Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Killan
“My nemesis,” Lydia says, her back pressed to the rock wall and her gaze on the ladder. “We meet again.”
She has shrunk, her knees threatening to give way.
“You don’t have to come,” Harlee says, resting a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “No pressure.”
Lydia jumps at the contact, as though some part of her thinks that Harlee will push her off the balcony. Apparently, Harlee said the wrong thing, too, because Lydia glares at her.
“If you don’t want my help, just say.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Harlee snatches her hand back.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Lydia shakes her head. “I’m scared, and I’m being an ass.”
“You’re not an ass. Did you want to climb down first or not…?” Harlee trails off, leaving space for Lydia to answer.
“I will go first,” Roan says instead. “Then Harlee.”
“So you can catch me if I fall?” Harlee laughs. “Babe, I’m not going to fall.”
“No one is falling,” Lydia says and winces at the loudness of her voice. It carries across the cavern, echoing over the tree canopy. “I’ll go last. I’m going to be slow, and I don’t want to hold anyone up.”
“Sounds good.” Harlee follows Roan.
I watch, but they are confident and reach the ground easily.
Lydia gestures for me to go next.
I take a step toward her, indicating my intention to pick her up.
“Oh, fuck no.” She crouches, tucking her knees against her chest. Does she think that will stop me?
“Close your eyes,” I instruct.
“Or what? You’re not carrying me.”
“Yes, I am. We both know that I am, so let us get it done without another one of our arguments. I do not have time to waste today.”
“You couldn’t bear to touch me last night.” And her face flushes red.
“I was tired,” I growl, but how can I explain to her that it is infinitely harder ignoring the magnetic pull I feel toward her when I am exhausted? I cannot, and so I clench my jaw closed.
I watch as conflicting emotions cross her face. Fear, certainly. I am getting better at reading her signs of fear. Annoyance, too, mayhaps. Anger, always at me. And…I am not sure about the last one. Sadness? Resignation? “I’ve climbed down once before on my own.”
“I know.” When John Smith had given her no choice. When he had used the threat of not returning her home to force her to climb. And then he had left anyway, abandoning her here.
“And I could do it again,” she assures me, voice shaking.
“I know that also.”
As if satisfied, for once, with my answer, she slowly straightens. Her hands are on the wall behind her, her fingers digging into the rock, for all that it is too smooth for her to grasp properly. She gives me one last look before closing her eyes.
I wrap her arms around my neck and lift so that her legs can encircle my waist. I have a hand on her hip and still have two hands free to climb.
I think she can tell when I am about to step onto the first rung, for she presses her face into the crook of my throat and releases a shuddering breath.
I can barely feel the air against my scales, but I can feel the speed at which her heart beats.
I should say something but can think of nothing.
I am out of practice, I realize. It has been a long time since Sorin or Roan needed my comfort, and even longer since my sister needed me.
Not that Roa ever needed comforting. She was always stronger than me, smarter than me, bolder than me.
Except right at the end, when I lied to her.
You are safe, I said, even though I had not meant it.
Everything is going to be well. You are not going to die tonight.
“I’m not happy about this situation either,” Lydia snarls.
“What?” I blink, clearing my vision of my memories. She has her hands locked together behind my neck, but her arms are straight at her elbows, as if she is trying to put space between us. When she glances up at me, her eyes are narrowed in a glare.
Did I flinch when thinking about my sister?
“I did not say anything. You have misunderstood—”
“You didn’t have to. I can read your expression quite clearly.”
“Can you?” I challenge. “I cannot read yours. I think Humans and Ril’os do not share many facial expressions. Or else I would not be at such a loss to comprehend you all of the time.”
She gifts me with another glare. “I’m not a complicated woman. There’s nothing to comprehend.”
I snort.
“I’m not! I only want one thing, and I’ve been extremely honest about wanting it.”
“To leave.”
“To return home.”
“They are the same thing,” I growl, sounding more aggressive than I had meant.
I grit my teeth against a curse, even as my muscles tense and my movements become jerky.
She has wanted to leave since she first arrived.
And I cannot blame her for it. But if I try to say something to cover the snarl that was in my voice, I fear I will make the situation worse by betraying exactly how affected I am.
It is my fault she was stolen.
It is my fault she is trapped here.
But the harsh reminders do little to stop the next thought—the thought I have spent so long trying not to acknowledge.
She will fail.
Immediately, I rebel against myself.
“Stop flinching,” Lydia snaps. “You’re freaking me out.”
“Sorry…” I barely hear my voice. I hate that I have seen Lydia’s undying determination to return home yet in my deepest heart, I do not believe she will succeed. Hate that there is a part of me which has always wanted her to fail.
She gives me a studying look, her forehead creased with lines in an expression I could not emulate even if I tried because of the hard ridges across my scaly brow.
Then, she must catch sight of the cave behind me or the drop below us, because she quickly snaps her eyes closed again and presses closer, her elbows bending as she tucks the top of her head under my chin.
I steal the opportunity to examine her. This close I can see the exact point where her hairs fade from dark brown to pale pink. And I only keep from touching them, to test if they are as soft as I believe them to be, because I need my three hands to continue climbing—and to hold Lydia close.
One day she will see through the charade of my “helping” her up and down the ladder as the pathetic excuse to hold her it really is. We’re more than halfway down; I can hardly draw this climb out for much longer. Still my steps falter, and I slow even more.
For this stolen moment, I give my imagination a little free rein to pretend I mean more to Lydia than I do.
It is proof of how desperately lonely I am. Proof of how pathetically far I will go.
Such imaginings feel almost as traitorous me secretly believing that she will never locate her birth planet and that she will be trapped on Ril II for the rest of her life. If she was going to leave, surely we would have found a way by now?
I release her as soon as my feet are on the cavern floor. There is a second when she does not seem to know what is happening, and then she lets me go, too, stepping away and pushing stray hairs from her brow.
Her hairs are getting too long, I think. They are annoying her.
“Thanks,” she grumbles.
“I do not want your thanks.” Do not deserve her thanks, and I brush my hands down my chest, trying to brush away the feeling of Lydia’s body against mine.
Trying to brush bare all the places she had pressed her cold hands, removing the imprint of her from me before it is too late. Before it can never be removed.
“Of course you don’t.” Stiffly, she hurries to follow Roan and Harlee down the closest tunnel.
I open my mouth to call out after her but can think of nothing to say that would make things easier between us. So I follow slowly, giving her time to put space between us.