by Mallory Kane
He laughed harshly. "Why? You haven't understood anything I've said, have you?" He shifted his gaze to a place over her left shoulder. "No, of course, you haven't. You still think I'm barking. You could easily die never knowing." He looked back at her and stabbed her with the cobalt shards of his eyes. "But I want you to know, Doc. Kristen Skipworth." He spat her name as if it were a foul piece of food. "Skipworth. Deviant."
Dark anguish clouded his face and her throat burned with nausea. Nausea dulled by medication, nausea from him.
He closed his eyes and his fingers relaxed, beginning the circular massaging that so soothed and disturbed her. "Conditioning. The conditioning must be breaking down." He turned over on his back and threw his arm over his eyes, but not before he'd insinuated his other hand under her neck to keep the gentle pressure that reminded her she was his hostage.
"They scrub you till you're raw, then put you in the TAINCC, where all the good that was ever in you is sucked out and only what they want you to know is left. That's why it's so much easier for poor bastards like me who didn't have any goodness to start with."
Kristen's eyes stung with tears. Wherever he had come from, whatever delusions he had brought with him, he'd been hurt. Hurt so badly she wasn't sure he could ever recover from it. His anguish was mind-numbing. Especially since she knew he was wrong. There was goodness in him. She'd known that since the first time she'd touched him. The goodness, the decency was there. He'd just buried it too deeply.
"So they get you all conditioned, till you think you'll never have a real emotion again. And you're glad, because emotions are awful, much worse than anything they did to you in the TAINCC." His voice was muffled by his arm, but Kristen heard every word, and each one of them etched itself on her already bruised heart.
“Don't —” she whispered. Don't tell me this. Don't make me feel for you. It hurts too much.
"Something's happening to their damned conditioning though. From the time I hit that brick wall, there's been something wrong. Every time I woke up, cold and starving on that slimy street, there was something there, easing the pain, giving me hope. Then, when I touched you, it almost seemed like you drew out the pain—" He stopped and swallowed hard. "Like a—healing. For a while I hoped—. Do you know how frightening it can be to hope?" His voice quivered and died.
She brushed his arm away from his face, trying to see his eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm so very sorry."
He pushed her hand away and leaned up and over her, pressing her back into the mattress, his glittering eyes dark and unreadable. "You," he spat. "You're sorry? You perverted—Mother of all the Deviants! I'd love to take that pretty little neck between my fingers and snap it." His fingers tightened on her neck, sending a lance of panic through her.
She lay there, pinned under him, accepting the assault of his anger, unable to move, even to blink, under the force of his unwavering hatred. "Tell me," she whispered, her heart thundering in her ears, his thundering against her breast. "Tell me why you hate me so much. I don't understand what my—descendents did that was so bad."
"They killed her. You were the start of it all. Your spawn killed my wife and the stupid, fucking cat. The Deviants killed them."
Kristen watched him, fascinated.
He'd started out so certain, so enraged, but as he talked, his voice became less vehement, as if he couldn't remember everything. As if he'd been reciting a poem by rote and forgotten his lines. He shook his head in confusion, and when he did, a drop of something wet fell on her cheek. A tear, or a drop of sweat? Did it matter?
"H-how? Why? Even if it's true. Even if these Deviants are my descendants. What did your wife do to make them kill her?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he were trying to conjure up a fading image. "I came home late. I caught the last shuttle. It was our—anniversary. But Mari—." He swallowed hard. "Something was wrong, something had happened. We had to get away." His words trailed off. He'd forgotten Kristen was there. "She went back after the cat. We could have gotten away, but she went back." He stopped. Tears welled in his eyes.
Kristen touched his face, wishing she could wipe away the hurt, stop his tears. "Why did they kill her, Rider?"
He stared at her, his eyes glistening. "I don't know. I don't know. It's what they told me," he whispered uncertainly. His fingers pressed against her throat, choking her, and he shook his head like a wounded deer, trying to shake off the pain, shake off the haze, shake off the smell of death. His eyes focused on her. He looked startled, as if he'd just remembered she was there. His fingers moved on her neck again and panic speared through her.
