Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1) (26 page)

Mira closed her eyes and waited an eternity before she felt his hand touch hers. She didn’t hesitate. She captured his hand in hers and mindful of his injured leg, she threw her other arm around him and pressed her body close so that the dragon was held between their hearts.

Roark’s arm wrapped around her as strong and firm and gentle as it had always been. His words were quietly spoken and meant for her alone.

“Take me home, Mira miku. Touch my heart again and take me home.”

Chapter 30

Her family waited outside in the hall. Like Nona’s mantle clock that chimed the half hour, Wynne would appear next to her and urge her to leave Roark’s bedside and get some rest. Mira’s answer was always the same.

“No. I can’t leave him, not like this.”

They’d brought Roark in, wrapped in blankets to cover the truth of his injuries. Harm stood guard outside the surgery

door. Vochem, forgoing treatment for his own injuries, led Ahnyis and Mason through the intricate repairs. The patient spent hours in the replicator and was scheduled to spend several more in the knitter.

Mira paced the corridor outside of surgery for the whole time. She couldn’t sit down. She couldn’t rest.

Between Harm and Mason and a little encouragement from her, they’d gotten Roark to the base hospital, but he hadn’t spoken since he’d told her to take him home. She wasn’t sure he’d remember what he said back at the Den, since he’d promptly collapsed against her and passed out.

Her fear came back, and rode her like a demon. It wasn’t that he would become the creature she saw at the Den, but that he couldn’t return to the man he was. What if he’d forgotten his words or worse, forgotten hers?

She would love him no matter who he was or who he became, but could Roark live with the change? She wasn’t sure he could.

Wynne brought her clothing and food. At her sister’s insistence, she’d used a cleansing stall meant for hospital staff and changed into clothes that weren’t smeared with blood and didn’t stink of smoke. The food was a waste since she promptly threw it up. Tears, for no reason, would spurt from her eyes. Worry for Roark was making her crazy.

She wouldn’t leave him. She couldn’t leave him.

Ahnyis had gone home, cleansed, changed, and rested while Mason saw to Vochem’s broken arm. She sought Mira out as soon as she returned.

“You need to go home. I’ll call when he’s awake.”

“I can’t,” Mira told her friend. “The first thing he sees when he wakes up has to be this smiling face.” She offered a parody of a movie star grin.

Ahnyis didn’t see the humor in it. “Dead people don’t smile, Mira, and that’s what you’re going to be if you don’t get something to eat and then go lie down. If you don’t,” she threatened, “I’ll have to use force.”

The little healer was back to sounding like her usual sweet and harmless self. Mira decided to tease her a bit to prove she was as deranged as she must look.

“Going to claw my eyes out, are you?”

The healer looked stricken. “That’s not funny. Not in the least. What I did was unforgivable. I’m sure I’ll hear about it from Vochem as soon as he has time.” She didn’t sound like her brother would be singing her praises.

“Why?” Mira was dumfounded at her friend’s response. “What you did was amazing, astounding, and heroic in graphic novel proportions. So was the boo-hoo bit you did for that creep at the Den. You almost had me believing it.”

“I envy you, Mira.”

“Me? Why on earth would you envy me?” She waved her hand around to indicate their surroundings and continued waved down Ahnyis’s body to display her lab coat and the form beneath it. “You’re smart. You’re beautiful. You have a great job, an excellent education, and you’ve traveled to amazing places.” She waved her hand down her own body. “Nothing to compare here.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t compare.”

Ahnyis could have argued, at least about the looks. Mira felt a little hurt that she fell so short of her friend’s esteem, though she’d asked for it, hadn’t she.

Her opinion changed when Ahnyis added, “You’re free.”

“You’re not?”

Sure, the Kataran complained about being confined to base, but that was for her safety and things were about to change. Ahnyis showed no hesitation when voicing her opinion and Mira had never seen the men treat her with anything but courtesy.

“Not like you are. I was supposed to find myself a Kataran husband, keep his house, and bear his kits. They don’t know what to do with me, you see. I’m watched. I’m cosseted. In one way or another, I’m always under guard. Even at school, where Vochem couldn’t be with me, I was under the care of one of his trusted companions.”

