by Joey W. Hill
“No, I’m not.” He set his jaw. “You can trash yourself all you want, but you’re not going to put those words in my mouth. I saw a woman who’s beautiful, desirable and fascinating. But that doesn’t make me any less pissed off at you.”
“What?” She’d paused to digest the colloquialism, but she picked up on the meaning quickly enough. “What right do you have to be angry with me?”
“Hello?” He gestured to his chest. “What the hell did I do to deserve that?”
“Oh.” He’d derailed her from the sight issue, at least for now, which was his intent, but his demanding question was sincere.
“I wanted to… I don’t know. You made me feel…comfortable, and I was reminding myself that I shouldn’t ever feel comfortable.”
His brow creased and he took a step in her direction. She was up in the trees, but it didn’t matter. What he heard behind the words made him want to be closer. “You weren’t going to say comfortable. What were you going to say?”
“My thoughts are not yours to demand.”
Not yet, but we’re getting there, he thought, with a surge of satisfaction. Because he heard the truth.
She’d wanted to say safe. He’d made her feel safe, and she couldn’t trust that feeling. Because she hadn’t felt safe in a long time. She’d both rejected it and tested him, a dual purpose she might not even have recognized in her own mind. Okay, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but close enough.
“Fine,” he said evenly. “But there’ll be a reckoning.”
“A…what?”
“You owe me an apology. In trade.”
“I’m not going to let you—”
“I would never break your skin like that, my lady. No matter what you do to me, I’d never strike you with the intent to do harm.”
Those silences of hers were always filled with so much, he could almost feel the thoughts whirling around him. “Then I am sorry,” she said stiffly. “I should not have—”
“In your place, I might have done the same,” he said. “Until you build up enough evidence to the contrary, you have no reason to trust me. And I didn’t do a good job of helping with that, just now. But to make it square between us, there needs to be a reckoning. Because I didn’t do anything to deserve these marks, did I?”
Another pause. “No.”
This time when she spoke, he finally felt the age difference between them, in an intriguing way. He’d purposefully made his tone stern, and he could hear her discomfiture. She had a conscience, he knew it, warring with deeper, more difficult and darker things.
“Well then,” he said lightly. “After I heal up, we spar. First one to put the other on the ground three times wins. And we’ll state the stakes right now, up front. Once agreed, no reneging.”
“Why would I do this?”
“Because you’re feeling guilty about it. Not only did you wound me, you left me all alone to deal with it. You know how hard it is to tend your own wounds?”
“Yes. I do.”
He cursed his clumsiness there. “Yeah, I guess you do. Be nice to have someone around to help, right?”
“Men are babies.” Her tone was droll, telling him she’d picked up his exaggerated wistfulness.
“Sometimes. I appreciate you straightening that wrap for me. So if you win, what do you want?”
A rustling told him she’d come down out of the trees. She was standing on the rocks about ten feet away. Her proximity was a relief to him, and he realized he wanted to take this to the next level. Enough of this standing outside of range shit.
Taking another couple of steps toward her, he dropped to one knee, a nonthreatening pose. He held out a hand. “Will you come here, my lady?”
“Why?”
“Because I like it when you’re closer. I like the way you smell. I like the warmth of your flesh. I like to hear the movement of your clothing against your body. Tell me what you want, if you win.”
Her soles slid over the rock as if she was shifting from one to the other, debating. She didn’t come to him, but she answered his question. “If I win, you leave the island.”
“The stakes have to be something you want. You don’t want that, Medusa. You’re just worried what will happen the longer I stay around.”
“You seem sure of your appeal.”
“Am I wrong? Can you tell me you don’t want me around at all, for any length of time? I think that was part of what upset you about me looking at you. You’ve found someone’s company you can tolerate, who might not be here to kill you. I risked that without consulting you first. Again, I’m sorry.”
Another shift of feet. “Very well. When I win, you will leave the island when I desire you to do so. Whenever that might be. No arguing.”
He imagined himself standing in the surf for a few hours and then returning to shore, confirming he had “left” the island. “Okay, but when it’s not because of fear or anger or whatever. When you genuinely don’t want me around anymore. That’s fine, but it’s really subjective.”
“From your perspective,” she responded tartly, and he grinned.
“Even so, I’d advise different stakes.”
“Like what? What more could I want from you?”
Oh, baby, that’s a loaded question. He’d love to demo the a la carte menu for her, but now was hardly the time. “You could have me repair or build you something. I can also requisition new supplies from Maddock. Maybe you’d like him to send a crate of that chocolate.”
She paused. “No. I’d like you to tell me more stories like The Princess Bride. Two chapters. In the morning and evening. Every day.”
He’d give her that anyway. He’d give her pretty much anything she wanted. He just wouldn’t leave. “That I can do.”
“More chocolate would be nice. Though a crate would be too much.”
He could point out that was two things, but he’d leave that alone.
“Plus a dress like one I saw in the…magazine. Can you…requisition that?”
He was pleased she’d been looking through it. “You’re pushing the whole prize-winning thing.”
