No Such Thing (8 page)

She had never considered herself fragile—she was a powerhouse of telenetic talent, monstrous in her strength. Looking at her small hand contained in
Declan’s large grip, she was amazed to feel delicate and very…female. Somehow just his fingers closing on hers made her very aware of her own
petite femininity and his contrasting masculine size and shape. She didn’t know why that would be—it made no sense to her, but then again, she
had only her mother’s touch to compare with this experience, having never had skin to skin contact with a male before.

The thought of her mother brought a flood of memories, bittersweet and cruel in their clarity. Tears pricked at her eyes again as she realized just how
much she had missed this, missed close contact with another human being. She had touched her mother while she was in the coma, but it wasn’t the
same. There was no return pressure, no responding warmth and energy to welcome her, just endless waiting, endless silent suffering. She’d been
without contact so long that Declan’s gentle clasp felt like a strange and wonderful miracle.

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, blinking fiercely to chase away tears. He’d seen enough of her breaking down. Her lack of control
was appalling and dangerous. If the Institute could see her now, they would yank her back to them in a heartbeat. She was always very careful about shows
of emotion, but Declan had broken through her guard so easily, his touch an unexpected reminder of her solitude. She swallowed again, this time against a
surge of guilt. He said he wasn’t afraid of her, but she hadn’t shown him why he should be afraid—he had no idea just how powerful she
truly was. She should not have taken his hand under false pretenses, but she’d been unable to resist. And she couldn’t regret it. She felt like
she could stay here forever, feeling his warmth soak into her greedy skin.

Suddenly realizing that she’d been staring at their clasped hands for quite a while, she jerked her chin up to look at him. He was watching her with
an odd, glazed aspect to his beautiful eyes, his expression dazed and unfocused. With a frown, she tightened her control on her telenetic talent, but it
was unnecessary—her power was as tightly bound to her as ever, so she hadn’t slipped and done anything to him. "Declan?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said with a slight, rough edge to his voice as his eyes slowly focused. When his gaze met hers, a twinkling smile started in his
sky-blue eyes and spread across his face like sunshine. "I’m great."

Ryelle gaped at him as her heart jack-knifed and then stumbled along in her chest. She pressed her free hand to her heart, dimly wondering if she was
having some kind of attack, but unable to dredge up much concern in the blinding light of his smile. The boy was beautiful. How had she not noticed before
how simply gorgeous he was?

"Ryelle?" His smile faded and his grip tightened around her fingers as anxiety crept into his expression. "Are you all right?"

Then his thumb began to move across the back of her hand, slow, gentle strokes that were probably supposed to be soothing, judging by the look on his face.
A strange tingle shot up her arm from the spot he was caressing, while odd chills appeared in random spots over her skin and unfamiliar warmth spread
through her middle. The sensations intensified when he leaned closer to her, his brows pulling together over worried eyes. "Ryelle?"

"I feel strange," she murmured, distracted by the indigo color spiking through his eyes. Amazing.

"You look a little peaky. Maybe we outta get you up top." He rose to his feet, still holding her hand securely in his.

The tug on her appendage had her automatically rising to her feet and she was startled to feel her knees wobble a bit. "Yes, that’s probably
best," she said with a frown. Concentrating on her uncertain balance, she retained her grip on him until she realized that they were outside the
blind spot. Then she jerked her hand away with a stab of alarm.

Declan looked down at her with wide eyes, his body frozen with his hand still extended out toward her. Something about his expression bit at her, hurting
her deep inside. "I’m sorry," she gasped, barely stopping herself from reaching out to take his hand again. "But they—this
isn’t…private."

Comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, right. Sure." He thawed, but she could still see some reserve in the way he moved as he climbed aboard
the grav-trolley.

Ryelle followed, baffled by how much pain his distress caused her. The only person who had ever affected her so deeply was her mother. How could he have
such a strong effect on her? She barely knew him.

