“It means I’m not a murderer. I don’t kill people who don’t deserve it. I’m not going to kill you because you got tossed into this crap.”
“So what’s this then?” she asked, pulling at the handcuffs that chained her to the car door. The last part came out whinier than she wanted, and if she could have reached it, she would have banged her head into the dashboard. Enough whiny. She hated whiny, and while she had indulged a bit lately – and had reasons to – that didn’t mean it needed to become a constant from here on out.
It could be worse. Right now wasn’t fun, but in many ways she was closer to her goal than she had been any time in the last ten years. It could be worse. It had been worse. She didn’t like the tension and she didn’t like the captivity, but she’d take right now, with the weird push-pull between her and Merc and the in-her-grasp chance of freeing her brother, over most of what was in her memory.
It could be worse. The phrase circled her mind, what her brother had always ended their conversations with the few times she’d been able to visit him. It could be worse. I’ll take being here over the alternative any day. And she wanted to punch at the barrier between them, scream that she deserved to be there, and why in the four hells hadn’t her brother let them take her away? But he smiled at her, and the love that shone in his eyes for her stayed her tongue and had her moving forward to the next man, the next plan, the next job that maybe would get him free.
Yeah, it could be worse. So enough whining.
“What should I say?” Merc was back to his constant surveillance and not looking at her. “In some ways, believing you makes my situation a lot more dangerous. I can’t let my guard down.”
“How am I dangerous? You’re the trained mercenary who has all these tricks and friends and plans.”
“That’s training. I’m used to that. But you, I have no experience with.”
“Do you mean my power or our connection?” The bravery was unexpected, but it felt right to ask now, after what he had revealed last night, the way they had talked. Though it was hard and confusing and she very well might betray him in the end, her connection to him, the connection formed in dreams, was the most real part of her life right now.
His head dipped forward, enough to allow his bangs to cover his eyes and shield them from her gaze, and the line of his jaw tightened the smallest bit. “Both.” His voice was low and ragged, as if the confession had been torn from him, unwanted and unwavering. “You are this beautiful, wondrous, delicate woman with a power the gods fear, and you made me think of nothing else but you from our first meeting. I’m adrift, and I don’t know how to handle this.”
His honesty was breath-stealing. She’d never known a man to be forthright, with no game or scam threaded throughout his words. “Maybe we can work together.” She twisted in her seat to face him, her arm held back the slightest degree by the cuffs. “I’m not a Guild member. They don’t have my loyalty.”
“But your brother does.” The calm assurance in his voice stopped her movement towards him, had her waiting for his next words. “You’ll do whatever is necessary to free your brother, and there is a part of me that admires that strength of will. There is. But I’m not so blinded by either our connection or my admiration to overlook the fact that if it came down to it, you’d sacrifice me for your brother.”
She’d lied so many it was second-nature, it was not even a concern in her head or her heart, but on her life, she could not untwist her tongue to assure him he was wrong, that she would stick to any bargain, that she would be true to him.
Merc continued. “I’d do the same. I have secrets that compel me, and I have a path to follow. Though maybe in the end it doesn’t make any difference, I don’t want our words to be lies. I’d rather have silence.”
*
Her gaze didn’t leave him. Even now, while she was sipping soda that he’d picked up from a drive-thru, the weight of her regard settled hard against him. For the first time in memory, he found himself unsettled as it regarded a woman, fought against squirming so she wouldn’t see how she was affecting him.
The last hours had been silent, but the tension that had marked their encounters since he’d grabbed her away from the Guild had abated. No, it wasn’t imagination that he’d been breathing easier, though part of him wished that was the case. Imagination meant more training. Reality meant she had clawed her way inside him deeper than he had suspected.
Now it was afternoon, and their safe house was finally in sight, a little cabin an hour off the main road which he’d used once in the past and should be stocked with supplies unless either a hiker or a bunch of kids out for a weekend of trouble came across it and helped themselves.
Her expressive face held curiosity as it took in the cabin, and he answered the unspoken question. “It’s a bolthole of mine. We’ll be here for a couple nights.”
“Serial killer movies often start this way,” Amana said, as she exited the car and made her way up the stone-and-dirt driveway to the cabin.
“We’re not in a group of college coeds, and people much worse than serial killers are after us already.”
She stopped short and whipped her head towards him, those little lines that always popped out on her forehead when he said something she couldn’t quite parse stood out with clear delineation. “Most men would take the opportunity to reassure their partner everything is okay.”
“Oh. Next time I’ll do that, but only if the Guild isn’t following us. And really, they’re the least of our worries. I guarantee we’re the most wanted couple in the Realms.”
“Let’s agree right now you are never to try to reassure me again.” She shook her head and continued up the stairs, not looking if he was following. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re worrying. I saw how you beat Fallon. Even if you didn’t kill her, being able to win against her…”
Now she looked back at him, her eyes wide and admiring, and damned if that look didn’t scramble his insides and heat up his belly. Pushing the sudden awareness down, Merc took two quick strides to get in front of her as they got near the door. Everything might look neat and cozy from the outside and none of his traps were disturbed, but that meant exactly zilch.