“Well, if I put you on the ground three times, three prizes seem reasonable.”
Actually, that kind of did, and it worked for his own purposes, if he won. “Okay. Leave the picture of the dress at my camp. If I can’t get that exact one, I’ll find one as close to it as possible.” And please God, let it not be some five-figure designer thing worn by an Oscar recipient, else I’ll be indentured to Maddock’s craziness for the rest of my life. “You’ll have to let me figure out your size, though.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. Female clothing for her people, at least within the privacy of the home, was pretty much a piece of draped fabric belted at the waist and open on the sides. Thinking of her in that gave him a nice surge of lust.
He’d already had enough glimpses of her petite frame to guess she was size small and fighting weight lean, but whatever dress she chose might need to be more specific than that. And with the wings, it might need to be tailored. But he’d deal with that after he had all the necessary information.
“Do you approve my requests for winnings?” she asked, an imperious note to her voice.
“I do,” he said, just as formally.
“What about you? In the unlikely event you win, what do you want?”
He flashed his teeth. “Pretty confident there, snake-girl. Four strikes on my chest, I want four times four strikes of my own. Open palm, on your pretty backside. I want to spank you.”
He would have given a great deal to see the look on her face, because he bet it was priceless.
“Your price for me tearing open your flesh is to swat my bottom a few times.” Her tone was affronted. “I am not a child, unaware of the consequences of my actions.”
“I’m aware of that. I promise you’ll feel very much like a grown woman while I’m doing it.”
“If you win,” she said suspiciously.
“When I win.”
He’d get those for her, regardless. “Yes, my lady. I was going to go back down to the beach for a swim. Want to come with me and sit on the beach for a while? Make sandcastles?”
“Maybe in a while.” She sounded pensive, as if she had more on her mind than she wanted to reveal.
He deduced that being on the beach so soon after last night would remind her not only of what she’d done to him, but what they’d been doing right before then. The intimacy she’d allowed herself with someone she shouldn’t yet fully trust.
“Okay. But we’re square. We’ve set terms for a reckoning, and that’s all that needs to be said about it. I don’t hold any hard feelings. I’d like for you to come join me and hang out when you’re ready. I like your company.”
“Hang…out.”
“Yeah. It means spend time together in a friendly sort of way.”
“You have a strange way of speaking. And we are not friends.”
“Not yet. Maybe soon. Did you have friends before, at the temple?”
“Yes. Before.” That one word was loaded with lots of things. He’d lowered his hand when she refused to take it, so now he rose and took several deliberate steps in her direction. When he stopped, he’d gauged right. He was standing in front of her and close, her short skirt fluttering against the bare part of his thigh below the shorts.
“Maybe this is a chance for you to have one again,” he suggested.
Her touch slid over the bandage she’d rewrapped, fortunately before she’d noticed him looking at her. His chest, aching though it was, welcomed that testing caress. He lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips over the back of hers. “Medusa.”
She drew away. “We shall see.”
Her footsteps told him she was preparing to leave him again. She paused, though. “If I tried to kill you, I would want you to fight back, John Pierce.”
“Then I suggest you never try to kill me, my lady. I said I’m here to serve you, and I meant it.”
“I suspect you staying alive is of better service to us both.”
As she took flight, he nodded in satisfaction. “On that, I’d say we’re in agreement.” More progress.
Chapter Seven
She joined him on the beach after dinner. He’d left the blindfold on for most of the past few hours in the hopes that she would, and was glad his patience was rewarded.
He didn’t say anything as she took a seat on the sand beside him, but he offered her some of the fruit juice he’d made, since he didn’t care much for plain water.
“This is good,” she said, after a sip. “I have a punch I’ve put together with this same fruit. Additional herbs give it a pleasing flavor. I will show you which ones I use next time you make more.”
“Sounds good.” He rose and went to the shoreline, intending to rinse the stickiness of the fruit off his hands. As he straightened, he felt her behind him. “Mind if I remove the blindfold a moment, my lady?” he asked casually. “I’d like to watch the sunset with you.”
“As long as you promise not to turn around. I do not care that you wear the…contacts. I don’t wish you to look upon me until I permit it. You must promise.”
“You trust my word?”
“I do not know. I expect you will prove that to me in time.”
“True enough. What I will promise is it will be a hardship not to look upon your loveliness.”
His enhanced senses somewhat detected mood changes, if those changes were strong enough. It was curious, how certain things he said turned her tenuous accord with him into a tight, closed coolness.
“Please do not say such things to me. You claim they are not a mockery, but I cannot accept that. Your words hurt.”
Her words hurt him, because he heard the genuine pain the sincere compliment provoked. Removing the blindfold, he stuffed it in his shorts pocket. The sun’s descent was a glorious painting, as it often was. A miracle offered to everyone, rich or poor, sick or well, good or evil. Or morally compromised beyond repair.
The poignancy of sunset could always do this to him. Stop it, John. You’re past that. You made sure of it, before you came here. You didn’t want to be some wounded thing she had to save. Yet there were things about her own struggles that took him back to the darker days of his own.
