Shadow Boxer: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 2) (27 page)

Inside the room, the strands attach as they collide, expanding and firing new strands in multiple directions. After a few seconds, they stabilize, and the entire room is crisscrossed by thousands of strands of red, pulsing light. I’m still taking a chance. This practically screams “something important here,” but Ilif won’t be in this room to admire my shoe collection.

I close the door until the handle
clicks
and decide I’ll figure out how to diffuse it later. For now, the papers are safe.

Like I promised.

I jog downstairs to the kitchen and dump a banana, ice, and protein powder into my new blender from Papi. While it whirs, I think about what’s next. I really need to get a copy of the booklets and Papi’s big journal for quiet moments like these. Now that things are settling down, I want to read the books from start to finish and figure out what else I can do with this power.

Nikola had the luxury of knowing his entire life who he was and who his gifts were meant for. I’ve been selfish my whole life. Even as a builder, I did it for the accolades and the money, maybe a little for the satisfaction of creating, but it was always a job, a way to finance my lifestyle.

I haven’t been riding long enough to know why I do it, but if I bothered to take a second it wouldn’t be hard to figure out that I’m still seeking recognition and reward. Nikola really could—and has—walked away from the notoriety and fame if the tradeoff was having his work used on a massively grand scale.

I don’t know how to do that.

But I need to figure it out. I need to find a place within myself where I can let go when I need to without feeling like I’m sacrificing a bit of myself. There’s a selflessness that I have to find; that same space where Nikola’s stashes his entire ego.
 

I hit the puree button on and off and pull a tall plastic cup from the cabinet. The chocolate slush flows over the rim of the container, and I smush it around with my finger.

I’ve been there for slices; when Papi asked me to quit, and when I killed Viriato, but every time Constantine asks me to stay, I waver. I want to give in and let him protect me. Because sometimes it would be nice to shuck all my responsibility and not have to stress over motives and reasoning and what I’m going to screw up because no one will tell me the truth.

I pull a neon straw from the drawer and poke it in my drink and saunter to the couch.

Maybe I can’t let go of myself completely. Nikola can do it because he has
things
to shift attention onto. I
am
the thing. There’s no riding without a rider.

Then there’s always the possibility that the solution is a wire-haired sweater that’s never going to fit right.

Either way, stalling isn’t helping. Ego or not, I have work to do. I still have to get the final paper from Tesla, and hopefully keep him alive a little longer.

Lightning crackles from both fingertips. Part of my unease is that I never blew off the steam from the altercation with J.P.

C
HAPTER
29

I
FINISH
MY
protein shake and jog upstairs, careful to avoid stepping loudly outside the spare bedroom. I race through my shower and throw on clean clothes.

In the middle of my living room, I pause and take a deep breath. He’s going to ask me to stay again. And I’m going to reject him. While I’m not looking forward to another fight, there’s nowhere else I can blow off the energy like I can there. It’s pulsing so loudly right now, I can barely concentrate. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll leave me be for a few minutes.

I spread my hands wide and drip lightning to the floor. With a huge breath, I lift my chest and drop my head back. As night consumes me, I scream into the nothingness.

My feet barely touch the grass before I spin and take out two trees in the moonless pitch of night. My bullwhips are bigger than I’ve ever seen them, stretching almost twenty feet from my hands. I spiral my arms, winding and twisting the whips until the individual strands are imperceptible. Two giant wheels of lightning rotate on either side of me. At the apex, I whip them downward, carving a trench in the ground. Clods of dirt spray me, but I don’t pause my motion, dragging the whips forward until they cross. Twisting and crackling, they obey my every command. There is no hesitation in me, and so there is none in them. I walk forward, churning up the ground as I go.

This is the one place that’s never failed me, the one place I can be me.

Here, I am perfect.

Here, I am whole.

I am the lightning, and there’s no separating us.

Not for an alteration.

Not for the future.

Not for my family.

Not for a man.

