Chapter 23 #2
Fire blazed along Ronin’s circuits, consuming him. It invaded his operating system, spiraling through his processors, growing larger and larger like a virus spreading to every file. This was rage like he’d never felt before. Like he’d never known possible.
When Lara blinked, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“He kept me there for exactly an hour, and when he was done, he threw the chits on the ground and walked away. There was blood everywhere, and I could barely move. I lay there a long time before I dragged myself home. And, as sick as it made me, I took the credits. The night you brought me here…that was the first time I’ve been in the market since. ”
What words of comfort could he offer her after what she’d experienced? Words couldn’t even begin to set such a thing right, couldn’t take away the memories and pain haunting her.
Already, he was running simulations, calculating probabilities, of a direct attack on Warlord. But even if there were a way to eliminate Cheyenne’s tyrannical ruler before his gearheads could intervene, it would not undo what had been done.
Ronin’s anger could not help Lara.
“I failed that night.” Her words hitched on a sob. “I failed my sister.”
More tears spilled onto his arm, dripping to the bedding below. Despite having every reason to hate Ronin for what he was, she lay back down and curled against him.
“Everyone has limits,” Ronin said, combing his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck. “Everyone has lines they will not cross. You didn’t fail.”
He held her until she quieted, until her breathing slowed and evened out. Until she was asleep.
As slowly and carefully as he could, he withdrew his arm from beneath her and eased back. The temperature on the surface of his skin plummeted. Lara stirred, making a soft, indistinct sound in her throat, and nuzzled her cheek into the bedding.
She was no longer crying, but the skin around her eyes remained pink and irritated. Her lips were in a similar state thanks to the kisses they’d shared.
Even in sleep, she wasn’t still. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed fascinated him.
Her breasts were so soft, so supple, and though their purpose was to provide nourishment to human young, she’d reacted strongly when he’d touched them.
Especially her nipples. And he’d responded in turn.
Touching her and experiencing her reactions had heightened his arousal beyond anything he’d ever felt.
Nothing was as it seemed on the surface when it came to humans.
At least not with Lara Brooks.
He poured over nearly two centuries of memories, over the faces of hundreds of other females.
Ronin had encountered many attractive humans, with only one true commonality between them—all had borne some mark left by the harshness of the world.
For most, it had been in their eyes, a dullness, a distance, that suggested they were staring off at something unseen.
It was a look that hadn’t been replicated by any of the many synths he’d come across, who were embodiments of physical perfection, possessing exact symmetry in their features and idealized proportions.
He had seen hair and eyes of similar color to Lara’s, had seen skin as fair and silky.
He’d seen lithe legs and pert breasts, flared hips and delicate feet, slender necks and elegant arms. He had seen so many faces with fuller lips, more defined cheekbones, thicker lashes, had gazed upon so many people who should’ve been more appealing.
What was it about this woman that drew him so completely?
Ronin reached forward and lifted a lock of her hair, letting it run between his fingers.
Lara wasn’t defined by any single trait, just as he wasn’t defined by any single part.
He was no more his optics than she was her eyes, no more his actuators than she was her muscles.
She was both a sum of her parts and somehow independent of them.
His processors couldn’t quite explain it, couldn’t quite comprehend it, but it was the truth.
Her eyes enticed him with the spark of life they carried.
Her lips demanded his attention each time they changed with her emotions.
The movements of her limbs were a language all their own, abstract, mysterious, and infinitely compelling.
Her humor, though sometimes beyond his grasp, leant an etherealness to her presence.
And her willpower, strong as steel, was far more admirable than it was frustrating.
She existed in this world, had been beaten down by it, but she had never surrendered. Instead, she’d lifted her chin, displayed her scars, and pushed on, never allowing the flame of hope inside her to be extinguished.
Lara shone bright. It was her life force, everything that was her, a shining beacon in a sea of darkness.
And he could not resist being drawn in.
Her eyes fluttered beneath their closed lids. Dreaming, a distant memory told him.
The closest he could manage was through simulations, which rarely included visual or audio components.
At heart, it was all numbers, complex calculations based on a variety of data.
Cold, mathematical speculations of what might or might not be.