“I will kill you. I will,” he muttered desperately.
Kristen swallowed the acrid saliva that his nausea brought to her mouth. The sensations from his fingers, his body touching hers were more confusing than the worst psychotics she’d ever tried to help. Her brain was awhirl with pain and anger, regret and fear, nausea and engulfing sorrow.
“I’ll kill you,” he whispered, his blue eyes burning like lasers into her soul. “As soon as I can.”
#
Rider was dreaming, and his dreams weren’t making him sick. At least not very. He dreamed that a angel with black curly hair had detached herself from the heavenly host and joined him on his cloud. She was curled into his side, resting her cheek on his shoulder. This must be heaven, he thought, pulling her sleep-warmed body closer to his until he could feel her all along his length. He buried his face in her hair.
The angel murmured something, and he turned her face up so he could see her mouth. Her pouty lower lip looked so inviting he had to kiss it. When her angel’s lips touched his, she made a soft whimper of protest, but her fingers clutched at the sparse hairs on his chest so he pulled her closer, molding her body to his like warm clay. He tangled his fingers in her hair and urged her lips open with his tongue. She gasped and allowed him access. He’d never tasted anything so sweet as her mouth, never touched a body so soft yet firm. Her knee bent and he pushed his leg between her thighs, her heat searing his skin.
Somewhere, divorced from the exquisite pleasure of her body against his and her sweet mouth yielding to his kisses, he noticed a metallic tang in the back of his throat, and a faint burning in his thigh, but even that couldn’t override the sweet throb of his erection pressed against her.
The other angels discretely left them alone as he deepened his kisses and his hands roamed her shoulders and back, down the curving lane toward her buttocks, and up again, to trace her ribs. Then God turned the lights down low, and Rider and his angel were alone in heaven. He lifted his head to look down at her, his fingers tracing her mouth, her nose, her eyelids. He thought she was the most beautiful angel he'd ever seen, and she smelled like he'd always thought heaven would smell. All clean and spicy and bleachy-white.
"Angel," he whispered. "Doc?" The word falling from his lips without his conscious knowledge startled him into full wakefulness.
This wasn't heaven. It was a small, hot bedroom. And he wasn't on a cloud with an angel, he was in a pile of tangled bedclothes with the Mother of all the Deviants. His gut spasmed, but not very hard.
Still, even if she had spawned the Deviants, she felt very good pressed up against him. How long had it been since the softness of a woman had touched him? How long had it been since he'd had a full erection without the accompanying agony?
Damn them and their conditioning, he thought, even as pain wrenched him again. They couldn't get anything right. What he'd told Kristen was true. It had been a lot easier living without the memories, without any hope, back before she'd touched him. This desire that was seeping out from under the conditioning, this hope that was worming its way into his heart, hurt far more than anything they'd done to him in the TAINCC.
She stirred against him and snuggled in closer, turning her face invitingly up to his. And while a faint nausea caused sweat to bead his brow, he still lowered his mouth to hers, and almost cried out when she responded. When he drew her closer, she
opened herself to him, lying slack and ready against him. His whole body throbbed with need, with long forgotten desire.
He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth and splayed his hand on her buttocks, pressing her hard against him. A flash of remembrance gave him a freeze-frame of a blonde woman all in black and the agony bit into his belly.
Kristen moaned at the sharp twinge in her stomach. Her eyes flew open and encountered an intense blue stare. She was dazed, still caught in the netherworld between sleeping and waking, still bound to sleep by the dregs of her dream. What had she been dreaming? Certainly of blue eyes. Blue eyes and pain and sweet desire. She closed her eyes again and curled her fingers against his chest, seeking the comfort and exquisite yearning that had suffused her just seconds before.
He thrust her away roughly. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm sorry,” she stammered. “I was asleep."
