I Am Not Junco Omnibus: Books Four - Six (23 page)

Tier makes to object but I put up a hand and he stops.

Irin weighs her options. I know she had a rough life, Gid filled me in back on Sargassum and I know that just the mention of Vegas is enough to drive her towards insanity. A little bit like talking about what really happened in the Stag might do the same for me.

Even in the dark, under the influence of the imperfection of biological night vision, I can see the smooth green sheen develop in her eyes. I take her hand and hold it in both of mine. "It's OK, Irin. I'll take care of it, I promise."

I look over to Tier who is silent for once. "We need to do this, Tier. And maybe you don't get that, but I don't give a shit. We're going." I look back to Irin. "Right?"

She gives me a tiny nod that says OK.

"I promise I'll let Lili take her when it's time, OK?"

Just for a moment, the slightest fraction of a moment, maybe, I think he's gonna be reasonable. But then his hand darts out, reaching for my shoulder.

Gid rushes to cover the few paces that stand between us, but it's too late.

Tier taps me and we disappear.

Chapter Twenty-Four

And reappear in—well, fuck, I have no idea where. Some sort of ship from the looks of it. I scan the room in the fraction I have before the argument begins and I realize with a start he's taken me off-world.

"What the fuck, Tier! Where the hell am I?"

I catch a wry smile starting to form on his face as he turns to hide his satisfaction. My blood pressure rises.

"Look around, Junco. Where do ya think we are?" He turns back but the smile is tucked away.

"Take me back right now." I don't say it, I growl it.

He sneers his lip at me and simply says, "No."

I rush towards him and push him in the chest. Of course, we both know this has no effect on him, but it's just a distraction. As soon as he lifts his head to laugh at my futile attempt I jump and spin, whacking him in the cheek with my foot. His head snaps to the side and his eyes blaze green at my audacity as they slowly turn to find my gaze. His black wings rise up over his head and the muscles controlling them bulge from beneath his armor.

I back away a little.

He's sorta terrifying.

"Yer lucky," he whispers. "
Very
fucking lucky yer a girl."

"Fuck you, I'll show you what luck has to do with this, Raubtier."

I wait for him to make a move but his anger dissipates and he turns and seats himself in a straight-backed avian chair. His legs stretch out in front and he slouches back, his wings settling along the side of his body like this is the most carefree moment he's had in a long time. "I'm keeping you here, Junco. Until yer necessary. And then you'll do what I ask of ya. Understand?"

"And just what the hell is that?" I take in the room for real now and realize I'm in his quarters. There's armor piled up in a corner, weapons leaning against the far bulkhead, and a holotable with strategic points blinking a ring around a rotating Earth. It shows the Seven Pillars spaced out across the globe and above them floats a ring that glows, like it's got power. That must be what we're building.

I draw my attention away from the strategy table and continue to look around. His bed takes up most of the space. And it's obviously been slept in because it's a mess of blankets and pillows.

I turn back to him and he's watching me. Chills climb up my entire body as I meet his gaze. His eyes are not glowing now, not at all. I catch my breath when I realize that we've not been alone together, except for the night of my mental breakdown—which was hardly the time or place for a proper reunion—for a very long time.

He continues to stare.

"What?" I ask.

"Sit down, Junco." He gestures to the bed.

"No. Take me back. I want to go back right now. Gideon is gonna be going crazy—"

"Good," he says, cutting me off. "I'm tired of Gideon. I wish he'd shut the hell up and take his fucking place like he's supposed ta. He makes me tired in a very dangerous way."

"If you touch him, I swear, Tier, I will—"

"You'll what? Don't threaten me, Junco, because I won't put up with yer bullshit the way he does. If ya want to be with him, then just be with him already."

"I do want to be with him. Right now. So take me the fuck back—"

"That is enough!" he roars, pushing the chair aside as he stands.

The crashing sound of his command, as well as the toppled chair, is enough to make me draw up my hands and wince as I stop talking mid-sentence.

"If I have ta listen ta that filthy little mouth of yours for one more second, I'll snap. Enough already. If you want to talk to me, you will do it with respect. I will not tolerate it."

I stare at him. Speechless.

He stares back and waits.

"What the—"

"Choose carefully, Junco. I'm warning you." His eyes blaze up with fire and light. The challenge is unmistakable. Do I want to fight this battle?

Maybe.

I turn away to hide my smile. "It's just a word, Tier. And you say it just as much as I do."

"I," he says, grabbing my shoulder to spin me around, "am the Angel of Death. If I want to say fuck, I will.
You
are not
me
."

My eyebrows hike up in surprise. "Oh, I get it. It's the old do as I say, not as I do command? Yeah, I'm familiar with that. That's pretty much how I grew up."

