Jump Zone: Cleo Falls (16 page)

“No matter how hard I tried—I got good grades, won competitions, learned to play an instrument—but nothing made him happy. He’d just give a nod without even looking at me. God, Libra. I tried so hard to be everything to him—perfect daughter, cook, seamstress—but it was all for naught. Everything Jag did was rewarded, so I figured he just didn’t know how to treat me because I was a girl, so I decided to be a boy. Cut my hair off and started hunting and fishing with Jag, tried to learn everything he knew. But still I didn’t get taken on the father-son trips to the post or to tribal meetings. It was always just him and Jag while I got left with my grandma.”

Libra was quietly regarding her, his face intent, empathetic. Whatever it was, she felt like he cared, like he wanted to know. So she told him.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “He never looked at me. Never. He looks past me, over me, behind me, but my own father has never looked at me, in my face.” The pressure in her chest grew to an unbearable level, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t
not
tell this man her deepest, ugliest secret. “Because of this,” she said, scrubbing her cheek with her knuckles as if she could erase the scar. “This hideous thing.”

Cleo felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, hot and unwelcome, but couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop until she got the words out. “I look like her, like my mother, except for
this
, and he can’t take it. I’m a repulsive version of her.”

Libra held her face in his hands and placed the most tender and precious kisses on her forehead, on each her eyelid, on her nose. His lips fell softly, like butterfly wings, a balm for her wounded inner child. He took her hand away from her cheek and traced the length of the marred line with his finger before following it with his lips, right to the notch on the shell of her ear. She hadn’t realized he’d seen it under her hair, but somehow he did. No words could penetrate her self-consciousness, her self-loathing, like his kisses did.

He wiped her tears with the pad of his thumb, then put it to his mouth to lick the salt off. And when her chin finally stopped quivering, he kissed her mouth, deepening it until a welcomed longing stirred in her belly, until she didn’t care about her father, or her scar, or her childhood, or Jag, or anything but the unendurable heat between them.

Libra reached behind her knee and pulled her leg up over his hip, never breaking contact with her mouth. She assumed he’d roll her onto her back, but he held her in place, on their sides, face to face. He tucked his length into her in an agonizingly slow thrust that sent a wave of tingling heat radiating through her.

Cleo tilted her hips and rocked into him. Physically and emotionally, they were synched. There was no awkwardness, no fumbling, no nervousness, almost as if they’d been together forever; they were effortlessly in tune.

Libra stopped their lazy play of tongues to trace the line of her jaw with his teeth, sending a new set of vibrations to her core. Her nerve endings sang under his touch.

They explored each other with fingertips, unhurried, uninhibited. He drew patterns on her shoulder, her neck, her breasts, as if he were writing secret messages all over her body. Slipping his hand between them, he touched that glorious spot between her legs that made her eyelids flutter. He circled it slowly, with just the right amount of pressure to send white-hot bolts of erotic electricity through her nervous system, making her nipples tingle, her toes curl, her back arch.

Libra’s breathing quickened along with his thrusts, but he waited until her pleasure crested before succumbing to his own orgasm and clung to her until they drifted back to earth.

“That was amazing,” she slurred, unable to open her eyes.

“Sleepy?” he whispered, rolling onto his back and pulling her in close.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, snuggling against him and feeling more relaxed than she had in…ever.

Twenty-Three

T
hree times. They’d made love three times, but it was the fun stuff they’d done in between each session that made her feel enveloped in warmth—the touching, the tickling, exploring each other:, mind, body, and soul.

Everything felt swollen and sore—her lips, her nipples, between her legs—but it was a glorious hurt. It was the kind of fiery tenderness that made her feel alive, giddy, and she wanted to shout it to the world.

Gone was the worry that he found her an offensive, savage Taiga girl. Tonight, he’d made her feel revered. He touched her with such affection, watched her with an enrapt expression, and listened to every word she spoke as if every syllable were sacrosanct.

Libra the outsider  had morphed into her knight in shining armor, her rescuer, her physical equal, her—
dare she think it?
—soul mate.

