"My file?" he asked warily, wondering what that had to do with anything.
"You’re an orphan. You never had a family. You lived in a very dark place for a very long time. But you were looking for the light, weren’t you? That’s what you found in Keza. And now that you’ve found it, you can’t give it up."
He stared at her. "What the hell are you talking about?"
She chuckled and pried the glass from his hand, rising to refill it. When she handed it back to him, she smiled in a very gentle way, eyes warm. "You’ve been looking for love. And you found it."
He snorted despite the strange lurch in the center of his being at her words. "Love is a myth."
"So is our Goddess. Yet you felt her touch, saw my sister’s face on her statue. What did that mean to you?"
He narrowed his eyes on her, wondering if she was driving him nuts on purpose. This talk of some mystical woman made him want to slam his head into a wall. The statue thing could’ve had any number of logical explanations, but the females in this family insisted on believing the most nonsensical shit. He carefully ignored the odd, icy sensation in his chest when he remembered Keza’s face on the marble and told himself he was humoring her nutty sister. "Keza said your Goddess was trying to tell me something."
"She was."
"So what’s she telling me?"
"That you’re home, Chase," Nade said with a brilliant smile, amber eyes brimming with tears. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch cool and gentle. "You’re finally home."
He studied her luminous face and sparkling eyes. The poor, deluded woman really believed it. "Nade?"
"Yes, Chase?"
"You’re soft in the head."
Her laughter danced around the kitchen as she sat back and wiped the moisture from her lashes with unselfconscious fingers. "Yes, but I’ve been told it’s my best quality."
Harle growled ominously in the doorway, "Why you cryin’, babe?"
"Just being sentimental, sweetie. Stop glaring at Chase—it’s not his fault."
The dangerous lines in the big man’s face eased into a sour grimace. "Like hell it ain’t. He bein’ difficult?"
She sent her mate a sly look, before propping her elbow on the table and chin in her hand, giving Chase a sweet smile that did something strange inside his chest. "No more than usual."
Harle grumbled something under his breath. "That’s because you’re talkin’ to him from the wrong direction. C’mon, man. Got somethin’ to show you."
Relieved to get away from Keza’s sister and her disturbing notions, he rose with alacrity and followed Harle back down the darkened hall.
"Keep quiet," the big man whispered, though it wasn’t necessary. They both moved with the silent stealth of true predators.
They entered a small room dimly lit with a little light in the shape of a bunny. Harle pointed at a small bed and whispered, "What do you see?"
"Your daughter, I’m guessing," Stryker responded in a low voice, studying the tiny creature sprawled in the bed.
"Look closer."
Stryker sent him a dry glance. "Local handyman’s daughter?"
Harle cuffed him none too gently on the back of the head. Stryker tried to give him a warning glare, but a grin kept tugging at his lips.
"Asshole. Open your friggin’ eyes and look." Harle stepped closer, gazing down on his daughter with a tender, almost awed expression. "She’s as close to peace as we’re ever gonna get. I saw some terrible shit when I was a badge. Saw it, did it, damn near drowned in it. Same kinda shit you floated in, I ‘magine. Can’t change that or forget it. But she makes it better." He paused, watching the little girl sleep with a faint smile. "I won’t tell you how much I love her, ‘cause there just ain’t words. You won’t believe me anyway. But you can see she’s pure and clean, and that’s worth protecting."
Stryker stared down at the little body, trying to see what Harle saw. Her small, chubby limbs sprawled across the bedding in utter abandonment, her soft face totally relaxed in sleep, lips parted on heavy breaths that were just shy of snores. There was some shiny drool on her cheek and her golden curls spread around her fragile head and clung damply to her tender neck. She was as vulnerable a creature as any he’d ever seen. He supposed it was a big responsibility trying to keep someone as defenseless as this alive.
"You ever sleep like that in your life?" Harle asked in a low, musing voice, as if he’d forgotten Stryker was there.
Stryker gazed down at the girl’s complete, fearless relaxation and realized that the answer was no. Not even when he was this small. His childhood had been too fraught with fear and loneliness, gray and dismal with distrust and isolation. Suddenly he saw what Harle was trying to say. Knowing the face of badness, Harle could keep it away and watch this creature thrive in the light. She was his redemption, his way of remaking his ugly past into something good.
Stryker felt a wave of shame sweep over him. He’d already proven that redemption was way out of his reach. "You keep her clean to wash away your own grime," he observed with a bitter twist of his mouth. When Harle nodded, Stryker met his gaze grimly. "My shit doesn’t wash off. I’m the wolf, remember?"
