She hurled another one at him, like a blade.
He caught it in his hand.
She had a hella good throwing arm and was evidently determined since the chair had been bolted to the floor of the shed.
He’d been that way at first. When he’d been a POW.
Was that what this was? What she was? A POW?
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
He raised his eyebrow. This phase would pass soon enough. She’d go to negotiation soon.
“You’re strong,” he said. Like most Metas, he was sure, but he hadn’t expected it. She barely came to his shoulder.
“Release me.” She stood tall like she thought tossing her head back like that would give her some edge over him.
Huh. Interesting idea.
She reminded him of a horse tossing her mane. If she started snorting, well…
She huffed.
Close enough.
Luke sat the pieces on the floor. “No. Behave.”
“No. I will not.” Her gaze darted to the door.
He sighed. He wasn’t in the mood. He still smelled like friggin’ fish.
She ran.
He held out his cybernetic arm and caught her.
She punched his arm, letting out a wild cry.
“Stop it,” he said as he yanked her into him. He guided her away from the door. The door zipped shut behind him, and she started wailing on him.
He shoved her away, but she’d continue her attack. Punches and kicks, all well placed.
He, however, knew those forms well and blocked her moves with his own. He stopped her from hurting him, but he didn’t engage. His cyborg arm would rip her apart.
He’d tested it before.
She’d throw a punch, and dart away; then she’d do it again. He’d block, but he’d let her have the hit.
It’s not like it bothered him.
She lunged in, intent on slamming him in the face with her elbow. He caught her before she could, and in the process yanked her against him.
“Are you done?” he asked.
“No. I am not. Why won’t you fight me?”
“You’re wasting your energy.”
“I am not--“ She stared into his eyes, her hand pressing against his chest.
He felt it. A hard hit of, well, of something.
He wasn’t exactly sure what it was. But he couldn’t ignore it--it slammed into him like a boulder being dropped on his head. His grip wavered, which was kind sad for a soldier like him. But, in his defense, her attack had paused too.
“You,” she whispered.
“What?” he asked.
“I know you.” She jerked away.
“No, you don’t,” he said, though he felt the same slam of recognition she must have been feeling.
“I do, I know you.” She reached up and touched him. Gingerly, kindly. On his left side, where he was still mostly Human.
The recognition sparked again.
For a moment, her eyes glazed over, and she looked like she might fall. He touched her waist, just in time to keep her from stumbling.
Then her senses came back, her face turned ashen, and she pulled away.
“What have I done?” she whispered.
“What?”
“You are my mistake.” She covered her stomach like she was--
Yep. She threw up all over the place.
Fuck.
Chapter Twelve
“Here, eat,” The Butcher pushed a bowl of soup broth toward Mori and some crackers.
It wasn’t the finest meal, but it was all her tumultuous stomach could take. Better than rations, anyway. She needed something to sooth her stomach.
That part of her could be soothed, anyway.
Her soul? That was another matter.
“Thank you,” she said as she picked up a cracker.
He nodded, watching her eat, and he took an orange fruit and began peeling the skin off it.
Fruit.
It was everywhere in his apartment--at least, that’s where he’d said they were. It didn’t look that different from her tiny place--minus the fruit of course. He was even in the same dome--the forest dome.
That was something to consider another time, well, beyond knowing that Fate was likely quite amused at putting the two of them together in such close proximity.
Odin was learning from his mischievous son, Loki, she guessed.
She scrutinized the way The Butcher’s clothing fit him, and she wondered if he was a customer of Uni Tailoring. His layers contoured his shape in a flattering way.
Making him pleasing to look at. Even with his shirt on.
She brushed off the thought. She should not be considering him in any way, pleasing or not. He had her prisoner, after all. She let her gaze wander away from him, to his apartment, though truly it was no different than looking at hers.
He still had his light fixture, though.
Had her light fixture been fixed yet?
Was it only this past morning that she’d shattered it? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Was this what mortals meant when they felt like they’d lived an entire life in a day?
“What day is it?” she asked, looking for a hint of what time it was. So much swirled in her head, it was exhausting.
Her soul had ripped itself apart and now attempted to knit itself back together while she processed all that she’d learned in the last few moments in her cell.
Before she’d thrown up.
Ugh, she could smell it.
He, however, didn’t seem that bothered by the aroma. Could he not smell it? How he couldn’t, she didn’t know. It permeated her pores.
In fact, he seemed so calm.
If anything, he smelled vaguely like ocean and fish. Not a bit of tension or malice in the air. Well, fish and the fruit.
He munched on the orange fruit but stopped before his latest bite to answer her. “It’s the fifteenth.” He shoved the chunk in his mouth.
She watched him carefully peel and then eat a new piece of the fruit. Meticulous. Rhythmic. He’d eaten two more before he paused again and glared at her.