It was hard to ignore their similar upbringings despite the fact they grew up in different worlds; each had a parent die under tragic circumstances, and both were raised by emotionally absent, single parents. Both were competitive, hungry to learn, and discover new insights.

Libra brought her back from death. That had to be a sign they were fated. And the fact he was willing to help her navigate the city and find her brother elevated him to godlike status. Her own personal body-guard-escort-lover.

“We should sleep,” she murmured, tracing the contour of his face with the tip of her index finger, awed by the perfection of his silhouette against the embers. “We’ve got to get an early start.”

“You do realize it’s almost dawn, right?”

“What? No,” she said. “Can’t be.” Could it? She was too tired to roll over and check the eastern sky.

Libra caressed her arm as she slid deeper into a warm drowsy state, each stroke spreading another layer of warmth around her heart.

She tried not to think in terms of
‘what’s next
’, but it was hard not to imagine a future with this man, unbearable to think of one without him.

Considering she was probably homeless—she had yet to tell him
that
story—maybe she’d hang out awhile in Gomeda. Maybe he’d even ask her stay. Maybe the city wasn’t as bad as she’d heard. Then again, it might be easier to convince Libra to move north and the two of them could join one of the Acadian tribes, or Prairie tribes. She fell asleep dreaming of a life together with her unexpected champion.

While he waited for her breathing to deepen, for her body to go completely loose and relaxed so he could make a move, he let his fingers drift up and down her flesh, amazed at how she could be so strong and so soft all at once.

After tonight, he was acutely aware of how innocent she was. Not immature, but naively mature. The bravely masked hurt in her voice as she told him about her father.

It made him hate Lewin Rush even more.

Libra knew only too well what it was like to fight for a parent’s attention, but when Cleo put voice to feelings that he never realized he himself felt, it made his relationship with his own mother more real, more…damaging. He, too, tried his best to get straight A’s in math and science, just like his father, but his efforts seemed to make her close up even tighter.

They were the same, but different. Where his mother was a grieving widow, a shell of a woman who’d lost her only daughter to sickness that couldn’t be cured, Cleo’s father was a cold-hearted, murdering bastard.

Would it lessen Cleo’s pain if she knew? Would his approval be so necessary if she realized who she’d been trying to impress?

But he couldn’t tell her. Wouldn’t tell her. Couldn’t hurt her, even for the sake of healing her.

He felt her body slacken against his.

He should go.

A few more minutes to enjoy her post-coital warmth. Perhaps he should blame it on his incarceration with a bunch of violent testosterone-dripping dirt bags, but Libra never knew it could be this way with a woman. That the primal act of rocking and thrusting while looking into one another’s eyes could be so cathartic, so liberating. They were healing each other with their bodies, patching their wounded souls, and when they finally came, together, they created a bond that was indescribably exquisite. He envied the tears that spilled down her cheeks as much as he envied her ability to release them, proof that it was as meaningful for her as it was to him.

He certainly never remembered sex ever having such a profound effect before. The third round, when she’d climbed on top of him, inhibitions set aside… for the love of all things wild, that girl blew his mind.

But just a few more minutes, to make sure she was really asleep, before he had to revert to his asshole self. What a mess, a gigantic zhanging disaster—but he’d find a way to get them out of it, find a way to make everything right for both of them. For all of them. Jaegar too. Even Achan.

He needed to go.

He didn’t want to. Not yet.

Libra let his mind play, wondering what life would have been like for both of them if Cleo’s father hadn’t killed his, if his mother wasn’t perpetually stoned. Would he and Cleo have met under different circumstances? Maybe have met at the Trading Post? Been sweethearts, lovers?

Libra cautiously slipped his arm out from underneath her, not so difficult with the air pillow cushioning them, and rearranged the blanket so she wouldn’t feel the damp night air when he rolled away.

He got up and looked down at her one last time before grabbing his pack and quietly heading into the woods. In sleep, she looked so delicate and vulnerable, the antithesis of the capable, sexy woman she turned into by the light of day, with sparks in her eyes and acid in her words.