Harle rolled his eyes. "Well, your attitude’s shitty, anyway. You got a second chance here. You should try workin’ it."
"Kessu, and you call me a knobhead," he muttered in disgust. He waved an impatient hand down at the little girl. "You ever hurt her?"
"Never," Harle said with a frown.
"Well, that’s the difference between you and me," Stryker said with bitter finality and stalked out.
Chapter 16
After three days, Sukeza was ready to kill Chase. The man was avoiding her with expert thoroughness. She hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him and it was driving her crazy. And Harle, the big, thick-headed jackass, wasn’t helping her. He knew Chase’s haunts, readily admitted to knowing where the man was most of the time, yet he wouldn’t tell. He’d even done something to the security system so the House wouldn’t tell her either. She was ready to kill Harle, too. She fumed and made her family nervous. They’d never seen her so openly furious for such an extended period of time. The only one who didn’t walk on eggshells around her was Rogue, who had no sense of self preservation and a very warped sense of humor.
By the end of the third day, she was willing to add her brother to her list of impending homicides. She had a standing order to refuse all candidacy offers, her conception the perfect excuse to decline. But Rogue kept sneaking hopefuls into the house, ambushing her at odd moments. The Mater House’s reputation and political standing forced her to be polite when she turned them away, which didn’t help her temper. She wanted to scream at them to get out, to leave her the hell alone. She wanted to throw things at Rogue’s head, but he conveniently disappeared after each candidate presented himself.
But the last straw was when Rogue brought up Chase’s candidacy status at dinner on the third day. "He’s got to be sticking around for some reason. You know, there are plenty of naevas around—maybe he’s spreading the wealth."
"Oh, that’s it!" she snarled and jerked to her feet, infuriated as much by the idea of Chase going to other women as she was by her brother. Rogue just grinned, but several of her dinner companions scrambled to escape. She barely noticed. "Harle!" she bellowed across the courtyard.
He poked his sandy head out of the communal kitchen doorway, looking strangely unsurprised by her behavior. "Yeah?"
"If you do not tell me where Chase is right now I will make sure Nade cuts you off."
He shifted, glancing back into the kitchen uneasily. "Cuts me off from the food?"
"We’ll start there," she answered ominously.
His response was immediate. "Observatory."
"Thank you, Harle," she called over the general laughter and spun on her heel, stalking away from the courtyard and toward the stone stairs leading down to the grotto. So help her, the damned man was going to catch hell this time.
Angry as she was over his av
oidance, what infuriated and pained her the most was his excuse for doing it. He’d told Harle and Nade that he’d hurt her, so therefore he would stay away from her. It was a bullshit argument and she meant to explain that to him in exquisite detail at the top of her lungs. She deserved better—if he was no longer interested, he should just tell her so. And then get the hell out of her house.
She skimmed down the stairs without bothering to turn on a light, the stone under her feet as familiar as her own breath. Flying into the grotto, she could see by the glow in the water that the playground was lit. That was a curious thing, but her mind was occupied with other matters and she didn’t dwell. Spinning, she headed for the narrow passage to the observatory, grimly satisfied to see the faint light on the stairs. Someone was down there and she was coming through the only passage in or out of the observatory. He was not going to get away from her this time.
When she stepped into the bowl, she was on the attack even before she saw his form by the transparent wall. "Chase Stryker, you arrogant, selfish son-of-a-bitch! How dare you avoid me? You think you can—" At that point, she became aware that he wore only a wetsuit pushed down to his waist, baring a debilitating expanse of warm cinnamon skin and muscle. "That you can—can just…" She spluttered to a stop then threw her hands up in the air with an aggravated sound in her throat. "How am I supposed to focus when you’re half naked?" she demanded.
"Your temper and that see-through dress ain’t doing me any favors either," he growled, sidling away from her with a dark look.
With a frown, she glanced down at the pale, linen dress. "It’s not see-through."
"Close enough," he muttered, angling toward the stairs.
She scrambled to get between him and the exit. "Oh, no you don’t! You’re going to listen, even if I have to get Harle to strap you down."
He backed away from her, which twisted something deep inside, but the flash of dangerous heat in his dark eyes suspended her thoughts for a moment. "Harle switch sides?"
"I learned how to threaten him," she said with a steadying breath.
He snorted. "So get on with it, farm girl," he snarled and his contempt was like acid on her skin, reawakening her fury.