Ahnyis looked so miserable. Mira didn’t argue when the healer took her hand and led her to the bench placed against the wall.

“Becoming a healer was my way of running away,” Ahnyis confessed.

“Really? That’s the difference between us. You wanted to run away to join the healers. I wanted to run away to join the circus. I was six. My mother caught me and said I had to wait until I was eighteen and had my own health insurance.” Mira shrugged. “Sword swallower. Healer.” She weighed the words with her hands. Healer was weightier. “Like I said, not much to envy. Don’t get me wrong, I did all right before it all went to hell. I’m not ashamed of becoming a teacher, but a doctor? You’d have to see my biology grades to understand. No way was that ever in the cards.”

“Your mother said you could join the circus if you wanted to. I’m sure she knew you wouldn’t,” Ahnyis said with a little laugh.

Mira was relieved her friend saw the humor and didn’t believe being a sword swallower was an unfulfilled ambition.

Ahnyis wasn’t finished. “But she was also saying you could be whatever you wanted to be when you were an adult. Kataran women are never adults.

“What I did would have shamed my mother, my whole family for that matter. A lady would never think of doing what I did, bowing to her baser nature like that, and if Vochem is upset enough, he can send me home for it.”

“No, he can’t. You can stay right here with me and Wynne.” Because Roark would love another woman in the house. Mira kept her fingers crossed Ahnyis didn’t take her up on the offer.

“Yes, he can. I want to stay here. I’d love to stay here, but by Kataran law...”

“Bullshit,” Mira cut her off. “You ain’t in Katara any more, baby. Last time I looked, and granted, that was before those Hahnshin bastards showed up, this was a free country. You’re in my world now, and if your brother or anyone else tries to send you away, it’ll be over my dead body and the dead body of every other woman in this town, once the word spreads. Just let him try it and they’ll have a bigger rebellion than they ever dreamed of.” Mira started to giggle at the ridiculousness of her overblown claims. It was stress relief she supposed, but whatever it was, it was contagious.

Ahnyis began to giggle, too. “I think the Godan might be sorry they came here.”

“We’ll let Mason lead the charge. Vochem will blow his top.”

“Oh, I don’t know if that will work. Mason and my brother are bonding. Shared terror will do that.” Ahnyis’s laughter died. “I like him, Mira. I like him a lot. He’s the only male I’ve ever met who didn’t have a preconceived notion of what a Kataran girl is like. He likes me, not what I’m supposed to be. He thinks I’m smart and funny.” Her grin turned shy. “And sexy.”

“After what you did to that cyborg, I’ll bet Mason is seeing brave as pretty sexy, too.” Mira put her arm around her friend. “Vochem will get the bravery part, if not the other. He’s not stupid, and he knows you did it for him. He loves you. Wynne and I used to argue all the time, but she’s my sister and in the end, we’ll stand up for each other. Vochem will stand up for you, too, once you tell him how much it means.” She shrugged and started giggling again. “If that doesn’t work, you can always scratch his eyes out.”

Their laughter disturbed the patient. Roark moaned, rolled his head from side to side, groaned, and opened his eyes. As Mira wished, the first thing he saw was her smile.

“Hello there, Viking. Welcome back.”

Ahnyis waggled goodbye with her fingers and slipped out the door.

“Mira?” Roark’s eyes travelled the room. “What happened?”

His use of her name wasn’t a good sign. He needed a better reminder than hello there. “It’s Mirasha to you, mister, and don’t you forget it.” She leaned in and kissed him.

He kissed her back and it was warm and wonderful and filled with hope and when he whispered, “Miku Mirasha,” that hope was fulfilled.

Until Roark lifted his hand to her face and saw the broad stitching that held the pseudoskin in place until twenty-four hours had passed and the process could be completed in the knitter. Horror passed through his features as memory returned. It was quickly replaced by anger.

He pushed her away. He threw back the covers and sat up to get a better look. His body was riddled with the unsightly stitching, all except the newly replaced femur. The whole mechanism was exposed.

Roark’s face became hard and cold. He covered his legs. “You were there. You saw.” It sounded like an accusation.

