WastelandRogue (10 page)

He put a finger to his lip and found all the cuts completely
gone. Each had healed so soon after she bit him. Was it his blood, his saliva
or was it hers?

“I can bite you again, if you want to really know?” she
offered too willingly.

He looked up as he finished fastening his shirt. “Know
what?”

“The punctures I made in your lip. You’re wondering if it
was my saliva or yours, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but no more biting me.” He shook a finger at her to
emphasize his point. “I get into enough painful scrapes on my own. I don’t need
you tearing me up to see just how I heal.”

“Why won’t you just admit it, the sex was amazing.” She
smirked.

“I thought that without the biting and the blood.” He sat
down next to her on the bedroll she had laid out.

“I bet you’ve never felt as powerful with a human female.”
She nudged his shoulder.

“What makes you so sure I’ve been with a full-blooded human
female before?” he teased.

Her brow rose. She hesitated and then said, “Because you
have human habits. That makes me think you interact more with humans. So does a
human woman compare? Does one make you feel as if you could rule the world with
the energy generated between the two of you?”

“Honestly, I can’t recall how I felt.” He lay back, propping
his head up on the knapsack. “And even if I did, I’m not about to discuss my
past sex life. There is a limit to what a man will talk about.”

“You really take gallantry to heart, don’t you, that is,
when you’re not spanking a girl?” She pulled his arm out to the side and lay
down, snuggling against his side. “Good thing I’m not as reserved with my
manners or I’d still be waiting for you to fuck me like there’s no tomorrow.”

“Good thing,” he agreed, liking that she didn’t let a little
spanking stop her from cuddling.

Cradling her in his arms, he closed his eyes to rest.
Unfortunately, sleep didn’t come as easily as it did the night before when he
thought she wasn’t a threat. Not that he believed she’d do any harm to him in
the normal sense. It was just this attachment thing, his emotions continually
on overdrive around her. If she went off on her own again, where would that
mentally leave him?

“I’m not going to run off,” she suddenly whispered.

While he had heard rumors
lamians
could read minds,
he had always thought it was a myth. “Rye, you can’t—?” He stopped himself,
thinking how ridiculous it might sound to ask.

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing?”

“What is it?” She lifted her head.

“It’s not important.” He folded an arm behind his head.

“Then spill. What do you want to know?” She made lazy
circles on his chest with the swirl of one finger.

“For a second, I thought you had read my mind.” He let out a
short laugh. “Ludicrous idea, huh?”

She tipped her head back and looked up at him. “You think
so?”

“Can you read my mind?” He looked into her steady gaze, not
finding a hint she teased.

“No.” She laughed.

“Then how did you know I was wondering whether or not you’d
be here when I woke up?” he asked, not trusting her answer.

“By the tight hold you have on me.” Her hand moved to his
abdomen and coasted to his opposite side as she laid her head on his chest.
“We’re traveling to the same place. I’ve decided it’s best for us to work
together. Haven’t you?”

It would have been nicer to hear she stayed because she
wanted to be with him. They might have had the same destination in mind, but he
didn’t know that he’d go as far as trusting anything she told him. He’d learned
his lesson. Sex with the beautiful female wasn’t going to muddle his head
again.

Refreshed by the lazy time basking in the cool water of the
creek and each other’s company, Rye and Sevrin resumed their trek toward Old
Louis Ruins.

Rain wasn’t something they’d anticipated, yet it came.

As if the clouds held big buckets and tipped them all at
once, a torrential downpour landed on Rye’s head. For what seemed a half of a
day, she trekked behind Sevrin into the tempest. Thunder resounded so hard that
it seemed to shake the ground as lightning bolts danced between the dark
heavens and the mud-slick earth.

She had wished for rain and now that she had more of it than
she thought she could stand, she wished it were over.

“This storm is going to kill us,” she shouted, trying to
overpower the loudness of the winds.

“Only if we’re hit by lightning or swept up into a cyclone,”
Sevrin yelled back over his shoulder.