What if they hadn’t met? If he’d stayed at the penal colony and refused Achan’s offer like every fiber of his being warned—and that he thankfully ignored? Libra shivered, the bitter cold biting his bones, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

He couldn’t imagine not knowing her, not wanting her—sexually, intellectually—always.

Twenty-Four

“W
ell, well, well, what do we have here?”

Cleo, ripped from sleep by an unfamiliar masculine voice, rolled sideways off the air cushion before her eyes were fully open. The malice in his tone catapulted her into high-octane adrenal overload. Springing to her feet, Cleo twisted from side to side and gave her head a shake to clear any remnants of dullness.

They were outsiders, three of them, confining her in triangle formation. Libra’s friends? No. Matching buzzcuts, camouflage, and monster-muscles that could only be achieved through serious conditioning and medical intervention. They could only be one thing.

Soldiers.

Gomedan Guards. Huge mother-buzzards.

Cleo swallowed and shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying but failing to keep them all in her line of sight. She and Libra were in for a fight.

Speaking of Libra… A quick flick of her eyes found no sign of him or his backpack. What the hell?

“Looks like we found ourselves a lost little savage,” said the one behind her.

“And she’s dressed for the occasion. Lucky us.”

The eerie chuckle that followed sent a shiver of fear from the back of her neck all the way down to her heels. Why didn’t she put her clothes back on during the night?

Because Libra kept her warm.

Where is he?

They moved towards her, circling, like hungry wolves.

Please
don’t let me die like my mother.

A cold fist of terror gripped her insides, forced the oxygen from her lungs, disabled her ability to call out or scream. She fought the suffocating feeling of
impending doom, willing herself to focus, focus, focus.
She wouldn’t die with indignity, wouldn’t leave Jag in Gomeda, wouldn’t leave this earth before redeeming herself to her tribe, her father.

She would
not
die like her mother.

Anger pushed the panic from her lungs, replaced it with the instinct to survive. She took down a feral alphacat, damn it. She could take down three oaf-sized outsiders.

“Did she just growl? Fucking hell, man, did you guys hear that?”

“Zhanging
animal!
”

Cleo bent her knees slightly to lower and stabilize her center of gravity. Speed and dexterity were the only advantages she had against their bulky upper bodies and tree-trunk legs.

She needed a weapon. Her mind flitted through her options—

Libra’s knife would come in handy about now.
Where the hell is he?

Fire. Less than ten feet away, but they’d be on her before she reached the pit.

Rocks. It took only a nanosecond to see there were none around her feet big enough to do any serious damage. But if she threw it at the fire, sent sparks…

As if reading her mind, one of the Guards picked up her leathers, held them to his nose, and with a nod to the others, tossed them on top of the embers, smothering her only hope.

They crept closer still, circling to intimidate, their arms out, hands spread, caging her in. She tuned out their words, their crude comments about her body... Had to, or she’d succumb to the terror. Steeling herself, Cleo pressed her back teeth hard enough to make her jaw ache. She was ready.

Playing the helpless girl, she cowered as they drew closer, whimpered, “P-Please, don’t hurt m-me.”

The two within her line of sight exchanged a quick glance. One smiled.
Sick bastard
.

She inhaled sharply, taking in their scents, feeding off the charged air around her as if it were a source of pure energy. She felt the ground vibrate off her right flank. She could see him in her peripheral, edging in behind her, probably to hold her arms while the others pawed her.

Focus! Don’t let the fear in
.

A clear mind to anticipate their movements—it was the only way to win.

Timing was critical.  Without taking her eyes off Smiley in front of her, Cleo shifted her weight and shot a leg out straight behind her. The ball of her foot smashed into a hard midsection. “Oaf!”

Smiley reacted just as she expected—by raging straight at her. She dug her heels in the soft dirt and dropped into a crouch. Smiley tried to stop himself, but his momentum propelled him forward. When he was almost on top of her, she dropped her chin and thrust upward, catching his midsection with her shoulders and propelling him up and over her.