Staring into the cavern as it dropped away below them, she mulled her reactions over with a frustrated frown until she realized that he was staring at her.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She took a moment to assess her condition and was surprised to find that she was back to normal. "Yes, thank you," she answered with puzzled
politeness. "I feel fine."

"Good," he said with a lightening of his expression as he docked the trolley. "You saw the highlights, but I’d still like to give
you the rest of the tour…unless you need to go."

The sound of that last word was considerably more unpleasant than she would have ever believed possible. Not only would she have to put the damned snood
back on, but she’d have to walk away from Declan. At the moment, that was something she really didn’t want to do.

"I’ll need to make sure that Commander Task isn’t looking for me. If I’m not needed, I would love to finish the tour." She
moved to the side of the grav-trolley and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think it would be best if you helped me this time, though.
Please."

She pretended not to see his grin, especially since her heart seemed to want to do strange things in her chest at the sight. He brushed past her, leapt up
to the main floor, and gave her a dramatic bow, before holding out his hand to her. Smothering a smile of her own, she focused on her skirts as she placed
her hand in his and stepped carefully out of the trolley. His warm fingers were just as compelling as before and it took all her will power to pull away
once she was on solid ground. When their fingers parted, Declan sighed heavily and she kept her face turned down, making a pretense of brushing at her
skirts.

"Sark me! Did you just—?"

"Bags! Watch your language, man. Has the Chief been looking for us?" Declan’s voice sounded strained.

Ryelle looked up to see the Chief’s second gaping at them, eyes bugging a little. His rough face was turning an interesting shade of purplish red all
the way to his receding hairline, making an odd color contrast with the orange fuzz of his hair. He was shorter than Declan, but was quite a bit thicker
across the chest and middle. Right now, his bulk was between them and the path to the Chief—this circumstance didn’t look to be changing any
time soon.

"Mer Bagera," she said politely, nodding to him. The man continued to stare at them, slack-jawed.

Declan muttered something impolite that Ryelle didn’t think she was supposed to hear. "Bags, snap out. Has anybody called down for Mem
Soliere?"

The other man shook his head sharply as if to clear it before bellowing, "Naw, yer clear. Want I should spell ya?" Then he grinned rather like
a shark, looking Ryelle up and down with a gleam in his eye that was probably rude, but she only felt amused.

Declan was not. His jaw went tight and he glared at his fellow sailor with what looked like real anger. "Step off, Bags."

Bagera shrugged carelessly. "Ah, no sense a’ fun! You want a change a’ face, girlie, y’just let ol’ Bags know, eh?" He
gave Ryelle an exaggerated wink and another grin before sauntering away.

"Sorry about him," Declan said stiffly as he ushered her in the opposite direction.

"No need to apologize," Ryelle responded with a smothered smile. "He’s—colorful. I believe that’s the first time
I’ve ever been called ‘girlie.’"

"And the last," she heard him mutter darkly.

They double checked with the Chief to make certain that Ryelle was not needed and that Declan was free to continue the tour, before picking up where
they’d left off. Declan showed her all the control areas and explained his support duties as well as the duties of his fellow crew members, as they
wandered through the different engineering sections. He seemed determined to avoid other crew members, speaking as briefly as possible with the Chief and
ushering her with all due speed past the large woman she’d been introduced to earlier. He dutifully showed her each of the blind spots, eyes alight
with something that was as unnerving to Ryelle as it was intriguing, though he kept his thoughts and his hands to himself. They finished with another
grav-trolley ride through the engine cavern.

During this extended tour, they spoke of other things besides the ship functions. Ryelle discovered that he was an only child, too, with his mother as his
only living relative. She was fascinated by this similarity between them when so many other facets of their lives were so different. When he docked the
grav-trolley, she pretended not to notice that the ride was over, bombarding him with questions about his life in the Nine Rings. She was captivated not
only by his accounts of life in one of the rougher edges of the colonized worlds, but also by how he related his stories—animated amusement,
affectionate contempt, embarrassed eagerness, open and uninhibited honesty. She gathered from his experiences that some people held the Nine Rings in low
esteem, but Declan defended his home with such easy affection in his warm honey voice that Ryelle discovered a burning need to go there.

