Blood Will Tell (13 page)

They lay there for a time, listening to one another’s heartbeats, until finally he rose from the bed and went to the restroom. She could hear the water running as she remained lying there, stretched across the sweat-dampened sheets, feeling as if every nerve ending in her body had suddenly been given a charge from a power generator.

I feel different
, Miala thought suddenly, although if challenged she probably would have been unable to say how. All she knew was that until this moment she had felt only half alive.

A few moments later he returned to the bed and lay down beside her. She could see the water glistening in the wavy dark hair around his forehead before he settled himself against one of the pillows.

“I didn’t know I was your first,” he said finally.

“Well, I haven’t had a lot of opportunity,” she replied, thinking at the same time how glad she was of that fact. He was silent, and she added, “Does that bother you?”

“No.” He moved his head on the pillow so he was looking directly at her and then said, “But I could have been more careful—”

“It was perfect,” she said firmly, and meant it. She was sure that Thorn would not have avoided taking her to bed if he’d known she was a virgin, but it would have changed the dynamic between them. As it was, he had approached her solely as a woman he wanted, and Miala preferred it that way. Things were complicated enough as it was.

He did not reply, but instead rolled over and kissed her almost harshly on the mouth, as if to make up for any perceived weakness in his earlier diffidence. “’Night, then,” he said, and with that he returned to his former supine position. His eyes closed, and almost immediately his breathing slowed into the regular rhythms of sleep.

Must be another survival trait
, Miala thought. Still, she was a little shocked at how quickly he had slipped away from her. It seemed odd to have experienced such intimacy and then, just as suddenly, become two separate beings again.

She supposed it was sensible to make the most of this last night’s sleep in Mast’s compound—who knew what they would encounter as they left Iradia the next day—but no matter what she did, she could not seem to make herself at ease. The mattress was, as Thorn had claimed, extremely comfortable, but she could not find a restful position. Luckily her tossings and turnings did nothing to disturb the sleeping mercenary; probably he had already logged her presence as a non-threat and so was immune to her restive behavior.

Finally she rolled over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, at the faint whorls and scrape marks in the rough-hewn sandstone as revealed by the uncertain light of the small nightlight he’d left burning in the bathroom. Beside her Eryk Thorn slept, his chest rising and falling slowly under the thin sheet. She could feel the warmth of his body next to hers and recalled with a rush of heat the sensation of that body against her, inside her.

Her whole being seemed to ache as she thought of him, and she said aloud, in a soft, wondering voice, “I love you.”

He did not stir, of course, and she had not wanted him to. Those were words she would never have the courage to say to him, not unless he had given her overt encouragement to do so beforehand, and she could not imagine that happening for a long time—if ever. No, she let those three words float on the night air, merely an acknowledgment to the universe of her feelings for him. She had never been in love before, had never known before what it meant or how it would feel.

At least she assumed she was in love with him. That must be what made this strange ache in her breast as she looked down at him while he slept, this overwhelming rush of emotion that made her want to lean over and kiss him awake so she could feel him as one with her once more. She held herself still, however, trying to content herself merely with the sight of him, the heavy dark crescents his lashes made against his cheeks, the wide thin mouth, the scar that creased one eyebrow. No, he was not handsome, as she had thought dispassionately days ago—a lifetime ago—when she had first looked down at him as he lay unconscious on the powered stretcher. But there was not one thing she would change about that face, now so familiar to her, so beloved.

“I love you,” she said again, this time in barely a whisper.
No matter what happens
, she thought,
no matter if the only world I’ve ever known is tearing itself apart. I’ve had this time with you, and no one can take that away from me
.

She thought of what they might be facing once they left Iradia, of all the strange worlds that up until now had only been words and images on a computer screen. She knew she should have been frightened, but somehow she wasn’t. Somehow she knew that Thorn would keep her safe, and the rest of the galaxy be damned.