She round-housed the third brute when he approached from the left. She spun and ducked, avoiding a punch from the one in back, who’d recovered far too quickly from her first kick. When his fist struck nothing but air, he stumbled forward, giving Cleo the perfect opening. Falling onto her palms, she swung her body sideways in a double leg sweep, knocking him flat on his ass. This time, he let out a painful grunt.

On her way back up, she grabbed a rock the size of an apple. Not much of a weapon, but it would do.

Cleo felt a rush of air behind her. Without turning, she drove her bent arms back, striking both assailants in the ribs with the hard edge of her elbows. She spun and landed a solid uppercut to the soft underside of Smiley’s jaw, this time sending him stumbling backwards. He tripped over her bedding and landed on his back at the edge of the dying fire. Her arm juddered from fingers to shoulder from the impact.

A blast of pain ripped through her, radiating from her back like the tongues of a thousand blue flames. Someone had gotten in a kidney punch. Cleo bit back a cry as she sank to her knees. Her attacker stopped her descent by wrapping his ropey forearm around her neck, then pulled her into the brick wall of his chest.

Cleo had to get out of this position of vulnerability. Now. Before breathing became an issue. Before she lost it like the Banger she used the same move on.

Don’t panic. Panic will kill you. Focus. Focus, focus, focus...

His other hand found her breast, pinched her nipple, hard. The sharp pain stoked her resolve. She would not die like her mother. While he groped, she thrust her head backward with all her might, catching him in the mouth with enough force to loosen a few teeth. Without a thought to the screaming pain ripping through her skull and lower back, she dodged his hold, turned, and drove her bony kneecap into his balls with every ounce of rage-filled strength she had.

He went down with a breathless squeak.

Without hesitation, Cleo spun, drew her arm back and, just as Smiley got up from his cozy spot next to the fire, drilled him in the forehead with the rock.

Damn, kicking ass felt way better than it should.

As for Libra, she was going to kick
his
ass when she found him, leaving her alone to be set upon by three rogue soldiers.

Before the trio could recover, Cleo grabbed the only garments left—Libra’s thermal leggings and the shirt-to-beat-your-wife-in—and made for the river, dressing as she ran.

She had to find Libra.

The back of her head stung like devil spit and the soles of her feet were being shredded by the rock and pine needles as she ran at top speed. She glanced over her shoulder, blinking to clear her watery vision, and sighted two of the goon squad moving amongst the trees.

“Libra!” she hissed. What if they got to him first? Killed him while she slept? What other reason could there be for his absence? What could have kept him from coming when he heard her struggling?

“Libra!”
It was more than a breathy plea than the shout she’d intended.

She stumbled onto the narrow bank of the creek, trying to decide which way to run, when she spotted Libra.

He was very much alive and kneeling a few yards downstream, seemingly oblivious to the drama behind her.

“Libra? Didn’t you hear me? Run! Why are you just…” Goose bumps erupted and her feet froze in midstride, her body cued to the danger her mind had time to process.

Libra’s head was bowed but his pale eyes gazed up at her through his eyelashes. He didn’t seem shocked to see her, nor did he speak or acknowledge her in any way. His mouth was set in a hard line and his eyes looked empty, devoid of any emotion.

“Libra?” She took a wary step toward him. “What’s going on?” The muscles of his shoulders were hunched, coiled with tension, and she realized that his hands were behind his back, as if bound.

“Looking for us?” A man emerged from behind a bushy evergreen to stand next to Libra. Though dressed in sightseer clothes—hiking boots and a backpack—he shared the same bristled cut and menacing look as the men who attacked her.

And he had a gun pressed against Libra’s temple.

The flat black disk he flipped between the fingers of this other hand looked familiar, like the one she’d found in Libra’s stuff, except it was rimmed with a green light.

“Get away from him,” she said, drawing in her strength for another fight. She had to get him away from Libra before the others caught up. She felt every bit as ferocious as a polar grizzly protecting its young. She shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to spring. “You want food? Supplies? Take what you came for and leave before I kill you.”

“That’s the thing,” he grinned. He swung the barrel of the gun towards her, pointed it straight toward the middle of her chest. “I came for you,
Cleo Rush.
”

She didn’t even hear the bang before her world went black.