When In His Eyes
WHEN IN HIS EYES
Casimir had known, had known with piercing clarity that taking Olline to Refractory was a colossal mistake. Not because she couldn’t find what Etzel used to keep track of him. No, Casimir had absolutely no illusions that his brilliant little caster would find and dismantle any device used for spying on his activities.
His?
That was where the first mistake lay.
The second mistake was opening his mouth and telling her to wear something scandalous when he knew full well he needed to be cautious with the flirting.
What had he truly thought would happen after telling Olline something like that? That she, a luminous humani, would then answer her door in something drab? Perhaps he had wanted her to surprise him in a way that made keeping his distance easier. It was wishful thinking on his part, something he hadn’t been prone to in such a long time that he thought, well, that went without saying, didn’t it? Because, of course, Olline wasn’t going to answer the door in an oversized black plastic bag. She had answered her door in that incredible tiny dress which showed off her long rosy-bronze legs, the very ones that he wanted to spend the next decade memorizing. Keeping her from noticing the effect her mere appearance had on him was such a force of will, he thought he deserved an award.
The third mistake, and far, far from his last, lay in him simply not telling Olline where they were going and what she would see there.
He knew what the Refractory was, what went on there, but he hadn’t told Olline any of that because he wanted to see . . . what exactly? What her reaction would be? What she would do around all that sex and debauchery? For that matter, what had he wanted her reaction to be?
Disgust, probably.
That would have made things easier. Would have certainly let him act the part without complication. Instead, Olline was so achingly nice . She was so clearly turned on, and so embarrassed about being turned on, and yet she went along with it all so she could unravel one more rope that kept him bound to Etzel.
Casimir knew he should be honest with her. He should honestly disclose every little thing he knew to her and bare what was left of his soul to this perky, perfect woman. But a century of torment kept him at a distance. A distance, he told himself, that was for their collective good.
Regret warred with longing until his limbs were concrete blocks, weighing him down as he sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn’t one to brood, not usually, but Olline had him thinking and feeling so many inconvenient things as of late.
Thinking of her now, hours after leaving Refractory, with the surveillance rerouted and a distant threat, brought the same heat and electricity snaking through his limbs all over again. He couldn’t forget the feel of her soft, flushed skin, or how it trembled beneath his fingertips. Casimir couldn’t ignore the yearning to taste the moisture between her legs like it was nectar from the stars. He couldn’t pretend she hadn’t shivered and arched into his touch, so pliant and trusting beneath hands that she knew had taken lives. Casimir couldn’t disregard how she had allowed him to touch her to begin with.
Even now, he could feel her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer until her musk of cucumber and mint made him drunk with need. Her little gasps made him want to drop to his knees and sink his teeth into those lush thighs of hers. He wished, like nothing he had ever wished for before, not even his own freedom, that he could have seen her divine face while he memorized the contour of her curves. That he could have seen what he was doing to her, that he could have tasted her lips after she had tasted him.
He wanted to kiss her senseless, make her cry for more, and beg for mercy, all in a single breath.
Casimir couldn’t ignore Olline and the effect she had on him—and his cock. His erection was getting painful, but he refused the release because that would mean . . . That would mean . . . No. Best not to go down that road. For Olline’s own good. Casimir had tried to have lovers and relationships after being chipped, and while Etzel hadn’t made Casimir hurt any of his partners, the threat was always there. Knowing that Etzel knew who they all were, as intimately as Casimir did, all because of that fucking biomagitech device buried in his marrow, had poisoned all those relationships before they could fully begin.
But he also knew the truth now; of why he was at sub-basement thirteen, room two-hundred and twenty-three. He had no right to know the things he did about her. The weight of his own reality dragged him down. Yet Casimir couldn’t predict what Olline would do or say if he fucking told her the truth. Better, safer maybe, for them both if he kept his mouth shut for once.
So, for Olline’s own safety, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t . . . Not until he had the leash Etzel used to tether him firmly in his grasp. Olline wouldn’t like him then, he knew, so it was best he kept to his original strategy.
Casimir merely needed time and distance so he could forget how perfectly she fit in his arms, how the curve of her back lined up so achingly right against his chest. He would distract himself with the task at hand, uphold his end of the plan to find someone they could rely on, if only so he could have a bit more time to get Olline to come around to his true plot for Etzel.
Casimir couldn’t sleep, so he got to work searching for someone they could, well, not trust exactly. But someone who wouldn’t want to benefit from Etzel’s files, at the least.
Despite the late hour, he sent Olline wrist-comm messages to make sure she was all right. He received no answers to those, which he told himself was fine. They were pretending and all that nonsense. She was probably sleeping like a baby.
Then, the next day, his search bore fruit. Casimir checked the live feed from the biomagitech conference Etzel was attending, to make sure they still had the five days to work without his attention. Muscle memory had Casimir flinching when he caught sight of the seersha. He was speaking heatedly to a lobbyist, which Casimir took to mean things weren’t going great and Etzel would not return soon. The fist around his chest unclenched and he pulled up his search results again to share with Olline.
He needed to talk to her because the sooner they got moving on this, the sooner he could get the fuck out of Antal. So, of course, he had to message her again.
Olline didn’t respond.
He tried sending her a holo-call request even though he detested calling people. Still no response. It was now creeping close to two days since he had heard a peep from that friendly earth caster. Which was what he wanted, right? Distance? But the silence left his heart sluggish in his chest, his fingertips cold and tingly, with a weight on his sternum he couldn’t banish with a hot shower or booze—and he had tried both.
Casimir tried getting her on a holo-call again. And again.
His heart started racing, a dizziness so profound he could barely stand. He paced his studio apartment with jerky movements, trying to calm himself, trying to be rational and think of the plethora of logical reasons Olline would answer none of his messages. She knew the time constraints they were under. If she wasn’t answering, it was because there was nothing to worry about, no reason to rush into something. The safest option was that she was merely ignoring him, even though that option felt like someone stepped on his chest until it splintered like thin ice.
Casimir shouldn’t care the way he did but, well, the thought that perhaps they hadn’t escaped Refractory as smoothly as they first thought . . . “This is fucking ridiculous,” he growled to himself. Olline’s technical skill was the one thing in this awful world he didn’t question. They were safe, they had gotten out clean.
He told himself that fact again and again. Yet, as the silence stretched past thirty-nine hours and forty-six minutes—Casimir hated he knew the precise minute he had last heard Olline’s throaty voice—he stormed from his home.
He wasn’t worried. He really wasn’t. Still, it would be better for everyone if he verified Olline was safe and sound. She had to be. Because if she wasn’t, Casimir was going to burn Antal to the fucking ground and bathe in its ashes.