by Amy Pennza
Now she faced the wide expanse of garbage and the crater wall beyond it. The stinking, sprawling dump had been intimidating enough during the day. At night, it was downright terrifying.
She didn’t dare glance up. Ivar’s ledge was somewhere up there.
Get away.
The thought pounded in her head.
She forced herself upright. How much time had passed since she’d fled his cave? It felt like she’d been in the vent shaft for hours, but she knew it couldn’t have been that long.
She picked her way across the slippery, shifting piles, testing for weak spots. She forced herself to move slowly, even though every instinct she possessed screamed at her to run. If she plunged into a crevasse, she’d die—suffocated by garbage.
The soft blue color tinged everything around her, including her skin and clothes. The heat from the crops was intense on the ground. The swirling, pulsing warmth chased away the frigid Tolbos night.
Not that she was in danger of freezing. She hadn’t stopped sweating since the vent shaft. Moisture trickled down her back and soaked into her waistband. Perspiration gathered at her temples. She shoved her hair out of her face for what felt like the hundredth time.
More than once, she thought she saw something move among the leaking refuse containers and chunks of twisted metal. Rogan’s warning about cockroaches played through her mind. She imagined them rushing toward her out of the darkness. Nausea made her stomach pitch.
She spotted a cleared area—one of the paths Talitha had used to drive the vehicle up and down the piles. Ahead of her, the crops rustled. Half hunched over, she hurried along the narrow path and toward the sound.
Finally, the crater wall loomed. She looked back at the mountain. It rose black and forbidding, its base wreathed in blue light. She let her gaze wander up… There. Ivar’s ledge was a flat scar across the rock.
Don’t think about it. She jerked her gaze back to the wall. It was high—maybe fifty meters—but someone had carved crude steps into the side. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pants and started the climb.
Halfway up, she realized the steps were growing shallower. Little more than footholds, they were barely large enough to accommodate the toe of her boot.
By the time she crested the top, her arms and legs were like noodles, and streaks of dirt coated her skin. She faced the field with bleary eyes.
The mysterious glowing potato plants extended far into the distance. They radiated heat. A bead of sweat dripped from her forehead into her eye. The stinging pain made her blink.
The sound of a million rustling leaves filled her ears. She stepped into the neat rows of crops. They were much larger than any potato plant she’d ever seen, and they swayed gently despite the lack of a breeze. Every now and then, the blue glow pulsed. Ordinarily, she would have drooled over the opportunity to study the crops. Right now, she just wanted to get out of the light before someone saw her.
She hunched and moved faster. The putrid smells of the pit clung to her, making her gag. Even if she made it through the fields, Ivar’s people could probably track her by scent alone.
The plants continued to dip and wave of their own accord, which was both fascinating and sinister. She did her best not to touch them, but they were simply too big to avoid brushing against as she worked her way across the field. She squinted, trying to gauge how much farther she had to go to reach the end.
“Nadia.” The voice boomed across the field, cutting through the noise of the plants.
She froze. Her legs trembled as she straightened and faced the way she’d come. She looked down the row separating the plants on either side of her.
Ivar stood at the edge of the field, his body tall and straight, as if he’d never been injured—which wasn’t possible. She’d seen him fall, had seen his blood staining the floor. But there he was.
He raised an imperious hand and beckoned to her. “It’s no use trying to escape. Return willingly, and I’ll spare your life.”
The sweat on her skin turned suddenly cold, and she shivered. She had to swallow several times before she could speak. “I don’t believe you.”
Even with the distance separating them, she could see his glower. “No? Then believe me when I say you won’t like it if I have to come fetch you.”
She looked between him and the way she’d been headed. He could be lying about not killing her. She’d stabbed him, after all. That wasn’t the sort of thing a person just forgave and forgot.
He’d also pinned her to a wall and screamed in her face like a lunatic.
She whirled and sprinted down the row, her feet kicking up clods of dirt. Sharp pain lanced her thigh. She stumbled. A plant dipped in her path. She slapped it out of the way. Footsteps pounded behind her. She sprinted, pumping her arms. The end of the field lay just ahead.
Fire streaked across her ribs. A cramp? She clutched her side. Can’t slow down. Leaves brushed her legs, her hips. Her heart galloped in her chest. A fat leaf whipped across her thigh, trailing agony in its wake. She staggered to a stop.
The plants crowded her. She whirled, batting them away. “What the hell?”
Ivar tackled her to the ground. She turned her head just in time to avoid getting a mouthful of dirt.
“Are you meeting a ship?” Ivar said above her. The bastard wasn’t even short of breath. He pressed a hard knee in her back.
“What? Get off me!” She bucked.
The pressure on her back increased. His voice lowered to a growl. “Did the Council send a ship for you? Answer me!”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
The weight left her back. She tried to roll over, but he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. He switched their positions and shoved her away from him.
She stumbled but kept her footing. His body blocked the way out of the field. The mountain lay behind her. But there was nothing to stop her from running sideways through the rows.
“Try it,” he said. “See how far you get.”