“So animals can look at you, can’t they?” he asked.
“Yes. The spell…curse, was only directed toward humans, to keep me…isolated from them. How did you know?”
“I haven’t seen any statues of animals, and you can’t tell an animal not to meet your gaze. Plus, the deer look like they’re always expecting someone else when they see me.”
“Yes.” A smile crept into her voice, adding a sensuous tag to the melody of her words. “I do as little harm as possible to the beasts who share the island with me. They are friends and company. It is nice to have their trust and contact.”
“They’ll let you touch them?”
“Yes. The male deer have taken the longest. There is one with magnificent antlers who allows me to stroke his flanks and scratch around the antlers and ears. It seems all furred animals like that.”
“It makes sense. Even our scant amount of fur can cause itching.”
She chuckled, a pretty sound. “Yes, that is so.”
Her hand slid under his arm, her fingers settling lightly on his bandaged chest. “You took this off when you swam earlier. Didn’t the salt burn?”
“It did.” Like a fucking son of a bitch. “But it’s good for the wounds. Part of why I did it.”
“What you used to close the wounds, those slim pieces of metal? I haven’t seen that before.”
“Medical staples. I probably should have used sutures, because it’s hard to align the skin with staples if you don’t have a second pair of hands to help, but staples are faster and I don’t care much about scarring. I have my share, so I don’t worry about that anymore.”
Plus, a part of him had wanted the scars. In case this didn’t work out, he wanted something permanent to carry from her. He didn’t share that, since he didn’t want her to entertain any thoughts about making him leave again. He also wasn’t sure if she’d interpret that as more evidence that he was some kind of twisted individual who liked “deformed” women and wanted to be wounded by them, literally. Christ.
“Yes, you do have many scars.” Her other hand traced several of them on his back. “You must be a fierce warrior.”
“Or a pretty bad one. One that doesn’t know how to get out of the way.”
“No.” That smile was back in her voice, tempered with something more serious. “You have implied you chose a dangerous profession, and you were in it for many years. If you were not skilled, you would not be alive.”
“Anyone who’s had to go into a fight to the death will tell you that’s as much luck as skill. Right?”
“Yes.” One syllable conveyed a wealth of understanding. Kinship.
He closed his hand around hers carefully, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. As he turned it over, he saw calluses on her palms. "You work hard to provide for your own needs here."
"No harder than at the temple.”
That couldn’t be true, since at the temple there’d been far more people to share the load. But also far more people to feed.
“Gifts were always brought,” she said. “But we grew our own food, toted water, washed our linen. Each priestess cared for her own needs and communally supported those of all. There was a simple pleasure to it. A flower, herb or vegetable grows and flourishes if I care for it properly. It responds to my love. Honest labor can bring much joy."
“Do you get bored? There doesn’t seem to be much to do here except deal with your necessities, and you seem to have those well under control.”
"Idleness is only unwelcome for the thoughts it can bring.”
“Yeah. A-fucking-men to that. But the white noise of other people can be as bad sometime
s. Make it worse.”
“Hmm. That I would not know, but I do enjoy my solitude. I don’t want to be back in the world."
He wasn’t sure he believed her. She didn’t want to be back in the world she’d left. But there was a lot more world out there than that. He’d found that out himself these past few years, on his way back to a version of himself that he could accept, that could see the beauty of the world again.
Thinking of what he’d told her about how young he’d been when he got involved with the shit that had turned into a dark and dangerous career path, he figured that was another thing he and Medusa had in common. His nineteen-year-old self hadn’t had a chance to be young. He’d been young for a blink before he’d been old.
He made himself ask the question he might not want answered, since more than once he’d heard the darkness in her voice that hinted of it. "Do you wish for death?"
"Of course not.” Her quick and indignant answer was a relief. “There is plenty to experience in solitude.”
She spread her hands out before him. She'd threaded the other under his arm so they were like two elegant fans held before him with their ivory sharp tips. "My hands look the same to me as they did when I first came here. If I die of ‘old age,’ I suspect I will merely cease to exist in the form I have now.” She paused. “When you…looked at my face, how old did I appear?”
“Early twenties. The curse may be preserving your age, as you suspect.”
“Yes. The curse.”
How she said it, with a flat tone, made him curious. “My lady?”
“Things are not always what they seem, John Pierce. Just as I suspect your nature, and your reasons for being here, have still not been fully revealed to me.”
One of her hands settled back on his chest and the other withdrew, so there was still space between their bodies. He stroked her knuckles, following them to the points of her wrist, her forearm. Despite her impassive words, she didn’t draw away, or tell him to stop. She touched his back again, tracing old scars, exploring. The surf frothed around his feet, as it would be doing to hers, standing so close behind him.
A slight bump against his back made him realize one of the snakes had come down to investigate the movement of her hand over his skin. As the sea breeze picked up, her hair teased his flesh as well. If she’d permit it, he’d turn around, put his mouth on hers and draw her fully against his body. The snakes could wind around their torsos and bind them together, just like he’d dreamed.