“I did,” she admitted, “and you were magnificent. You shattered your femur during the fight and it had to be replaced.” She channeled Wynne, keeping her voice light and calm. Reasonable.

“Vochem says it’s state of the art. Sergeant Mohawk will be green with envy,” she added in the hope that treating his injuries as she would any other man’s wounds might make him see that it was so. “Vochem fed the new schematics into the replicator and this is the result. Because it’s a new application, he wanted to observe the body’s adaptation to the new device,” she told him. “Everything will be back to normal in a few days.”

Her attempt was wasted. The covers were thrown off again and he pointed to his leg.

“Normal? You call this normal?” he shouted at her. He raised his arms to demonstrate more. He became angrier when one got tangled in the IV line and monitoring wires attached to it. He tore at them and cast them aside.

“Roark! Stop it.”

He wasn’t listening. “These? Normal?” He shook his fists in front of her face. “I’ve taken you for many things, Mira, but never a dim-witted fool.”

She didn’t know why she bothered channeling her sister. It never worked.

“No, I don’t call it normal,” she snapped. “I call it pretty damned miraculous, but then, that’s just me, the dim-witted Earthling, getting all mushy about my man being alive ‘n all.”

He ignored her sarcasm and focused on one word. Jaws tightly clamped, he spoke through his teeth. “You saw what I am. I am no man.”

She stood away from the bed and pointed her finger at him. “Ten minutes ago I would’ve disagreed with that statement. Right now? I think you’re right. I’m leaning toward jackass, myself.”

Roark ignored her again. “Where is Harm?” he demanded, and then added, “And you had better tell me he’s dead. He was under my command. He had his orders. He failed to follow them.”

“I command it, so it shall be?” she mimicked. “Were you a man or a monster when you issued those orders? Because I don’t think regulations require him to follow the orders of a monster.”

“Where is he?” he bellowed.

“Doing your job,” she bellowed back. “Someone’s got to keep this show on the road while you’re sitting here having the Godan version of a pity party. There’s a war to wage.”

His head snapped around, eyes searching the walls of the room. Not finding what he needed, he turned back to her.

“What day is it? Time?”

She told him. It was less than twenty-four hours since the rescue of the children.

There was a shift in his demeanor. The anger was still there, but it was pointed in another direction. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and closed his eyes as the sudden movement brought about a wave of dizziness. He shook it off.

“Where is my uniform?”

“In your closet where it always is when it isn’t on you or the floor. You’re going to be here for at least another two days.” She shrugged. “Maybe more.” Mira was proud of herself for not grinning as she said it. She gave him a so-there look instead.

“I need my uniform,” he snarled.

Mira stubbornly folded her arms across her chest. “Why?”

“Why?” Roark looked at her as if she were the one who’d lost her mind. “Because this battle will show the fucking Hahnshin they are no longer dealing with weaklings and traitors but with the most powerful Godan military unit in the galaxy,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Because these traitors need to know that it was the loyalty of my men who brought about their downfall and that I will preside over their hanging.” His voice became louder.

“Because my officers and warriors must hear the true voice and see the real face of the man who leads them, and trust that I will lead them to victory.” He was shouting. “Because I am Roark, First Commander of Sector Three, North American Continent, Earth; Free Son of Tadin, Master of the Honorable House of Kronak of the Godan Nation, People of Mishra and Founding Planet of the Galactic Confederation. I command it, so it shall be. Now get me my damned uniform, Mirasha!”

Instead of scurrying off to do his bidding, Mira took the two steps she needed to bring her legs to his. She poked his chest with her finger.

He glared at her. She glared back and poked him again, baiting the angry bear.

“This is the last time you will speak to me like that, First Commander,” she told him, though she knew it wouldn’t be. The grumpy bastard was as much a part of his nature as the skilled lover, and tarnished tongue. That didn’t mean she had to put up with it. “I am not one of your warriors and in this room, you are not my king. You aren’t even First Commander. You’re just Roarkiem mika to me.” She tapped the repaired thigh. “Don’t think you’re going to use this superpower to order me around, either. I’m not afraid of it or you, mister.”