She held onto her temper enough not to scream, but her fists were tight at her sides and her whole body shook with the strength of her emotions. Through clenched teeth, she said, "You’re a free candidate. There’s no reason to make up stories to avoid me. If you don’t want me any more, that’s fine by me—actually, no, it’s not fine. I want you to be with me, but if you want to move on, I won’t stop you. But I will not tolerate you offering candidacy to anyone else in my own house. So if you’re done with me, you will stop skulking around the place and get the hell out!" The last word slipped her control and came out as a shout, but she took a deep breath and continued with more calm, "Since I brought you here with nothing, we’ll supply you with—"
"Shut up, Keza," he growled, though for some strange reason, he backed up even further and turned his face away. "I’m not leaving."
"Why not?" she retorted, folding trembling arms across her chest. With her initial burst of fury expended, reaction was setting in, muscles twitching from adrenaline and conflicting emotion. Her heart felt physically bruised and she wanted to blame him for that too but couldn’t. It wasn’t his fault she’d been so incredibly stupid as to fall in love with him.
He didn’t answer for a moment, turning his shoulder to her while he looked out into the water. She suddenly noticed that his hands were clenched into fists and his sleekly muscled form was hard with tension, his face drawn in sharp angles of conflict. A surge of resentment burned in her throat. She was giving him his freedom—what did he have to be upset about?
"I didn’t make up any stories, Keza. I saw the med report. I hurt you, bruised you again."
"What? The hell you did. Bruised me where?" she demanded, furious that he’d try to keep up the pretense to her face.
He shot a look over his shoulder, his eyes hot whirlpools of midnight. Slowly, scorching her to her bones, his gaze traveled down her body to the juncture between her thighs. A full body blush set her skin aglow.
"Oh, that," she murmured, flustered and shivering from a sudden memory of his body claiming hers with savage abandon.
"Yeah, that," he said heavily, turning back to the watery view.
"Um, that doesn’t really count."
"The hell it doesn’t."
She frowned at his stony profile. "Excuse me? I’m pretty sure I’m the one who gets to decide what counts."
"You started out being afraid of me, afraid I’d hurt you. I keep proving you right. If you were smart, you’d still be afraid of me."
She planted her hands on hips in a resurgence of anger. "You also don’t get to tell me what I feel. And I’m sick of you implying that I’m ignorant and naïve. I know about your past, Chase, but you’ve shown me what kind of a man you are. I have no reason to be afraid of you, because you won’t hurt me. Sex does not count—if you were hurting me, I’d have let you know about it instead of begging for more."
Sukeza hurried to clamp her lips shut but unfortunately not soon enough. That last sentence hung in the air like a red-hot flag of embarrassment and she sighed unhappily. He had his arms folded across his chest and turned even further away from her, his whole body radiating rejection. The muscles played across his back as he tensed and her stomach lurched with painful nausea. Nothing she’d said had made a difference.
Desperate to put off what she knew was going to be a horrible, wrenching goodbye, she asked through stiff lips, "Why are you wearing a wetsuit?"
His shoulders twitched as if she’d flung something at the back of his head and he sent her a strange, furtive glance over his shoulder. "Working," he muttered, his face going suspiciously expressionless.
She frowned, looking from him to the water and back again. She wasn’t aware of any underwater projects happening in their region—the presence of the selkies severely restricted most underwater commercial or scientific activities. And she hadn’t even known Stryker could swim. From his file, she knew he hadn’t come from a water world and most career spacers never came in contact with large bodies of water. "Working on what?" she asked sharply, concern prickling across her skin.
He shifted, ran stiff fingers through his dark hair, and sent her another peculiar glance. He looked almost uneasy and that tightened her anxiety up a notch. Then he gestured to the playground and said, "That."
Worry pulled her forward to the glass. "Oh, no! Didn’t anyone tell you not to dive in selkie territory? They scare easily and they don’t like adults—"
"They like me just fine," he interrupted without looking at her.
She opened her mouth to continue her tirade then shut it again when the meaning of his words sank in. "They…what?" she asked faintly.
"Every time I’m down, they come watch what I’m doing. Watch, hell, they try to help. Wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t keep stealing my tools."
His eyes flickered to her and away, as if he was making a confession, but his face stayed unreadable. She stared at him with her jaw unhinged. She couldn’t help it—she had never heard of the selkies swimming with any other adult human. His body edging away from her cut through some of the foggy confusion in her brain. He was trying to escape again. "They help…with what?" she asked slowly, wrapping her arms around herself to contain the ache in her chest. She looked away from him with a painful swallow, scanning the underwater grotto for any changes. It seemed the same to her.
He sighed, muttered something under his breath, and ran his fingers through his hair again. Rubbing hard at the back of his neck and looking out at the water, he said abruptly, "I’ve been working on a design."
Light of Kaska Page 26