He was still so calm.
Had the attacks already happened? Had they assassinated that female yet? She wanted to ask, but he spoke first.
“Eat. The cleaning cycle in that locker will be done soon.”
She nodded, though not because she agreed. He still planned on keeping her. That meant the vision had not happened, and there was still time to save the woman.
Nothing else.
Focus on the vision. On the coming future.
Not on the past.
The past was trying to rip her soul to pieces. Inside, everything began to converge like wind pulling itself together and becoming a storm. The reality of the circumstances could have knocked her over; they hit so strong.
Being kidnapped? This was nothing.
What happened in the cell? That was something else.
Odin had always said there were reasons beyond the Valkyrie’s understanding of who was chosen and who wasn’t.
Lower level Valkyrie, like herself, didn’t always know the reasons why she took who she took. Only that she did as she was ordered. For most of her existence, she’d never questioned any of it.
Yet she’d broken the rules and made a different choice.
She watched him as she sipped her soup, and wondered how many lives would have been spared had she done her job, and not let this man--the Butcher of P-Extinction--live.
Her stomach roiled again.
The events that unfolded after she’d gone against Odin, became, in essence, her fault. Look at her now. Imprisoned by her own creation. Was that why she’d had the visions? An opportunity to correct past mistakes? Was that why she was here? Why she’d come this way?
Could she take him to Odin now?
Possibly correct her errors and return to Valhalla?
She knew not. She had never realized the Butcher of P-Ex had survived the war. How Odin would have treas
ured that warrior in Valhalla. A soldier with no fear who walked into battle, unafraid to kill whoever opposed him.
The stories went that he never hesitated, that he removed any and all obstacles against his army. No Meta could defeat him, and that said a lot because Metas were amazingly strong compared to Humans.
Seeing him without his shirt, though illustrated why he was so strong. Cybernetic enhancements would certainly level the battlefield. In another time and place, she would have enjoyed sparring with him.
She ate what she could, but it was minimal and shoved it away. Her stomach was still sensitive. The last thing she wanted was food. Sleep would have been better.
“You really should eat more.”
“Why are you concerned?”
“I’m not.”
“You seem to be.”
He shrugged. “Listen, I’m just watching you for a few days. That’s it. Unless different orders come in.”
She raised her eyebrow. “Orders? You do not make your own choices, Butcher?”
He took a step forward. “You could be dead by now.”
“So could you,” she snapped back.
He smirked. “That is true.”
She blinked, keeping her face somber. “Why?” Did he know who she was? Did he remember her from his battlefield?
“Haven’t you heard, War Angel? Wars can kill you.”
“Not the Butcher of P-Ex.”
He snorted. “I hate that.”
“Then why call yourself that?”
“To scare you.”
“Do you have a real name? Or designation?”
“Cadell. You?”
“Morrigan.”
He nodded. “Well, Morrigan, kid, you’d better eat, because you’re going to get hungry in that shed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Luke pulled up the computer monitoring in that shed an hour later. Nope, still a damn mess. Evidently, the maintenance droid couldn’t handle that level of vomit. He should have just turned on the auto sprayers.
He glanced at the woman. Morrigan. She was lying down on his couch, resting, which made him feel strange.
Why would she lie down in a stranger’s home, without a care in the world? She hadn’t moved, and he figured she must be asleep.
Probably a good thing, because he couldn’t get over the feeling that he knew her.
Why he wasn’t sure. But he did.
It was something deep. Like primal.
Back in the shed, when she’d touched his skin, he’d felt it. It hit him like a brick, honestly. But he didn’t trust her. He couldn’t. Too skeptical of her Meta powers. They all could do shit.
He just wasn’t sure what, exactly, a Valkyrie could do.
And he didn’t like that. Oh, he’d recognized the sticks in her hair--an excellent disguise of the weapon--and knew that they were a weapon. The stippling on the ends gave them away. Even Dumol hadn’t realized that’s what they were, or she wouldn’t have left them in her hair when she’d detained her.
Of course, Intra should have confiscated them when she’d entered the Complex.
Their bad.
The only reason Luke took her sticks was because he’d studied so many during the war. Studied. Downloaded. Programmed. It was all the same. While he’d heard of Valkyrie with their wings and weapons, and crossing to that other existential plane, he knew very little.
She could have black eyes that erupt when she drinks a soul as some accounts recorded. This could all be part of an elaborate plan for her to take him when his guard was down.
Hence, Luke never let his guard down.
Regardless that he felt a connection to her. It was probably manipulated, anyway.
He rubbed his ear, where the chip had been implanted to protect his mind from being messed with by Metas.
But tech didn’t mean crap against some of those damn powers. He’d seen them manipulate minds with fucking songs of all damn things.
It was best he kept his distance.