The dry cracked riverbed they were crossing, once a
tributary from a great river, had yet to gather water. Every drop of rain
bounced on the hard terrain and then ran into the fissures in the soil. When
the wind grew stronger, forcing water into Rye’s face, she took off her jacket
and used it as a shield over her head. She searched the sky for whirling clouds
that had the forceful ability of lifting her into the sky, but the heaviness of
the rain blurred her surroundings.

“How far is it across this gulch?” she asked.

“I don’t know remember. This isn’t my usual route to Old Louis
Ruins.”

“Then why the hell are we traveling it now?” she grumbled
under her breath.

“What?” he shouted over the roaring winds.

“Nothing.” She shivered at the coldness soaking through her
shoddy attire and now rolling along her arms. Some drops made their way through
the holes of her pants and trickled down the backs of her legs. The sensation
wasn’t pleasant, nor was the thought of the danger coming at them.

Suddenly, Sevrin stopped and she nearly walked into him.
“Here, this will keep the water off you.” He removed his long leather coat and
held it up for her to put her arms in the sleeves.

“I’m all right.” She shrugged off his offer.

“Then carry it for me. It’s making me too warm.”

She’d not been with very many men, but the ones she’d known
were always looking out for themselves. Did Sevrin know how sexy he was when he
was doing things for her? She let go of her jacket, leaving it draped on her
head, and accepted the coat Sevrin sat on her shoulders. Using one arm at a
time, she slid his coat on. Then she resumed holding her jacket above her head.

“I’m hungry. I need something to eat,” he announced, as if
the rain meant no more to him than a ray of sunshine did.

“Even with slow regeneration, your body shouldn’t need
food.” She looked out from under her shielding jacket.

“Tell that to my stomach. It feels sucked back to my spine.”
He placed his hands on his hips and turned slowly as if he’d find food sitting
out in the open waiting for him.

Rye frowned. “I don’t understand.”

She didn’t need to eat and neither should he. It made her
wonder if he hadn’t tricked her into believing he was part
lamian
.

“You get cravings for blood, don’t you?” He stepped closer,
making it easier to hear him over the rumbling above.

“Yes, but I don’t need it. And I certainly don’t eat things
such as lizard innards or roots and mushrooms.”

“While I do tend to let days go by without satisfying my
hunger, I was brought up eating. Maybe it’s that human side of me. Anyway,
didn’t you say you and your sister had a garden? If you don’t need food, then
what are you doing growing—”

“Flowers, Sevrin. We plant pretty flowers, not edibles. My
sister Shay loves flowers.” Thoughts of Shay brought tears to her eyes. Because
of the inclement weather, Sevrin wouldn’t know she was crying, so she let the
tears glide down her face with the raindrops.

“Let’s keep moving.” He nodded for her to go ahead of him.

Eventually, the rain slowed to a drizzle. She lowered her
jacket from above her head. Sevrin stood looking at his boots. Lifting one foot
and then the other, he examined the bottoms.

“What are you doing?” she asked, unable to figure it out.

“Remember how I said I felt warm? I think it’s the ground.”
As he said that, he turned as if to survey their surroundings.

She glanced at the ground and had to admit, she was feeling
a lot warmer. Several times she had wanted to take a drink from the flask, yet
didn’t. Without knowing how far they had to go before they reached fresh water,
she conserved what she carried and relied on wetting her mouth with the falling
rain.

Sevrin’s study of the area concerned her more than the
ground’s warmth or her constant thirst.

“Do you know where we are?” She wiped her hand over her eyes
and gazed around at the rain-blurred horizon.

“To an extent,” he answered.

“We’re lost, aren’t we? No sun. No stars. We’ve turned
around and are headed back in the same direction we came from.”

“We’re not lost. I’m good with directions, day or night, and
we’re still aimed for Old Louis Ruins.”

“Are you sure?” She stared at the hills ahead.

The horizon had an eerie familiarity about it. She found
herself looking for old landmarks of the Taum Sauk—a particular formation of
the trees, the skyline of a forest against the clouds, anything to argue
against Sevrin’s assurance. Nothing stood out along the landscape.

Then she spotted a building looking every bit similar to the
one she always passed coming down from the Taum Sauk when she went salvaging.
She quickened her pace, anxious to know if it was indeed the same rickety
hovel.