He traveled through, keeping her close behind him, but the easy peace wasn’t a decoy. At the moment, they were all alone.
“So what now?” Amana asked, curling up on the big couch in front of the fireplace. The cabin wasn’t huge, two floors both wide open, the downstairs a kitchen, small eating area, and large sitting area, and the upstairs all bedroom, the only room with a door being the bathroom off the bedroom and the adjoining closet.
“We’ll be here two days, maybe three if we’re lucky, but no more than that. I’ve got people looking into some situations for me. Depending on what they tell me, that will decide what I do next.”
“Was that why we were in the club?”
“Yeah. Speaking of, it’s not a good idea to wander off with anyone, whether they tell you they’re from the Guild or not.” Her face went red faster than she could duck her head and twist away, and he didn’t need words now for confirmation of what happened that night. Well, that wasn’t the point of bringing it up. “I’ve been thinking you need a way to defend yourself. That jackass was only the first.”
With a tentative turn of her head Amana met his eyes again. After a few expectant moments, her eyes flickering around as if she was looking for what else was coming, she said, “Okay?”
He pushed down the smile at her hesitant attitude, amusement at having her so off balance in front of him streaking through his system. Well, it was only fair, considering how often she put him in that state. He could let her stew in it a few more moments. “Come on,” he said, heading for the door, walking slow enough he could keep an ear out and waiting until she was up and behind him before he sped up. They went behind the house to a large field, with the sun overhead – bright but not blinding – and the late fall weather crisp but comfortable.
“Have you had any typ
e of weapons training?” She wouldn’t admit it even if she had, but from what he saw, he doubted it. From what he witnessed he’d say she was into dancing or yoga, along those lines. She was healthy and physically fit, but there was nothing aggressive about her, nothing that suggested any type of fighting background.
“No.”
“There’s nothing I can do that will replace true training in the short time we have. From what I’ve seen, you’re fast and you’re small. Those are your strengths, and we’re going to practice a few things to take advantage of those. Here.” He presented the small switchblade, pressing the button to release the six-inch blade. “This is meant to stop people long enough so you can get free and run the hell away, not for killing people. I’m going to teach you the best places to strike, and we’ll practice until you get it down.” He pressed the hilt into her hand, her fingers reflexively curling around the metal.
Long moments of silence followed where she did nothing but stare, until she lifted her head. “I don’t understand. Why would you give this to me?”
“I’m not your enemy,” and damn, he didn’t want his voice sounding that low, that rough. He cleared his throat. “I don’t want you hurt. You’re vulnerable, and you need some type of protection.”
“What if I try to use it against you?” Her tone was flippant, but her eyes had a haunted cast, a regretful space that spoke to their strange dynamic, where it hurt that possibility even existed.
“You could practice twelve-hours a day for the next ten years, and you wouldn’t be able to get me. I can’t be touched by you, not this way.”
The flash of fire – of challenge – in her eyes had him wishing to wind his arms around her, to bring her in tight and nuzzle the delicate line of her neck, wanting to know if her skin was as soft in reality as it was in dreams.
He shut that line of thought down, blanking his mind of everything but the training. The lithe lines of her body moving under him represented how well she kept her form. The sheen of sweat on her skin spoke only to how she exerted herself during the training. Her heavy breathing that hit his ear only told of her seriousness in learning.
Nothing else, dammit. Nothing else. And if his body was more rigid than it should be while demonstrating each move, it’s not as if she’d know the difference.
They worked for hours, and at the end she collapsed to the ground. “If we do any more I’ll be a noodle tomorrow.”
That he didn’t want. They were safe now, but that could change at a moment, and her hobbled would not help them in any getaway attempt. “You did well. It would be a good idea to stretch out, maybe soak to minimize soreness.”
Amana rose with stilted movements, her body showing the strain his training had inflicted on it. Nothing serious, but she had been affected.
Before his brain could stop him, his mouth opened and he said, “I could also give you a rubdown.”
Her head shot up and her dark eyes locked with his, wary confusion and an undeniable heat blossoming in their depths. Damn. Double damn. Yet again, his mouth got him in trouble, and the problem was being here, with her, looking at her so small and fierce, he forgot why everything he’d felt from the beginning was such a bad idea.
The ringing of his cell broke through their connection, jolting him away from those eyes. He grabbed for it like a drowning man grabbing for a life preserver. “Yeah.”
Nemesis’s voice floated through the speaker. “Got news you don’t want to hear, but figured I should tell you anyway. The Guild is going after Hadrien too.”
And fuck all, there went his last hope. They knew. Fuck. “You still willing to do me that favor?”
“Course, darlin’. But don’t ever say you don’t owe me, just a little.”
“It looks like I’ll be owing lots of people, but if I get through this, I’ll make good on it.”
“Never thought otherwise.” And the call disconnected.