I raise my hands together over my head and combine the whips into one massive weapon. Holding on to it takes everything I have, and I swing it one full revolution over my head before releasing it. Three trees incinerate on contact, immediately dropping to the ground in smoking cinders.

I drop my head forward and take a deep breath, at peace with what I am.

No ego, and yet, all ego.

Lightning commands respect because it is all-powerful, yet it does not care if anyone applauds, notices, or cares.

It just is.

So, too, am I.

This thing I’m capable of is as natural as a lightning strike, as unavoidable as thunder.

I am not to be commanded.

I am in command.

When I lift my head, he’s standing at the far end of the field, arms crossed, legs spread. Waiting on me. Like always.

But this time, guilt doesn’t rise up in my chest. I never asked him to wait, never promised a tomorrow. We can only live in what we’re given, and as I may never know which fight will be his last, he won’t know which alteration will be mine.

Tonight it’s my turn to close the distance between us. Because I may not know where he fits, but I know who I am.

Every muscle in his arms is pumped and straining at his skin, bulging outward in tension. His chest is expanded and he’s in full warrior-mode, like they’ve just come back from battle and my display infused him with a new surge of adrenaline. Crusted blood stains his fingers, and there’s a dark gash across his right brow. His eyes are concealed, his expression unreadable.

I stop just inside his shadow. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I came to blow off steam, but I’ll go if you want me to.”

The muscle in his jaw clenches, and he juts his chin toward the field. “You never trained like that with me.”

“I’m done training.” I puff my own chest and cross my arms. “This is who I am. Who I’ve always been.”

“Is there more?”

I hear the real question he’s asking, and it’s one only he can answer. In this moment, I’m as exposed as I can be. “That’s up to you.”

He rocks back on his heels and tips his head to the side, cataloguing everything about me, from my wild hair, to my dirt-covered boots. Unlike every time he’s studied me like this before, my confidence doesn’t slip an inch. Instead, I widen my stance and straighten my back.

“Take you or leave you, is that it?”

I don’t bother responding.

“It seems you’ve found your purpose at last. I wondered how long it would take you to grab it about the throat with both hands. You’ve never seemed like a timid woman… except in this.” He leans closer until the coppery blood he’s wearing surrounds me like a morbid aftershave. I wonder whose.
 

“You’ve stopped questioning.” He circles me, stopping behind me. “In your absence, I thought about your hesitation to let me protect you.”

Yesterday enough guilt would have flooded me to make me wince. Not today.
 

“Watching you tonight… I think I understand. You cannot be tamed. I cannot confine you to Spain. Glimpses are all you can offer me. Slices of your in-between.”

The air moves behind me and a whisper caresses the air against my ear. “I’ll take you.”

Damn right you will.

I turn and smile up at him, noting the deep stress lines at his eyes, beneath the blood. He lifts a hand to my face, caressing my cheek with the backs of his fingers and trailing them down my neck and arm. He links our fingers and we hold hands as he leads me toward his house. It’s the most normal our relationship has ever been—I mean, beside the lightning and blood.

Inside, he nudges a rolled up blanket open before the fire, and pulls me down in front of him and wraps his big, bloodied arms around me and rests his chin on my head. I lean into him and enjoy the moment, even if it is completely out of character for both of us.
 

After a few minutes, I turn in his arms and examine his wounds. The one on his forehead is still seeping, but the rest look like scrapes.
 

“What happened?” I kiss the corner of his eye, just below the end of the wound and stand.
 

“We were attacked by goat herders,” he says.
 

I find a pile of clean linen strips and small jug of water and carry them back to the fire. “That guy’s going to plague you for a while.” And is one of many reasons you need to stay, so I can have that alteration with you and save the world.

“Super.” He closes his eyes and sighs.

I’ve never tended a wound before, but it can’t be much different than when I get a mean case of road rash. After wetting one of the strips, I move the jug closer to the fire and crouch between his legs.

“Will you take your tunic off?”

He draws it over his head. There are two more big gashes across his chest. I start on the easy ones, a smudge on his forearm, the nick above his left nipple.