“Rye?” Sevrin called after her.

Her mind hurried to conclusions. Distrust seeped into her
thoughts. Sevrin was used to traveling the wastelands. He’d not get lost just
because there were clouds hiding the sun. He was leading her somewhere but it wasn’t
Old Louis Ruins. Why was he leading her home?

“You lied,” she yelled back, hurrying through the rain to
get a better look at what she knew she’d find.

“About what?” He gave that same performance of sincere
perplexity.

“Where were you leading me?” The swell of trepidation pushed
her into a run.

What was she missing? Why would he lead her away from Old
Louis Ruins?

Maybe he didn’t want to hand her over to the scientists. But
why? Could it be he was some kind of sentry for the Wickstrom Group? His brother
worked there as a scientist. That was it—Sevrin was protecting his brother from
her finding out that he had brought her sister there.

Only that didn’t make sense either. Sevrin was half
lamian
. Wouldn’t his brother also be half
lamian
?

Rye paused and looked back at Sevrin.

Confused by her muddled thoughts, she ran toward the site
that symbolized a safe haven—that shack sitting at the base of the Taum Sauk
Mountain.

The rain had stopped completely, yet the air remained heavy
with heat. She licked her dry lips, wishing she had a drink. While tears
blurred her vision, there was also a strange fog surrounding her. It steamed
from the ground, reminding her of how water danced on a hot skillet. Her feet
tingled from heat spouting out of the crevices in the cracked earth. The thick
air made breathing hard. She kept running, even though she wanted to stop and
take a drink from the flask. A drink seemed important.

Stripping Sevrin’s coat off to find relief from the
scorching weather, she dropped it behind her along with the knapsack.

“Rye, stop!” Sevrin yelled.

She refused to heed the alarm in his voice. The loss of an
unknowing captive naturally gave rise to his panicked tone. Why did she lean so
easily toward trusting him? He didn’t have a
lamian
’s soul. At every turn,
he had displayed a humanist way of thinking. Was her need for a companion—a
lover—a friend so overwhelming she ignored his motives? When it came down to
it, he was still a stranger.

The need for a drink brought her to a halt, yet when she
looked back, Sevrin was gaining ground.

“Rye,” Sevrin shouted again. “Don’t go any close—er!”

Then a thought hit her. The unbearable need she had for
water. Dehydration was affecting sane reasoning.

She turned to see Sevrin reaching for her in the fog.
Stretching out her arm, she reached for him.

Then as if the ground had a mouth, the soil gave way beneath
her feet and a cavernous hole in the earth swallowed her up. Her scream drowned
out Sevrin’s voice.

Rock and wet sand tumbled in, following her descent. She
clawed at the gnarled earthen walls, raking her fingers over the cutting
sharpness of jagged stone and dirt. Pockets of air thwarted her efforts to find
a secure hold. Petrified roots formed a tangled web. With one hand, she snagged
a loop in them and hung above an unbearable inferno licking up from the depths.

“Rye!” Sevrin’s voice echoed down to her.

Hot smoke scalded her throat, making it impossible for her
to shout back a reply. Her smoldering clothing had holes burned through to her
skin. The searing heat melted her flesh, cooking her as if she were a human’s
meal.

She kicked to get a foothold to climb. Escape didn’t look
good. Then she found an opening across the hole. She grabbed another root and
swung toward the niche. Big enough to crawl in, the recessed cavern would place
her out of the direct line of the blaze below. While roasting in an oven didn’t
have any better appeal, she swung back and forth on a loose vine until she felt
confident of making the jump.

One, two, three.
She threw herself into the niche. It
was deeper than she had expected and she guessed it had once housed an
underground stream. She pressed herself against the farthest wall of rooted
dirt cave. Every breath remained a chore as the heated air worked to cook her
insides.

Rye had always hoped that when she died, someone would be
there to cremate her. Never did she foresee doing it herself.

Sevrin had taken a chance crossing the dry riverbed in a
storm. He’d seen massive sinkholes appear from floods before, but only after
the rain had stopped. He thought he and Rye would be safe from them until then.