It was then, finally, that she was able to relax into slumber, to let the deep, calm breaths of her lover be her final guide into sleep. She closed her eyes, secure in the knowledge that he would be there beside her when she awoke.

X

Miala opened her eyes. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, stenciled around the edges in a vaguely unpleasant scroll design in purple and gold. For a brief second she couldn’t remember where she was, and then memory returned, along with a subtle soreness in her body that had not been there before last night. She reached out to where Eryk Thorn had lain, but the bed was empty.

“Time to go,” he said, looking down at her from the foot of the bed. He was dressed already, of course, in the familiar black jumpsuit, and in one hand he held a wad of dark fabric—presumably the wrappings he customarily wore around his head and face whenever he went out in public.

Relief made her silent for a moment. For just one second she had been sure he had left after all, abandoning her and her foolish dreams. She should have known better. He hadn’t let her down so far.

“Let me just go gather my things,” she replied, then began to slide out of bed, pausing for a second once she realized her clothing was still in a heap on the floor. Cheeks flaming, she looked away from him as she bent over to pick up her discarded tunic and pants, then quickly pulled the tunic on over her head. Damn it, this sort of thing was so much easier to handle when it was dark...

Still not meeting Thorn’s eyes, she hurried out of the guest chamber and up the stairs to the slave girls’ dormitory, where she allowed herself a brisk five minutes in the shower before collecting the few odds and ends she considered worth taking off-planet: her scarred old tablet computer, a few changes of clothing, the one pair of sturdy boots she owned. All of these items she stashed in a wilted duffel that she’d found tucked into a far corner of the wardrobe, and at the last minute she added a random sampling of the toiletries from the dressing area. All in all, it was a meager collection, but she didn’t mind. With her half of Mast’s treasure, she’d be able to buy herself anything she wanted once she and Thorn were safely away from Iradia.

Miala had to go all the way down to the guard chamber to find the mercenary, as he had not bothered to wait for her in his borrowed guest suite.

“Everything looks clear,” he said. “Just thought I’d do one more sweep of the perimeter before we drop the shields.”

“Well, I’m ready,” she replied. ...
barely
, she added mentally, thinking of her still-dripping hair and rumpled clothing. But she’d known better than to make Thorn wait any longer than was strictly necessary.

“Right, then.” He stepped away from the console. “You can take it from here.”

Of course. She’d cracked the security system, but she’d never given him the access codes—and he’d never asked her for them. If she’d bothered to think about it earlier, she should have known that was one indication of his intention to do right by her. Otherwise, he would have forced the codes from her and then disposed of her as he pleased.

She moved past him to enter the password to log in to the main security screen, then tapped in the command to lower the shields. After she had done so she looked up at Thorn, surprised by how vulnerable she suddenly felt, although there had been no indication that any enemies were within a hundred kilometers of the compound. “We’re ready.”

He nodded. “Come on, then.”

And it was with that unceremonious command that she trailed after him out of the guard chamber, through the dim corridors of the building that had been her home for the past few months, and out into the blinding heat and light of an Iradian morning. The ramp to the entrance of his ship had already been lowered, the doors standing open; clearly he had been prepared for a fast getaway.

The metal of the ramp clanged hollowly under her feet as she climbed up behind Eryk Thorn into the cramped cockpit. The ship had clearly been engineered for speed and not much in the way of creature comforts, and she had the uneasy thought that it would get uncomfortable in here pretty damn fast. Then again, she should just be glad that Thorn even had a ship of his own, as most people had to rely on the much slower passenger liners that plied their trade among the galaxy’s various inhabited systems.

But in the meantime the setup was both awkward and unexpected, and she had to clamber into her seat even as Thorn slid into his with practiced ease. She fumbled with the safety harness, and after he flicked a switch to close the rear hatch he reached over to assist her, his hand carelessly grazing across one of her breasts.

“Sure we have time for that?” she snapped, and he grinned.

He didn’t bother to protest his innocence, instead saying only, “Later.”