Though he’d made her a promise. He wouldn’t kill her unless he had to.
Did he hope he wouldn’t have to?
Not exactly. But he wasn’t against letting her live. She seemed nice enough. And he couldn’t help liking her a little bit for fighting back.
That was kinda hot…
He shook off the thought.
Her hair fell in a wavy cascade, and it reminded him of a dream, waves of dark shadow mixing with light gold, a crash of color. She shifted, turning away from him, and it pulled her shirt tight across her back. He could see where the wings would have been anchored, the long line down each side of her back.
Valkyrie must have had massive wings.
He’d never seen one personally. They were supposed to take the dead back to their god on a different plane.
Hell, she was pretty.
It was evident from the moment he’d walked into the shed. He hadn’t known what kind of state she’d be in after Dumol had told him about her. He expected her to be beaten and bloody. And Dumol might have done that.
She might have super fast healing.
He didn’t know.
And that’s what bothered him about so much of this. He didn’t know what the details were. After spending so many years following orders blindly, not asking questions and being a good little soldier, Cadell was tired.
He was so tired of only knowing what he had to know. He wanted to be the one in control for the rest of whatever he had left in this life.
Little over two years, if he made it through the Complex contract.
But if Dumol keeps her shit up, he will be lucky if he made it.
The Valkyrie sighed in her sleep.
Yeah, he wanted to know the details, and what the hell was going on. He was determined to make sure she wasn’t hurt unnecessarily.
He’d been that guy tied to the chair. He wouldn’t put her through that. Not for a damn vision.
Damn, he was tired. But he couldn’t possibly rest, not with her here.
He touched his pocket, where her weapons were and wondered…
She had her back to him…
Was she faking it?
He laid the sticks on the table, in perfect view for her, crossed to his only other chair, and took a seat. He put his feet up and leaned it back, allowing the chair to put him in a reclined position.
He’d give her, what, five minutes? See if she went for the weapons…
He sat still, slowed his breathing down, even closed his eyes, mostly.
Time ticked by.
Moment by moment.
He waited.
She didn’t seem to notice anything in the room.
Maybe he’d been wrong… Maybe she really was asleep. After all, it had been years since he’d been at war--
She shifted on the couch.
Turned like she was still asleep.
But she wasn’t, her eyes were open and very alert.
Boom. There it was… He immediately closed his eyes, his senses on high alert, pretending to doze himself.
Inward pretty pleased with himself.
He fucking knew it.
Through his lashes, he watched her rise from the couch in a graceful movement. She glanced at him, then at the table, and she darted for her weapons.
He didn’t let her get to the table. He hit the button on the armrest, and it launched him upright, practically throwing him out of the chair, and he dove for her, just as her hands reached for the sticks.
He tackled her to the floor, and they landed face to face, and hips to hips.
And that’s when his own nightmares came to life, right before his eyes.
The Complex faded away, and he was back on the battlefield. Fighting a band of Metas. He’d pinned one down, and the male struggled beneath him, teeth bared.
“No!” Cadell cried out.
The beast threw him to the side, and he landed hard on the ground, rocks biting into his back, the blaring sun overhead blinding him. The Meta’s shadow against t
he light, coming for him.
A glint of claws.
A slice.
It should have hurt. Instead, the cut was so sharp, he felt nothing, just…disconnection. The light got brighter, and the shadow came back.
This was it. His death moment…
The Meta moved in.
A woman… Curls of blonde tumbling around her face, as she leaned over him, angel wings spread wide.
“It is…” Her words stopped. Her face went ashen. The light grew brighter.
So, this is death…
“Luke!”
He felt a slap across his face.
And when his eyes opened, he jerked.
It was the same. The exact fucking same…
He screamed.
Chapter Fourteen
“Here,” Mori said, handing Cadell a cup of water.
He took the cup with shaky hands and sipped it, but he didn’t seem even to see her standing there.
He was locked within his head.
She should have run, bolted while he was disoriented. She could have. Easily. Gotten away from the legendary Butcher of P-Extinction. Because if he could do all the things he did to full powered Metas, what would he do to her?
Where could she go?
The Complex was run by Climintra. If she went to them for help, she’d be at the mercy of someone else, wondering if they would betray her to the Intra officer like before.
And she couldn’t leave the Complex.
Not for just over two years.
A lot of things could happen to a being in two years.
No, she had to figure this out. Perhaps if she could somehow turn his loyalties to her, then there had to be a way to save the woman in her vision.
At least that vision could be sorted.
Cadell sat the cup on the table next to him, but he still didn’t seem quite at the moment yet.
She knew exactly what he’d seen because she’d seen it too. When she’d rolled him over, it seemed to deepen him into the nightmare he had been reliving. Why she’d seen it, she wasn’t sure.
Unclaimed (The Complex Book 0) Page 6