“Rye!” he yelled, crawling close to the edge of where she
slipped into the ground.

Silence greeted him from the pit. Not even the sound of his
voice echoed back. Lying flat, he leaned over the edge. A flare of heat singed
his brows. Frustration, anger and a slew of other emotions hit him hard. He
scooted back and slammed his fist on the hard-baked ground. Rye was gone.

“You ought not to get too riled with the Earth, hitting it
like that,” a woman said from ahead of him. “Or you’ll find it gives you what
you want.”

The prospect of Rye having survived pushed him up from the
ground, all ready to admonish her for not listening to him when he shouted for
her to stop. His hopes of her miraculous appearance sank back into the cold
hollow of his chest. It wasn’t Rye speaking to him.

“If I thought I’d get what I wanted I’d not stop,” he
declared.

“So then you
do
want to follow your female into the
bowels of hell.”

No, he wasn’t ready to die, even though he felt the loss of
Rye as if he’d known her forever. “Is that where this leads?” he asked.

“Can’t you feel the heat? Wouldn’t you think that’s a good
guess?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m not much into believing or
disbelieving in the hereafter myths.” He rose from his belly to his knees.

The woman let out a laugh as she emerged from the steamy fog
concealing her. “That eternal blaze has nothing to do with the hereafter,
mister. But it does have to do with something evil and they go by the name of
the Wickstrom Group.”

“Wickstrom? What have they got to do with this?” He glanced
at the ground, thinking he heard something. “Did you hear that?”

“It’s the shifting of the interior. As the fire eats through
the earth, it leaves tunnels. When they collapse, you feel the tremors much the
same as an earthquake. You know what an earthquake is, don’t you?”

He got to his feet, half listening to the woman. As the
ground rocked, he stepped back from the hole. Who didn’t know what an
earthquake was? Were there places on the planet that the ground didn’t shake?

“Like I said, tremors,” the woman repeated. “Happens more
frequently right after a rain. It’s a bad mix, the cool water with the hot
core. We better move out of the riverbed before the next volatile eruption
takes one of us into the belly of the earth.”

Sevrin scooped up his coat from the ground where Rye dropped
it. He left the knapsack and followed the woman. The rain started again. Guilt
for leaving stopped him and he glanced back.

“You’re welcome to hole up in my shack until the weather
breaks,” the woman offered.

Comfort wasn’t on his mind. Yet not knowing what else to do
other than move forward, he resumed trailing her.

“Name’s Iantha and yours is?” She opened the door of her
dwelling.

“Sevrin Renault.” He studied the lopsided porch roof propped
up on an old board. “This doesn’t look any safer than the ground it’s sitting
on.”

“This shack’s been here for decades. Neither ground heat nor
tremors have claimed it, so I’d say we’ll both be long dead before this place
goes down.” She went inside.

“Or we’ll die as it comes down,” he muttered, stepping onto
the porch and ducking beneath the low door header.

“Make yourself at home.” Iantha shed her outer garments,
leaving her in a tight top and a wispy skirt, both dingy and torn from age.

When she wiped her hands over the front of her shirt, she
smiled at him. There was no mistaking her breed with her prominent fangs. How
had he missed seeing the large pointed cuspids before?

The
lamian
female was neither young nor old in
appearance. She had short, slightly wavy brown hair. Her trim figure, more
boyish than feminine, hinted of pure
lamian
genetics. She swept her
hands over her head, pressing excess water from her dark hair.

Her movements drew his gaze back to her chest. As she wrung
the water from her shirt, he stared at the shadowed areas marking the tips of
her breasts. The pebbled bumps of her nipples beneath the cloth made a
ripple-free outline. He concluded she had no piercings—no small hoops of steel
to fondle or tug.

He looked away, ashamed of his deviant thoughts. Rye was
more than a casual sexual encounter and that his mind only wandered there
soured his stomach with a disrespectful flavor.

A crackle from the wood Iantha added to a fire diverted his
attention. She had a clay pit built with a layer of stones on one side of the
room. In the center, a steel pot sat on a grate beneath a stovepipe in the
ceiling. In the pot, something boiled. Soup? As flames tried to raise higher,
rainwater dripping from the cylinder above doused them.