"Well, I wouldn't know, would I? You never told me a damn thing about how you grew up. You told Isten, Aren, Ashur, Lucan." He stops to think for a moment. "Maybe Kush, probably Charlie, that Mikah Mesner guy you were so proud of when ya played poker with my brothers for the first time. John fucking Hando is definitely in, am I right? I'm sure there are a lot more names to add to that list, all but one. Mine. Because you've been too busy cozying up to just about everyone you can think of except me, haven't ya?"

"Fuck you." It comes out as venom as I walk over to the other side of the room to get as far away from him as possible. It's only about ten feet, but you gotta work with what you have. "Fuck. You." I stand there in silence to get my breathing under control. My heart is racing. He basically just called me a whore.

When I'm calm again I raise the stakes—if he wants to play, I can certainly play. "You forgot Gideon, though." I spin around and grin. "Gideon. The guy I chose over you, how could you possibly forget him? And I'm done here, so take me back to my father's place and drop me off with Gideon."

"So yer in love with him? He's the one ya want?"

How dare he. How dare he spew his jealous rage as heart-wrenching insults and then ask me that question as if he deserves an answer. "It doesn't even matter what I say, does it? You want to believe that we're lovers? You want to push me, hurt me, until I say it." My breath is ragged with anger and shame, and he has no right to make me feel shame. "You're the one who came to me on Sargassum. You didn't have anyone else to deliver a five-minute message to Gideon? Really? You just had to appear on my birthday, land on top of my apartment, wait there until the precise moment when my elevator announced my arrival, then flee. Like a
fucking
coward."

He growls at my cursing, but I don't care.

"You, the almighty Angel of Death, running from a little girl who just woke up from being mutilated for two years, just so you could avoid some messy feelings about Lucan, or Kush, or Ashur or whoever."

His eyes narrow as the rumble comes from his throat, like he's an animal or something.

"And now you want to stand here and try and guilt me into submission, wondering why I never confided in you? Well," I huff out an exaggerated grunt, "let me tell you something, you piece of shit demon, I don't submit to anyone, least of all to people who have no idea what the
fuck
they are talking about. And you certainly qualify in that department, because as you just stated, I've told you nothing about me.
You know nothing about me
."

I turn away and stare at the bulkhead. My chest is heaving in anger and my whole body is trembling. "Just take me back."

Silence.

"Please."

I turn to beg, but he's gone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I am still shaking.

He hates me. He thinks the most awful things about me.

Now I'm stuck in his fucking room, on a ship that could be anywhere in the Solar System for all I know. I take a moment to calm down and scan the place. My eyes stop at a panel on the side of the bulkhead. It's in Avian, but I can read it. I slide my fingertips across an icon and the opaque wall becomes transparent.

The starshine floods over me and I close my eyes and drop my shoulders to try and relax.

He'll be back. He'll come back. He can't leave me here forever, I mean, surely they are going nuts back at Subjack's old camp wondering what the hell happened. He won't get away with this.

I stare out at the stars and try to figure out where I am, or at the very least what the fuck I'm looking at.

It's useless, my references are all from the point of view of Earth, with the exception of some very short trips outside Amelia with Lucan. This sky means nothing to me.

My feet pace his quarters, restless, as I chew on my fingernail. Now what? I'm stuck in his freaking quarters, nothing to do, no one to talk to…

No one to watch me.

I could snoop.

No one to stop me.

The last time I was left alone where he was living—besides our time on the vacation habitat after Fledge, which doesn't count because it was a guest house or something, he had no personal things there—was in the cavern under Council 3. Before I ever left with him to morph into my old avian body.

That time I found nothing except that stupid reader of Iliana's that had the Seven Siblings myth on it. It was like a fake base or something, just nothing but bullshit maps, medical supplies, food. Stuff like that, but nothing that held any secrets.

But this is his bedroom.

I start pulling out drawers and shuffling through folded clothes. Boxers, t-shirts, a few stashed weapons, various small pieces of jewelry. I shove that drawer closed and open a door that becomes a closet. Uniforms—some service, some not. Boots on the floor, neatly lined up.

He's very neat.

I kick the boots aside and check the floor. Nothing. Just boots.

The nightstand is next. That's a good place—people like to stash things in the nightstand.

I find a Bible of all things.

It's old, the pages are tissue thin and contain elaborate scrolled writing that might actually be real gold leaf. There are iconic images on some, also illuminated, like something they made in Europe in the Middle Ages.

Except this Bible is not Christian, it's avian.

I flip to the beginning and find the title page. It shows a golden angel—wings fully outstretched and covering up the entire two-page spread. He's got blond hair and blue eyes, but that's where the similarities to the familiar Lucan end.

He's got fangs. And knives, not the razor claws the avians have, but honest to God
knives
, bursting out of his hands and talons.