The plants by her feet shivered and danced toward her. She shuffled back. “S-stop that.”
His face was hard, his mouth compressed in a tight line. A muscle in his jaw jumped. His eyes burned with malice—with the promise of retribution. The teasing, sensual Ivar was gone. This was Ivar the warlord.
He folded his arms. The left side of his shirt was stained with dark blood.
She stared at it. “You were dead. I saw you.”
“I’m hard to kill. Your Council friends should have told you that.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t have any Council friends. Why do you think I’m a—”
“Walk.” He pointed down the row.
She didn’t want him anywhere near her, let alone at her back. “What are you going to do?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to stand in this field that’s lit up like a spotlight and wait for the Council’s ships to arrive. Now are you going to walk, or do I have to drag you?”
He looked more than capable of carrying out his threat. She clenched her jaw and started down the row. Ahead of her, the potato plants she’d tripped over slid away from the path like a holo-vid played in reverse. She stopped. Whether it was a display of power or just an attempt to creep her out, he’d succeeded on both fronts. She swallowed and kept walking.
The mountain loomed ahead, its ominous face washed in blue light. Rocks crunched under their feet. Now that the adrenaline from her flight had worn off, the night air bit at her face and arms. The heat of the crops grew faint on her back, and her teeth chattered. Back in his cave, he’d flipped out when she’d offered to help him with his crops. Did he think she was here to sabotage him somehow? He’d gone from seducer to accuser in a massive leap, and with no evidence beyond her telling him she was a botanist. She reached the crater’s rim and paused. The pit stretched long and deep before her.
“Go around,” he said.
She spun. “Ivar, please listen—”
He caught her arm. “Not another word. I won’t say it again.” He faced her forward and gave her a little shove. “Keep walking.”
She skirted the edge of the crater. At least he hadn’t tied her up. Or bound her with kaptum. She rubbed her throat. Whatever he believed her to be, he was obviously convinced. And he wasn’t in a talking mood. Her breath puffed white in the bitter air. She walked faster, but an idea formed in her head. As soon as he gave her a chance to speak, she was going to blast his stupid spy accusation right out of the water.
The tall sentry towers came into view. Men leaned over the edge.
Ivar pulled her to a halt. He lifted his head and shouted. “Anything?”
One of the men cupped his hands around his mouth. “Nothing, sir!”
Ivar looked at her. “You missed your ship. Or maybe they left you behind.”
“Yeah? And how would I breathe once I boarded? Do the Council’s spies wear plasma masks for the rest of their lives?” She shot him a triumphant look. Ha.
He didn’t gasp with surprise. Didn’t slap his forehead and exclaim what a dunce he’d been. He just returned her gaze, his own steady.
Her heart skipped a beat. He was looking at her like she was the idiot. But the lung modification was irreversible.
Wasn’t it?
He stared at her for a long moment and then said, “Follow me.”
She fell into step behind him. The wide opening that led into the mountain’s main cavern yawned ahead, but she barely noticed it. She was too busy trying to decipher what that look had meant. What did he know that she didn’t?
The lung modification protocol was common knowledge. Children learned about it in school. “Anger the Council, and you’ll be shipped to Tolbos forever.” Parents used it to scare their children into good behavior.
He led her through the short tunnel and into the open, soaring space. It was eerily quiet, the only sound the hiss of the ever-present torches ringing the walls.
In a path that was now familiar to her, she followed him through the main arch and down the narrow hallway. Instead of turning to climb the spiral stairs, however, he led her into the bathing chamber. She stumbled to a stop in the doorway.
“Get in and wash,” he said, pointing to the pool.
“Wh-why?”
“You stink.”
Jerk. “I’m not getting in there with you.”
“If you haven’t figured it out, I don’t need to touch kaptum to control it.”
She remembered how he’d turned the potato plants against her and decided he was telling the truth. “Does everyone have that ability?”
He narrowed his gaze. “Still gathering intelligence?”
“I’m not a spy!”
“So you say.” He sounded irritated. As if he found her attempts to defend herself tiresome. He jerked his chin toward the pool. “Strip and get in. It’s late, and my patience is running thin.”
There was no way out of it. She walked to the steps, careful to keep her distance in case he tried to grab her. She waited for him to turn his back or to look away, but he just folded his arms. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere. She bent and unlaced her boots, then slid her pants down her hips. He watched her every move. Her skin tingled with awareness. She pulled her shirt over her head and waded into the water.
“Be quick about it,” he said.
Deliberately, she turned her back and dipped her head. He might insist on being a dick, but she wasn’t going to give him a show. She stayed facing away as she crossed to the edge and found the soap Annika had used to scrub her hair. Reluctant to leave the safe haven of the water, she took her time working the lather through her long curls and over her body. Eventually, though, there was nothing left to wash, and she was forced to turn around. “I’m done.”
“Then get out.”
She clenched her jaw. She moved to the steps, keeping her knees bent so her body was under the surface. “I need a towel.”
He gestured to the bench.
Enough was enough. She took a deep breath. “Will you please listen to me? I’m not a spy.”