He could take images and sounds from his memory and alter them slightly, could even combine them into something different, but he could not make anything truly new.
Lara’s dances alone were proof that she could create at will.
Ronin lightly ran the tip of his finger along her arm, from shoulder to elbow. She stirred, rolling onto her back with a little smile on her lips, but didn’t wake. Was her expression in response to his touch? Did she recognize it, even in sleep?
If he woke her and initiated sex, he doubted she’d resist despite her exhaustion. His optics trailed down from her chin, along the lines of her slender neck, over her collarbones, and to the gentle slopes of her breasts.
If I take her nipple in my mouth and caress it with my tongue, how will she react?
His focus dipped to the short, red curls on her mons.
What if I part her thighs and put my mouth there?
In the years since his reactivation, Ronin had coupled only rarely.
There’d been pleasure in it, in satisfying his desires.
And he’d crossed into the White twice—the cessation of all processes, of all inputs, leaving only a brief but intense explosion of gratification.
It had never lasted for more than a second or two, but it had happened.
Lara’s body had wrapped around his, had welcomed his phallus inside hungrily, and every movement she’d made had sent waves of electricity through him.
She’d brought him to the White, tossed him across the threshold and left him to drift.
He’d been aware only of the feel of her body, of her heat, her tightness, and the overwhelming pleasure of their coupling.
There’d been no bed, no bedroom, no sounds but hers—her cries, her heartbeat, her panting breaths. No Warlord or Cheyenne, no Dust. Only that white space, that blankness, that had been filled by her.
He’d lost nearly ten seconds when his functions returned to normal.
His penis stiffened again. Why not wake her? There was time. Afterward, she could rest as long as she needed, and they would make plans. She had given herself to him, and he’d become lost in her; their coupling left him wanting more.
She just lost her sister.
Images of Tabitha rose to the forefront of his mind. Somehow, he stopped himself from superimposing Lara’s face on her sister’s body. Her life could end in an instant…
That thought halted Ronin’s other processes for an instant.
Though it was impossible, he felt like his power cell had been drained nearly to nothing, like his limbs were too heavy, like his components required more energy than he could muster to continue operation.
But nothing in his system indicated a problem. Nothing could account for that feeling.
Fortunately, it soon passed, but a hint of unease lingered with him.
Lara had given herself to him for comfort, to be distracted from her pain while their bodies were intertwined. She was exhausted and grieving. He couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Couldn’t be so selfish.
Ronin withdrew his hand and settled it atop the blanket between them.
His want for her was undiminished, but what they’d done was no sign of a deeper emotional connection.
She had been in need, and he’d provided.
There was no guarantee she’d want him again.
No guarantee she wouldn’t regret what they’d done when she woke up.
He’d been alone for so long that it shouldn’t have mattered. Ultimately, her feelings toward him were unimportant.
Weren’t they?
So why was the notion of her rejection so unsettling? Why did he crave more of her?
Ronin sat up, optics losing focus as his processors turned inward.
What if she’d been right? What if bots weren’t truly alive? Was the way he felt with her, no matter what they were doing, the way humans felt all the time? This eagerness, this want, this fulfillment, this fullness? Those feelings couldn’t be the sole criteria for life…
So why did his existence prior to Lara seem so muted in comparison?
Living is… It’s about what you experience in that time, you know? About the joy you find…
The bed creaked, and the blanket rustled. He swung his optics to Lara. She lay on her side, knees drawn up. One of her arms was extended, her fingers only a few inches from his thigh, as though she were reaching for the spot he’d occupied a moment ago.
He slid out of the bed and opened the chest just enough to pull out one of the spare blankets from inside, careful not to spill any of the tools on the floor.
After turning off the light, he lay down beside Lara, spread the blanket over them, and drew her body against his.
She took a deep breath and wrapped her arm around his torso, sliding a leg over his hip.
Her warmth permeated him, slowly building thanks to the insulation from the blanket.
For a long while, he watched her sleep. Then he, too, closed his eyes, powering off his optics.
Having her soft skin against his, feeling the gentle, steady pulse of her heartbeat, and hearing the peaceful sounds of her breathing brought him a tiny step closer to the White.
That tiny step would have to be enough.