Besides a bed, a couple chairs and a table, not much else
furnished the one-room hovel. Then he saw a metal government storage box in the
far corner. He suspected it contained her prized possessions.

“I haven’t anything of value,” she said, apparently noticing
where he looked.

“I wasn’t thinking you did.” He tossed his coat over the
back of a chair and pulled his shirt off to dry it by the fire.

“Of course, now that I have you here,” she hummed, “I can’t
rightly say that, can I?”

Iantha leaned, resting both hands on the table, showing more
cleavage than he wanted to see. Any other time, the tease might have encouraged
him. Now it only made him think about Rye’s creamy sweet skin, the soft lilt to
her voice and the warmth of her personality. Iantha had a somewhat colder
temperament. Nothing in her unsympathetic actions or voice offered a hint of
empathy.

She moved around the table and came toward him.

“Not human.” She rolled her finger around the lingering scar
on his abdomen. “But not actually
lamian
either.”

“That’s right,” he answered.

A half-breed, different yet similar to Rye.

He stared at Iantha. Hearing but not actually listening.

Her thin shirt clung to her damp skin, hugging her small
breasts and the plumpness of her jutting nipples. Still, she lacked the
generous peaks and valleys that attracted him. Rye had a beautiful shape.

His face muscles tense, he closed his eyes and recalled Rye
wearing his shirt. The fabric had enhanced her curves the way she tied it at
her waist, marking her very feminine and lusciously inviting.

“Hmmm, a half-breed and a fine specimen too.” Iantha purred
a seductive sound as she ran her hands over his chest.

He envisioned the light, sensual touch of Rye’s fingertips
stroking his nipples, sending a rippling wave of sensations through his body.
How easy she made it seem to stir such a reaction.

He opened his eyes and glanced down at Iantha’s fingers. Her
fondling of his nipples did nothing for him. She had a rough touch, gritty like
sand, uncomfortably unappealing.

He pushed her hand away.

“She meant something to you,” Iantha stated as if she read
his thoughts. “I can tell.”

She rubbed his abdomen and he blankly watched.

“She’d want you to move on and not dwell on her death.”
Iantha caressed the front of his pants.

Stopping his cock from responding was no more possible than
stopping rain.

“She’d want you taken care of, physically fulfilled.” The
warmth of the room swirled into the opening she made in his pants. “It’s all
right to give in and let me ease your pain.”

And his pain was excessive, as if something had punched a
hole through his chest and drained his soul. The overwhelming sadness pushed
him toward accepting Iantha’s help, losing himself in her arms to forget Rye.

Another part of him, the grieving sappy side, made
resistance easy.

Then Iantha slid her hand into his pants and her fingers
wrapped his cock. His mind rushed to the image of Rye petting his erection with
long strokes. He shut his eyes and envisioned her there, caressing his balls.

She brushed a kiss to his mouth. The delicate touch drew him
back to their time at the pond. He heard the splash of the cool water as her
arms entwined around his neck. Her eager breath dusted his face and she nuzzled
him affectionately.

“Rye,” he murmured, caught up in the image of her loving
him.

“Iantha,” the
lamian
female corrected.

He snapped open his eyes as Iantha kissed him again.

The sadness deepened inside him. It wasn’t Rye’s lips
sweeping across his. He drew back slightly.

“Relax,” Iantha cooed.

Her arms circling his head pulled him forward. Iantha’s
presence distracted him from the imagery of the pond and the female he wanted
most to be there. Yet at the same time, he wanted to be carried away from the
heartache. He stood, unable to respond.

Iantha continued kissing him. She moved in close, pressing
her small breasts against his chest as she moved her arms. One hand went to the
back of his head, the other rubbed the seat of his pants.

He thought of Rye, her aggressive manner, doing what she
wanted, when she wanted. Picturing her in his mind, he lifted his arms, one
around her back, the other in front where he grabbed her breast. He kissed her
hungrily, letting the indulgence whisk his thoughts away to a better place.
Snatching at the shirt, he heard the sound of fabric ripping apart. The soft
plump flesh of her breast filled his palm. Then thrusting his other hand up, he
took a grip on her short hair. He yanked her head to the side and sucked hard
on her neck, letting his frustration and anger take over.