Water sloshed around her shoulders. To her right, a bubble swelled on the surface. Fear spiked in her gut. The bubble stretched and grew. It elongated until it resembled a snake. It rippled toward her. She hurried up the steps.
He caught her at the top.
“Let me go!” She freed an arm and swung at him.
He jerked his head sideways. “Stop fighting me, dammit!”
“What are you doing?”
“What I should have done the second I bought you!”
She slipped from his grasp, aided by her wet skin, but he grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bench. He pushed her down. Her ass hit the wood with a smacking sound.
She sprang to her feet.
He shoved her back to the bench. He braced one foot on the ground and planted a heavy leg over both of hers. His knee dug into her thigh.
“Get off me, you ass!” She shoved at him, connecting with his stomach.
He grunted. He leaned back and grabbed her chin. His eyes blazed. “Stay still or I’ll pin you again.”
She froze. Her heart thumped. She couldn’t bear it. Her neck burned. A memory? Or was he doing it? If he pinned her down… No escape. Her stomach lurched.
He stared into her eyes. “Hmm?”
“I won’t let you rape me.” Her voice was low and trembling. Resolve settled over her. If he tried to force her, she’d kill him. Maybe not during, but after. He had to sleep some time.
He released her chin. A look of disgust flashed over his features. “Rape you? I’m going to search you. Hold still.” He rubbed his palms down her arms, squeezing here and there. He slipped his hands under her armpits and swept his hands down her sides.
“S-search me for what?” Her face flamed. He wasn’t caressing her. If anything, his touch was impersonal. His position put his chest at her eye level. The blood on his shirt looked dry and stiff.
“If you’re bugged, I’ll find it,” he muttered. He crouched and ran his hands down her legs.
Panic clogged her throat. “Don’t!” She jerked her legs to the side. Her knee knocked his shoulder.
He gripped her thigh. “I will search you. Fight me, and it’ll just take longer.”
"Stop!” She tugged at his grasp.
His grip tightened. “Got something to hide?” He pulled her toward him, unbalancing her.
She kicked at him. He caught her ankle.
“Let go,” she growled. With strength borne of desperation, she yanked hard and nearly succeeded in wresting her ankle from his grasp.
Crouched as he was, the movement almost knocked him to the ground. He jerked her foot into his lap. He peered at the sole. “Is it here?”
“Don’t!” she cried, but it was too late.
He frowned and bent closer until his face was mere inches from her foot. He angled her foot toward the nearest light. His frown deepened.
His head lifted slowly, and his eyes—wide with shock—met hers. In a voice full of wonder, he said, “You’re a synth.”
14
Ivar gazed at the bar code on the bottom of Nadia’s foot. A synth. The flesh-colored marking was matte, but it gleamed with a metallic sheen when the light struck it. He ran his forefinger down her sole. The code bumped against his skin.
She resumed tugging at her leg, and he nearly fell on his ass again. The stab wound under his ribs twinged, like someone was inside him pulling a hook through his guts. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He grabbed her other leg and tucked it under his armpit, his torso now wedged between her splayed knees. She immediately stopped squirming.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice husky. She gripped the edge of the bench. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly.
“Not until you explain.”
She closed her eyes briefly before saying, “Explain what?”
He released her but stayed kneeling. She slammed her legs shut and crossed her arms ove
r her breasts.
He tapped her ankle. “You’re a synth. Were you programmed to kill?”
Her lips tightened. “I wasn’t programmed to do anything.”
“I thought the Council could make you into whatever it wanted.”
“I’m not a droid!” She scowled. “Synthetic doesn’t mean…” She seemed to grope for a word. “…machine. You act like you’ve never met a synth before.”
“I haven’t.” At least not that he knew of. He’d been told synths were model citizens—not exactly the type of people who ended up on Tolbos.
“Not even before you were sentenced?”
“I was born here. Or didn’t they tell you that?” Porter was right, he mused, watching her. The confusion playing across her face was so believable, he was almost fooled. If not for the nagging ache under his ribs, he might have given her the benefit of the doubt.
But she was a synth, and now her unlikely—and literal—stab in the dark made a lot more sense. If what he’d heard about synths was true, her skills could have been programmed into her cells before she was even born.
If she’d been just slightly more thorough in her assassination attempt, he’d be dead. He had to remember that. No one could manipulate kaptum from the grave. If he’d stopped breathing in that cave, no amount of metal would have saved him. What he absolutely could not do was let his guard down again.
“Who trained you to use kaptum?” he said.
“No one.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” She tightened her arms over her chest. The movement shoved her breasts together.
“Were you born knowing how to handle it?” He struggled to keep his gaze from lingering on the soft curves at his eye level.
“I’d like to get dressed.”
He studied her. Was she being evasive on purpose? Or was she just uncomfortable being naked? Her cheeks were a dark pink. The flush crept over her chest. “Spread your legs.”
She widened her eyes. “What?”
“I’m not saying anything else until I know you’re not bugged.”
“I’m not bugged!”
“You can sit or stand. Your choice.” He put his hand on her thigh.