He pushed his hand up under her hair and clamped his fingers around her neck, sending pain shivering through her muscles. Fury burned like pure oxygen in his eyes. "Did you do that?"
"D-do what?" She closed her eyes against his rage, but he grabbed her jaw and shook it.
"Look at me," he growled through clenched teeth. "Did you do that?"
Tears of fright welled in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "Do what? I don't know what you mean. Please!"
His hot breath burned her face. His fingers bruised her jaw. "Deviant! Stay out of my head, damn you!" He shook her jaw again and she cried out. Then he pushed her away as if she were hot and rolled off the bed. "And keep that enticing little body away from me." He stalked into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
Kristen hadn't moved. She watched the bathroom door cautiously, waiting to see what he was going to do next. Her head was whirling. She looked toward the living room. Why wasn't she running? Why was she acting like a starry-eyed school girl about this man who swore he’d kill her? A thrill of need rippled through her belly as she recalled his kiss. He had kissed her, then he'd accused her of trying to get inside his head. He'd caressed her, then he'd grabbed her jaw nearly hard enough to bruise it. According to what he’d said, her descendants had killed his wife. He said he was going to kill her. So why did she have this overwhelming urge to protect him, to keep him safe, to—
Kristen shook her head sharply and moved slowly toward the living room door. Just as she crossed the threshold, her phone rang. She jumped, then lunged through the door, desperate to answer the phone, to hear a voice other than his deadly quiet one.
She got to the table where the phone sat when an efficient, painful grip on her arm stopped her cold. As he pulled her backwards, she tried to see the name on the display, but he was too fast.
"What's that?" he demanded.
"It's a telephone. Surely you have telephones. I need to answer it."
"Like hell."
It rang again, and Kristen glanced at him but he wrenched her arm a fraction of an inch higher. "I said leave it."
Her heart sank clear to her toes. "But somebody might be looking for me. Bill. Or Moira, if she's still—alive? You've got to let me answer it." She moved her arm a little, but his grip was relentless. "Please."
Rider shifted her toward him until his face was mere inches from hers. The electric blue eyes flashed a warning. "Doc, you haven't been paying attention."
The phone stopped ringing. It had gone to voicemail. She stopped struggling so she could listen to the message. She'd set the voicemail to play through the phone's speaker so she could screen calls, because she gave her number to quite a few of her patients.
"You've reached Dr. Skipworth. I’m not available right now. Please leave a message after the tone."
"Kris! Where are you?"
Moira! Kristen wanted to cry and laugh in relief. Moira was okay, she'd gotten out of the clinic in time.
"The police want to ask you some questions about the explosion. Are you okay? If you don't call me soon, I swear I'll tell them your gorgeous bum kidnapped you. Call me!" The machine clicked as Moira hung up.
Kristen looked triumphantly at Rider. He'd have to release her now. The police were looking for her.
"Would she tell the police that?"
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin.
He studied her for a second. "I don't believe you."
She shrugged. "I don't care. You'll find out soon enough." Of course she wouldn't tell the police that, but she wasn't going to tell Rider that. Let him think the police would come for them.
Frowning, he let go of her. "Why don't we have something to eat?" he asked softly.
She rubbed her arm and sighed with irritation. "You're the one that hasn't been listening. You want to have a snack while we wait for the police?"
"Come on. Let's have some more of those chicken eggs, what do you say?" His voice was as casual as a friend's. It didn't belong to the man who'd been calling her a word that seemed to be the worst insult he knew—Deviant.
Kristen stared at him. Definitely psychotic. "Chicken eggs?" she said, trying to sound as casual as he. "Uh, sure. Listen. I'll fix something while you take a shower."
"I don't think so, Doc," he said, pushing her ahead of him toward the kitchen. He stopped, looked back at the telephone, then reversed his steps and yanked the cords out of the wall.