His accounts of how he’d lived in the Nine Rings were as alien to her as the GenTec way of life, but much more attractive. He’d had a loving,
supportive mother, freedom to do as he pleased, friends to get into trouble with, and even enemies that he’d fought with cheerful abandon. His life
sounded so normal. She knew that her life at the Institute wasn’t normal even for telenetics, but when he asked her about it and she began to
describe how she lived, his frozen expression told her that it was a lot less normal than she’d suspected.

"You’re never allowed out?"

Ryelle clasped her hands in her lap, letting her eyes fall to the cavern below. Here it was, the part she’d been avoiding, the explanation of just
how different she was from anyone else. Just how dangerous she was. Clearing her throat, she said carefully, "The Institute feels that frequent and
prolonged contact with the public would be detrimental for telenetics. That’s why we aren’t seen in public venues very often. There are strict
laws governing telenetic behavior, and if we ever found ourselves in a situation where we felt it necessary to defend ourselves, we might act in ways that
contradicted those laws."

"Defend yourselves?"

"Not everyone appreciates our unique abilities."

He was silent for a moment and Ryelle bit the inside of her cheek, hoping he’d leave that part alone. She liked spending time with him. She did not
want to ruin the atmosphere by having a political discussion that could turn uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I’d heard that," he said in a neutral tone and she took a peek at him. He was leaning forward with his elbows on knees and head
tilted at a thoughtful angle, staring at his interwoven fingers. "I guess I can see their point, protecting telenetics from that sort of thing…
But you said they never let you out. You said this was your first trip outside Institute grounds."

Ryelle grimaced. Might as well get it over with. Enough stalling. "I am the most powerful telenetic they’ve ever seen. My abilities manifested
at a much younger age than usual. I was a—difficult child to control. Most telenetic children are separated from their families, at least at first,
so that they will form close bonds with their teachers and handlers. But when they tried to take me away from my mother, I…I leveled the
Institute."

She paused to swallow the shame of that loss of control, that five-year-old panic attack which had governed their attitudes and actions toward her ever
since. Without looking at Declan, she finished her confession, tightening her clasped fingers until they hurt. "All seven buildings of it. They had
enough telenetic talent around to keep anyone from getting killed, but not enough to control me at the same time. In the end, they had to bring my mother
in to contain me. They’ve had trouble trusting me ever since. Letting me out in public wasn’t an option."

"How old were you?" he asked softly.

"Five."

"Just a baby. How can they hold that against you?"

"You don’t know how strong I am," she muttered, staring down at her white knuckles.

"Ryelle," he murmured in his honey voice. She felt her stomach flip and quiver at the sound. Looking up, she met his beautiful blue gaze, open
and warm, and the quiver spread from her stomach all the way to her fingers and toes. "It doesn’t matter how strong you are. It doesn’t
matter to me."

Then he dazzled her with that sunshine smile again.
To hell with my watchers,
she thought with reckless rebellion and reached out to take his
hand.

Chapter 5

"So, how was the tour?" The commander’s tone was casual, but his light gaze was sharper than strictly necessary as he studied her across
his desk.

Ryelle put on her best bland expression and said, "The
Odyssey’s
engines are magnificent, a credit to the Fleet."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course they are. But did you have fun?"

"Fun, sir?" she asked, tipping her head in puzzlement.

He narrowed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and said in his running-out-of-patience tone, "Yes, fun. Who gave you the tour?"

"Crewman McCrae, sir."

"Crewman McCrae," he muttered with a disgusted expression. "I heard you were on a first name basis with the young man."

"With your considerable resources, Commander Task, I’m sure you don’t need to ask me for any information."

He snorted, propping his cheek on one fist as he studied her with a brooding frown. "Fine, I’ll butt out. I was just hoping that you’d
made friends with him."