His feelings must be showing on his face, because any trace of wary desire had left Amana’s eyes, and now pure wariness was all that was left. “What’s going on?”
Their cat-and-mouse, his tiredness battling both his desire for her and his body’s need for sleep were all were wearing on him. It was hard to sift through everything that was riding him, to make the decision on what he could tell and what was best kept from her. This part, though, seemed safe enough. “The Guild is after Hadrien.”
“Why would the Guild be after Hadrien? You’re the one with the book.”
And her knowing about that part wasn’t safe, not at all. “Because the Guild is all about the nuclear option. If there is any chance it will work, they’ll do it and worry about the consequences later. Now come on,” he said, reaching out to place his hand at the small of her back but not touching her, only using his body to guide her. “It’s time to get inside.
Chapter Twenty-One
‡
Amana opened her eyes to the sun low in the sky, cracking through a light layer of clouds and filtered through the dirty windows.
She stretched, her body only giving a small grumble over the movement. She’d taken Merc’s advice on both the stretching and the soak, where she added Epsom salts she found under the sink.
Only the proffered massage never materialized. The phone call stopped short whatever possibility had been building up after their talk in the car, where his honesty broke her heart and lifted it all at once. Stopped it, but didn’t break it, because his manner was still changed, still filled with tentative steps towards something more.
She wanted and feared this change in equal parts. The more she saw of the Merc from her dreams in reality, the harder it was to keep Nakoa at the front of her mind.
So she stepped back as well, and went to sleep after her bath and some food. Overall, her body seemed happy to have gotten some movement yesterday and wasn’t giving her too much grief.
Tiredness still lurked, but it wasn’t the leaden exhaustion that promised she’d be falling asleep every five minutes, and it was more rested than she felt since this began. Merc let her sleep more than usual.
Speaking of…
Climbing out of the king-sized bed, she leaned over the railing to look down into the sitting area. Merc had a cup of coffee at his side and was working on something on his tablet. He said he was going to lay down while she did, but…“Did you sleep at all?”
His head shot up, those hazel eyes finding her fast. Judging by the dark circles she’d guess no, he hadn’t slept, but the fact those dark circles didn’t detract from his attractiveness was what kept buzzing in her head, an annoying little bee that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she swatted at it.
“Some,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.
If he wasn’t lying, she’d shave her head, and since all she did with her hair was pull it up in a top-knot, well, there was that. “You know, if you don’t sleep a kindergartener will be able to sneak up on you.”
“I’ve seen some kindergarteners in training. You’d be a fool to underestimate them.”
There was no humor – dry or otherwise – in his tone. “How old were you when you started…doing what you do?”
Without looking up from the tablet he was once again engrossed with, Merc said, “Shouldn’t this line of questioning be done over liquor? You should also back away from the railing. I’m afraid you’re going to fall over.”
Heat scorched across her face and past her ears. She backed away from the railing and hurried into the bathroom, doing the usual morning routine.
As she came downstairs, the embarrassment settled, and he hadn’t told her he wasn’t going to answer her questions. She curled up on the overstuffed chair, situated diagonal from where he was sitting. “So, how long?”
A moment’s pause, then his fingers worked over the screen, moving some line of code this way or that. “My whole life.”
“Like when you were in kindergarten-?”
“My whole life.”
His voice was flat, a smooth wall without a finge
rhold she could gain purchase against. She was falling, unable to ascertain which path was the right one, which direction would give her insight into this fascinating man, and which would leave him to eviscerate her emotionally, break the fragile peace they were living under and declare her once more his enemy.
But even as some part of her tried to pull her away, begged her to stop before she committed forever, she leaned forward in the seat to ask her next question. “Did your parents train you? Were they mercenaries as well?”
His finger paused on the tablet, but while she saw hesitance, there was nothing to indicate she crossed a line in asking the question. This was more in the area of straightforward debate which she’d been seeing from him lately, the internal back-and-forth over how much he was going to share with her.
After long moments, he looked up from underneath those long lashes, his bangs giving him a shadowy, slippery feel even in the morning light. “What are you willing to offer for answers?”
That pulled her up, and it was after she jerked back that she saw how far forward she had been leaning, waiting for his answer. “What?”
“I’m a mercenary. You can’t expect me to give away something for nothing. What’s the quid pro quo to be?”
“I don’t-”
“You have no money,” he interrupted, and now he was leaning forward, those eyes intense, that honey color heating to an unnerving degree. “So that leaves your body, or a standard back-and-forth, a question for a question and an answer for an answer. Are you offering either of those?”
Unfamiliar territory with him in an unfamiliar mood. He wasn’t mad, or belligerent, but there was some type of edge riding him. She didn’t know the source and she couldn’t tell which would be wisest, pulling back or leaning in.
“What are the rules?”
“I’m a mercenary,” he repeated. “Why would I have rules?”
“Well I’m not, and I do. You can pass on a question, and the game stops as soon as someone calls it.”
The Dream Crafter Page 11