It wasn’t worth arguing over, she decided, especially since the memory of his touch had sent pleasant chills racing across her body. Miala knew she would only be a hypocrite if she protested, so instead she allowed herself a small shake of the head and then turned to watch the vista of dusty desert and hard blue sky visible directly through the viewport ahead of her.

Eryk Thorn toggled a few more switches, and she could feel the engines come to life, the subtle vibrations seeming to penetrate to her very bones. Once, a few years ago, her schoolmate Drix had taken her for a ride in his Zephyr, a small plane designed only for atmospheric flight—no doubt in a failed attempt to impress her—but that fragile little vehicle could not begin to compare to Thorn’s scarred but powerful ship.

Despite herself Miala felt her fingers clench on the worn synthetic leather of her armrests, even as the
Fury
reached full power and began to rise majestically from the sandy landing pad on which it had rested.
It’s all right,
she told herself.
Millions of people go into space every day. It’s perfectly safe.
But she was unable to release the death grip on her seat as she felt her home world’s gravity begin to claw at her, forcing her to breathe consciously, making her feel as if all of her limbs had suddenly turned to lead.
 

But then the great sandy-orange disk of Iradia was before her, filling the viewport. To one side the sun erupted over the planet’s terminus in a spectacular wave of searing yellow-white light.

“Any final words?” Thorn asked.

Miala glanced over at him. He looked serious, but she knew better, since she’d grown adept at reading the subtle nuances of a barely lifted eyebrow, the faintest shadow at the corner of his mouth. Then she turned and stared for a long moment at the ochre-hued planet before her, the only home she had ever known. Her father had died somewhere down there; in a shabby corner of Aldis Nova, a small house where she had once lived was no doubt already overrun with sand borers and rock beetles. After a long pause she gave a grim smile and said, “Good riddance.”

He gave an approving nod but made no other reply. Instead he reached over to the controls at his left and made a few adjustments, and the
Fury
turned away from Iradia, picking up speed as it moved deeper out into space.

If Thorn had been expecting any opposition as they left the system, he must have been disappointed, Miala thought. As they rounded the smallest of Iradia’s three moons, she thought she saw the tiny winking lights of another vessel at far range, but that was all. And then there wasn’t time to focus on anything else, for Eryk Thorn pulled down a handle to engage the subspace drive, and the universe exploded around her.

“So where are we going, anyway?” Miala asked at length, once she was sure she’d grown accustomed enough to the stomach-churning spectacle of subspace to speak in a reasonably normal tone of voice.

“A place named Callia,” he replied.

She frowned. “Never heard of it.” Which, she had to admit, didn’t mean much. Galactic cartography had never been her strong suit.

“It’s about fourteen standard hours from Iradia. It’s in Eridani space, basically a resort world.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Lots of tourists, lots of strangers. And since it’s in an Eridani-controlled sector, we run a lower risk of bumping into any GDF ships. It should be safe enough. No one will look twice at us there.”

That sounded fairly reassuring, except for the part about it being a journey that would last at least fourteen hours. The seat she currently occupied was actually quite comfortable, despite its battered appearance, but Miala wasn’t sure she could sit in one place for that long.

Some betraying expression must have crossed her face, for he continued, “There’s a small cabin and a bathroom through that door to your left if you need to get up.”

It made sense. This ship was his home, after all—he couldn’t possibly spend his entire life in this cockpit, although she had the feeling he had slept in the captain’s chair more often than not. The three steps from the door he had indicated to the cockpit were just enough to make the difference between life and death in a risky situation. Still, she was glad to know she could get up and move around a bit if necessary.

Which she did after a while, as Thorn seemed indisposed to conversation and there was only so long she could sit in her own chair and stare out at the odd, twisting shards of space that flashed past the viewport at speeds beyond comprehension. The cabin was mean and small, even to Miala’s eyes. But now it served well enough for her to lie down and rest her head on the somewhat lumpy pillow. At least this bed was far too narrow for Thorn to have ever shared it with another woman.