was on another world—a colony like this one. Not the home world.”
Lexa stared into the distance, trying to wrap her mind around what he’d said. “What’s home world?”
He grimaced. “Overcrowded,” he said wryly. “It’s called Narthia.”
Lexa glanced at him curiously. “Overcrowded? You’ve seen it?”
He grunted. “Far too many people living there. Yes. I was sent there to become a soldier when I came of age. They only keep children in the orphan facilities until they’re of age and then they send them to learn a useful trade—‘useful’ generally means becoming a soldier.”
Lexa puzzled over some of the things he said, unfamiliar with a lot of the words he used. She got the general idea, though. He’d been sent away as soon as he was old enough to a place he hadn’t liked. He didn’t have to tell her that he hadn’t. There was no pleasure in his face when he told her about it.
“They didn’t ask you if you wanted to be a soldier?” she guessed.
He uttered a bark of a laugh that held no humor. “They didn’t ask. Orphans are suited to the trade, though, since they have no families—and they’re accustomed to the rigid discipline required of a soldier.”
“What was it like?”
He glanced at her in surprise, but he smiled faintly. “Do you really want to know?”
She realized she wasn’t just curious because he’d spoken about things she really didn’t understand. She wanted to know about him—anything he was willing to tell her. She nodded.
She discovered that it was easier to understand the life he described than she’d expected. It certainly wasn’t the wonderful life she’d thought he must have had. He hadn’t had to worry about food, water, and shelter as she had, but he hadn’t had choices either. He’d had officers always telling him what to do until he’d become one himself.
And he’d had to fight to survive.
It sounded to her as if he had spent most of his life fighting to survive. It was no wonder, she mused, that he was so very good at fighting.
That thought gave rise to more curiosity about him and she frowned. “How did you learn to be so very good at fucking then? Did they teach you that, too?”
His face reddened but he laughed, this time with genuine amusement. Gathering her into an embrace, he grinned down at her. “You think I’m very good at it?”
She blushed, certain she’d said something that had amused him, but not sure what it was. “Yes.”
“So you won’t mind if I wanted to do that again?”
“No. I wouldn’t mind.”
His amusement slowly faded. “But only me.”
Lexa felt as if her chest had suddenly caved in. “You want me for your woman?” she gasped.
He stiffened, his hands tightening on her for a moment before he released her. “Fuck!” he muttered under his breath.
As embarrassed and dismayed as she was, Lexa was more confused. She studied his face a little anxiously. “You didn’t mean it that way?”
He shook his head.
“Oh,” Lexa said, feeling deflated and more embarrassed. “I thought … you said you didn’t want me to fuck another man.”
He looked angry, looked as if he would say something and then decided against it. Instead, he glanced up at the sky. “We should find shelter. It looks like there’s a storm gathering.”
* * * *
It was as well that making camp was so ingrained that it required no real thought. Gah-re-al was too busy kicking himself to spare time for anything else.
He didn’t even know why he’d said that to her. One moment he was teasing, the next ….
He knew why he’d said it, he realized with disgust. As soon as she’d told him she wouldn’t mind if he did that to her again it had flashed through his mind that, in her world, among her own kind, the men took what they wanted. She wouldn’t deny herself to any man that demanded it. She wouldn’t have survived as long as she had if she wasn’t smart enough to know that any man that wanted her could, and probably would, force his will upon her.
She might not want anyone else to touch her but there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
He’d wanted his ego stroked, though. He’d wanted to hear her say she didn’t want anyone else touching her like that.
Where had it come from, he wondered in angry disgust? It was almost as if he’d been flirting with an udai woman, had completely forgot for a handful of critical moments that she was human.
If she’d been an udai woman it would’ve been a stupid thing to say!
He was a Lawgiver. He couldn’t have a woman. There was no place in his life for one. There was certainly no way he could have a woman like Lexa, a human.
Even if it was allowed—and he knew damned well it wouldn’t be—he had no place for her. He couldn’t take her to live among his own people, and if he left her with hers ….
He thrust the thought from his mind, angry that he’d even gone so far in his thoughts as to consider the impossibility of it and the inadvisability of it. Where the hell had such thoughts come from anyway?
He’d enjoyed fucking her and he wasn’t the least bit averse to doing it again—as often as she was willing and he felt like it, but he could say the same for any of the women he’d bedded.
He paused and stared hard at the armload of materials he’d gathered for making a fire, his mind going back over the women he’d fucked. He was damned if he could remember half the names or any of the faces.
Well, except Maya … and Phil-a-shee, but he didn’t think he would’ve remembered Phil-a-shee if not for their most recent, and unpleasant, encounter.
He couldn’t recall that he’d ever wondered who or even if they’d shared their bed with any other man. He was fairly certain he hadn’t cared enough to consider it. He certainly hadn’t cared enough to consider demanding exclusive rights.
That was tantamount to a commitment and he didn’t make commitments beyond the moment—mostly because the moment was all he could count on.
So what the hell had possessed him to say such a thing to Lexa?
Impulse? He didn’t act on impulses. Acting without thinking could get someone killed really quickly—especially in the wastelands of the new world.
Chapter Thirteen
Lexa was so embarrassed and uncomfortable after she’d stuck her foot in her mouth all she really wanted to do was find someplace to hide. That wasn’t possible, of course. She was stranded in the city with Gabriel and, in any case, there was no place she could hide from him that he couldn’t find her.
And his mood had shifted so radically after her stupid assumption that she didn’t think trying to disappear was a good idea at all. He hadn’t had any trouble tracking her down when she’d ignored his orders before and left. She didn’t think he’d have any difficulty now and that was almost guaranteed to piss him off. She’d long since decided that it wasn’t going to be safe to attempt an escape until he ceased to watch her so closely … or went back to tracking.
After a while, though, she realized there wasn’t even any point in trying to hide. He’d become so distant she might not have been there at all.
In any case, scrambling to find what they needed to make camp before the storm hit occupied her enough to allow her unsettling emotions time to calm. They’d found a place that was relatively intact, almost like a deep cave. The windows in the front were no more than a gaping maw, of course, but the sides and back seemed solid enough and there were several floors above the one they chose that also seemed solid. It made Lexa’s flesh creep to think about the building above them, particularly considering how many collapsed buildings she’d seen, but she did her best to put it from her mind.
The Lawgivers: Gabriel Page 18