His cock grew hard under the caressing hands roaming his
body. She loosened his pants and dipped her fingers lower inside. Her nails
scratched his groin. Anxious, he snatched a fistful of her skirt and shoved it
up her thighs.

“That’s it, half-breed, I like it rough.” Iantha’s harsh
laugh snapped him back to reality.

He pushed away instantly. Staring at where he had torn her
shirt from her breast, he saw her wrinkled brown nipples, undesirable in
contrast to Rye’s succulent breasts, tipped in soft pink.

“Don’t stop now,” Iantha demanded, trying to pull him to
her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s
length. “I can’t,” he said in a heavy breath. He didn’t want a distraction to
take away his vivid memories of Rye or dull the pain of his loss.

Iantha wiggled loose and wrapped her arms around him.

“The female meant something to you. I understand.” She
stroked his back. “You’re hurt, alone and afraid you’ll never find love again,
I get it. But the best thing you can do for yourself is to let me help you
forget this horrible tragedy.”

He closed his eyes and remembered how he had first found Rye
badly hurt. How he had nurtured her recovery. Then the way he believed that she
schemed to rob him and the relief he’d been wrong to think it. Had he fallen
for her because he had saved her? A few days wasn’t enough time for his
feelings to develop into anything more than infatuation. Sex was a convenience.
Iantha offered that without commitment.

When his mother died from an illness, he’d wished there was
a way to sever himself from the pain. If sentiment were bound by blood, then
he’d erase one with another.

Angry at how devastated he was by the loss of Rye, he slowly
lifted his lashes and gazed into Iantha’s golden brown eyes. “Bite me.” He held
out his hand.

She didn’t ask why.

He flinched at the sting of her teeth sinking deep into his
flesh.

“Drink it,” he demanded, hoping to experience that
connection he had felt with Rye.

Iantha’s gaze stayed on him as she sucked on the puncture.
He watched the red haze spread from the corners of her eyes. Desire to fuck her
began to flow through him. His cock grew harder, his stomach knotted and his
muscles tensed.

“Enough.” He pulled his hand from her grasp.

She sidled up to him, rubbing her breasts against his skin,
brushing her lips over his. “What do you say, half-breed, are you ready to fuck
me now?”

He grabbed her by the back of the head and crushed her lips
under his kiss. He shuddered with a blended mix of salaciousness and disgust.
The intensity of lust didn’t fill him the same way as it had with Rye.

He waited for it to happen anyway.

Iantha took over, dragging her tongue along the edge of his
upper teeth.

“No fangs,” she said, her tone repeating her
dissatisfaction.

“I don’t have much
lamian
in me,” he replied,
thinking that Rye never expressed a sliver of disappointment in him.

Sevrin grabbed Iantha’s arms and pulled her tight. He kissed
her hard, searching for something more to tip him in the direction of
forgetting everything that had happened outside Iantha’s shack. When he paused,
Iantha continued rattling on about his half-breed status.

“But the
lamian
gene is dominant,” Iantha stated,
using the same words Rye had. “And that means you’re—”

He forced her back, unable to find relief to his grief. At
the same time, the loud, almost angry slam of the shack’s door flying back
against the wall startled him. His thoughts jumped straight to someone entering
who might have had a claim on Iantha, a mate, a lover, a protective friend.

He spun around.

Rye stood in the opening, a dripping, muddy wet mess, fury
in her gaze as if hell had the nerve to spit her out of its bowels.

“Well, isn’t this fucking cozy.” Rye stepped into the room
and flung the door shut behind her.

Sevrin blinked in response to the beads of mud that sailed
from her swinging fingertips.

“I fall in a hole, almost cook to death and you go on just
as if everything is normal?” Her rage aimed at him had a staggering power to
keep him from moving. “Not giving one thought to what I was going through, you
have the nerve to stick around and…and….” A fit of coughing prevented her from
finishing her sentence.