Kristen stared in despair at the now useless machine, then at him. He didn't have a shirt on, and a few drops of water glistened on his face and chest. Her body, which had betrayed her earlier as she'd slept, wasn't finished with its treachery. The sight of the long muscles rippling under his skin reminded her of how warm and rock-hard those muscles had been pressed against her. And that wasn't all that had been hard, she thought, her face growing hot, her insides going soft and liquid. She quickly averted her gaze, looking down. Oh. She'd almost forgotten she was dressed in her underwear. She swallowed. "Could I, could I get dressed first?"
Rider's eyes flickered over her body, then back up to her face. "Yeah, you'd better," he said, and reversed direction, pulling her back into the bedroom.
She searched in her dresser for clean underwear. "You'll let me take a shower, won't you?" she asked casually, thinking if she could stall long enough, maybe Moira would get worried enough that she would send the police.
"No," he said, reaching around her to push the drawer closed.
Kristen turned to find him much closer than she had gauged. Her breasts, covered by the tiny wisp of lace that was her bra, brushed his chest and he recoiled, his gaze traveling over her body, his mouth set in a frown.
"You can't take a shower. Get your clothes on. You're too distracting like that." He retrieved her shirt and jeans from the floor and tossed them to her.
She had just finished tying her shoes when he clapped a hand over her mouth. She squeaked in protest, but his fingers tightened and he whispered in her ear. "Sh-h-h. What was that?"
Like she could answer him. What she'd like to do was bite him, but all she could manage was a bare negative shake of her head.
"Sh-h-h."
Then she heard it. Usually when she heard sounds at night, she assumed it was Sam, prowling around the apartment, scratching at the door. It was one of the benefits of having a cat. She'd quit worrying about things that went bump in the night.
But this sound was definitely metal scraping against metal. Someone was trying to break into her apartment. Maybe Moira had called the police.
Rider's voice was as quiet and deadly as a snake's hiss. "What did you do? Who is that?"
Again, all she could do was shake her head.
He pulled her back against him. The hard body that she'd found so tempting a few minutes ago was now cold steel and threatening. He twisted her arm behind her back and whispered again. "How do I know you didn't do anything? How can I trust you? I was asleep. Did you call the cops? Or the dog catchers?"
She kept shaking her head, kept straining against his hand until he loosened it enough for her to speak through pain-numbed lips. "Of
course not," she whispered desperately. "How could I? You had that death grip on my neck the whole night."
Rider turned her around and stared into her eyes for a long time. She stared defiantly back, daring him to call her a liar, trying not to be affected by the doubt and fear behind his cobalt eyes.
"Then who is that?" he whispered.
Kristen shook her head. "I told you. It's the police," she said with a lot more conviction than she felt. "Moira said she'd call them if she didn't hear from me."
Suddenly, the noise stopped and Rider was as rigid as a corpse.
"What?" she started, but he grabbed her around the waist and shoved her toward the bedroom window, where Sam was sitting on the sill back arched and hissing.
"Get out! Go! Now!" he shouted and vaulted through the open window, dragging her over the casement with him. She almost fell before she could get her footing on the old iron fire escape.
"Sam!" she cried, but Rider didn't even stop. He stepped on the spring-loaded stairs and jerked her up against him as they began their slow descent to the ground. As the stairs squeaked to a halt, a deafening explosion blew out the side of her apartment.
Kristen dove off the fire escape, covering her head with her arms. Hot sparks and shattered glass rained over her. The he jerked her upright and dragged her to the other side of the road. Rider pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, pinning hers to her side.
It was probably a good thing he was holding her so tightly. Otherwise she'd collapse like a rag doll. Her chest was so tight she couldn't breathe. She gasped again and again, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen.
He pushed her face into his shoulder, his hand cradling her skull gently. "Breathe slow and easy. You're hyperventilating, Doc. Don't you know the cure for that?"
"My—apart—ment. Sam—. What—did you—do—" She huffed against his shirt.
"I was just going to ask you the same question," he said softly in her ear, "until I smelled the BeeDee."
"The what?" She pulled her head back to stare at him.