“Lie down.”

He does, resting one hand behind his head and tossing the torn and bloody tunic into the shadows.

I kneel next to him, my thigh pressed against the uninjured side of his ribs. Softly, I dab at the crusted blood on his chest and move to his forehead. It’s still seeping, and I have no idea what I’m going to do if it needs stitches—or even a bandage for that matter. He shifts and rests his free hand on the peak of my thigh. I switch to a new cloth, soaking it with the warm water in front of the fire. I lean close and press the wet cloth to his head, hoping to pull the crusty part off. While I hold it with one hand, I brush the uninjured skin on his chest.

“Are you okay?”

He grunts.

I take that for a yes and pull the cloth away. The gash beneath is angry and red, but wider than deep. I’m sure it does need stitches, but hopefully if I can get it clean, he’ll be fine. The water is dirtier than I’d prefer; wine might be better, and disinfect him a bit. “Where’s the wine?”

He waves his hand and I search the dark, spotting another jug on the small table. I press the upper edge of his wound, making it bleed more, but scrape off the rest of the blood and dirt. His fingers dig into my thigh.

I scoot away and toss the gross fabric into the fire, making it flare bright. Next to the wine, I find a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit. I wedge the wine under my arm so I can carry it all.

He props up on an elbow and swigs the wine. I take it from him and sit cross-legged next to him, the plate cradled in my lap. There’s one last strip of linen. I grab it and lean close, pressing the fabric beneath the gouge in his forehead. Lifting the jug, I slosh high-proof wine on the linen and press it against his skin before he realizes what I’m doing.

He roars and I shrug. “Germs.”

He lifts a hand to his eyebrow. “What?”

I jam a piece of bread in my mouth and shake my head.

He winces and lifts a plum from the plate and hesitates. The last time we ate plums together, it was the night before I murdered a man. His gaze drifts to mine. One more thing he put in his sex diary? I scratch my ear and clear my throat.

We’ve shared so much… loss, pain, pleasure… But still, this feels like our first date. The atmosphere is a tender, fragile thing.

He slices the plum and lifts it to my lips. I take it, breaking eye contact as his fingers brush my lips.

“How’s Penya?”

I sigh and chew the fruit. “Okay, I guess. She doesn’t think she’s in any danger, but I still don’t like it.”

He stares at the fire. “You know, if you were good”—he smiles crookedly and I cuff him on the shoulder, scattering bread crumbs across the blanket—“you could hide just enough lightning on her to create residue to follow.”

“She’s not creating any residue, remember.“

He hooks a hand around the end of a bench and drags it over, wedging it against his map table and wadding the end of the blanket against it, creating a cushioned backrest. He leans against it and pats the blanket between his legs. I scoot over and nestle into his lap then lean over his thigh and pull the plate closer.

“I’m not talking about relying on her residue, but yours.”

I think about what he’s suggesting. I’ve been careful to keep my lightning sheathed when she’s been around because we originally thought it would end the transmission—like it messes with Ilif’s. “Do you really think that would work?”

I feel him shrug. “Worth trying.” He rubs my forearms, where they rest on his thighs. “And your scientist?”

I smile. “He’s good. Very good.”

Constantine’s chest tenses, bouncing my head forward.

“I think you’d like him. He’s very smart.”

He relaxes, and I wonder if this is half the reason he wants to travel with me, to make sure everyone knows who I belong to.

I quiet.

I’ve never had anyone want to make that public.

I rub my fingers across the hills and valleys of his muscle, intrigued once again by this warrior of mine. We stare at the fire, and after a while, the large flames settle into glowing embers. Constantine shifts from behind me, groaning at his injuries. I stand and take the dishes to the table. He slips into his room and returns with the blankets off his cot.

After he drops the blankets on our spot, he stokes the fire, adding enough logs to burn through the night. I assemble a bed and slip off my boots and socks, but hesitate with my pants. With the firelight playing across his features, he looks even more exhausted, and I can only imagine how tired he must be after fighting for who knows how long.