Chapter 27 Cooperation, Obstacles
Cooperation, Obstacles
Black velvet unconsciousness gave way to fragmentary flashes—bodies twitching, rancid meat swarming with wax-white worms, hoarse screams scraped from broken throats.
Vivid as a scenario, yet a strange, venomous yellow haze intruded, a rotting dust-stiff curtain she couldn’t push aside.
Straining from side to side, attempting to pull the cord, she thrashed uselessly.
More horrible things writhed and leered behind, above, below that obstruction. Cass didn’t realize she was awake until the hands on her shoulders bit fractionally harder and Nigel spoke, low and certain, a firm quiet tone slicing both fear and confusion.
“Steady, I’m here.” Warm callused skin against her upper arms, because her T-shirt sleeve had ridden up. “We’re in Salt Lake City, you’re in a hotel room. You’re awake, you’re safe, I’m with you.”
It could have been Bern or Trille orienting her. There was something else to the words she couldn’t quite pin down, at least not with her heart hammering and her throat full of thick copper-tasting horror.
“Shh,” he continued, softly. “Steady, my lirai. All’s well.”
A muffled, grinding rumble splashed against the hotel’s outer wall. The drapes were pulled—it really was a nice room, better than many she’d slept in while bogey-hunting—but a white glare outlined them for a bare moment.
Lightning. The relief of finding the word to define a phenomenon swamped her, and she sagged in Nigel’s grip. “Hate storms,” she said, her tongue thick and dry. “Ugh.”
“They do provide a little more cover. Are you hungry?” His thumbs moved, a small comforting caress, probably instinctive. It was one of the oldest human urges, to help another terrified person.
Now her dark-adapted vision could make him out, a shadow with two blue gleams for eyes.
The swordhilt wasn’t riding his shoulder and his hair was mussed, the pale stripe at his temple near-glowing.
She’d disturbed him too, and God knew they both needed whatever rest they could get before setting out tomorrow.
Still… Her heart kept pounding, and she knew what she was about to do. It wasn’t fair.
None of this was. But somewhere in the terrible dream—of her friends not just dead but turned into capering scarecrow corpses—Cass had discovered she wanted to live. She wanted to hurt this Mad God, and if these Sons were really the way to do that, she’d need all the help she could get.
So she took a deep breath, wishing the nasty metallic taste of utter terror would leave her mouth, and reached to grab his wrists. Surprisingly large for such a rangy man, her fingers wouldn’t quite meet; of course, swinging that sword around probably took all sorts of arm muscle.
Nigel froze.
Go figure, he was taller and heavier than her, not to mention armed to the teeth. Yet he acted like she was the one in charge, a concept laughable and heady at once.
Anything giving her an edge was a welcome change.
“Nigel.” How did you go about something like this?
“Listen. I think… I think we ought to talk.” Oh, great.
I sound like I’m about to give a breakup speech.
Not that she had much practice in that department.
After teenage fumblings and her first year and a half out of juvie, she’d pursued a strict no-contact policy.
And once she met Bern her status as unfuckable little sister was assured.
Anything else would have just created problems, and the crew had too many of those already.
Nigel said nothing, simply remained bent at the waist, holding her shoulders, one knee braced against the side of the bed.
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” If she had to steel herself against more pain, Cass decided, now was the time to find out. “The… the sealing thing.”
That got a response, of a sort. “Um.”
Men were always grunting like neanderthals; she wished they’d just come out and say shit. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s not supposed to.” Low and husky, as if he had something stuck in his throat. “It can be very quick.”
Well, thank God for that. She could handle quick and not supposed to hurt, though Christ knew there was a huge chance she’d be the instance in which everything got fucked up—probably literally, if she understood this whole thing correctly.
“Okay. How do you want to—I mean, I suppose you should take some clothes off.”
“Cass…” Now he sounded outright strangled. Maybe she was being too forward or something, maybe he was offended.
“Unless you’d rather not.” Of all the hits to her pride involved in bogey-hunting, this had to be one of the worst. “I mean, I know I’m not the most attractive girl in the world, but we can just get it over with, right?”
A tremor went through him, or maybe the quiver was her own. Nigel shook his head, another quick catlike movement. “Who said you were unattractive?”
Bless him, he even seemed a smidge insulted on her behalf. Cass wanted to shrug, but couldn’t let go of his wrists. He ran very warm, nearly feverish, and she hoped he wasn’t coming down with something.
“Okay.” Maybe she was barking up the wrong tree. It wouldn’t be the first time, and she supposed her ego could handle one more blow. “I understand. I mean, I run around bogey-hunting all the time, so—”
That was as far as she got before Nigel moved, shaking off her grip, sinking his knee on the bed itself, his fingers tightening, and his mouth landed nearly square on hers. His aim was off by a fraction, but that didn’t matter; he was apparently determined to get down to business nonetheless.
From nightmare to an awkward, messy makeout session—it was sort of like being a teenager again, in fact, except her heart was still pounding from fear instead of excitement and she’d never had a mattress this soft.
Dealing with buckles on straps of leather meant to hold weapons was a new thing, but cooperation manages to overcome a great many obstacles in any human endeavor.
Getting him out of his jeans was the major difficulty, and Cass couldn’t hold back a disbelieving laugh. She had a moment of worrying whether he would be insulted, thinking she was giggling at him, but the sound died between them in a kiss so desperate she could barely breathe.
Good God, slow down. But she couldn’t say as much with a mouthful, and it was a relief not to think anymore. She wanted to do something good before she died, and hoped like hell this qualified.
For a few glorious minutes Cass was free of both the need to plan or be afraid; maybe she’d even subconsciously anticipated this turn of events, sleeping only in panties and her beloved Captain America T-shirt.
A hard edge of leather pressed into her shoulder and she hoped a gun wouldn’t go off, then she forgot all about it as her hands found warm skin over hard moving muscle.
Oddly gentle, he settled himself in just the right place and paused, his attention on her mouth and the kiss even more wild if that were possible, starve-feeding on her mouth.
Cass’s hips twitched, a single beckoning little move.
Some things you never forgot. She was reminded of her first serious boyfriend, a kid in juvie who spent his free time drawing pulp comics with a heavy frown of concentration she’d found awful cute, tossing aside his long dark bangs every once in a while. What was his name?
She couldn’t remember. Nigel tensed as if he was going to stop, and if this was all ‘sealing’ took she was going to have an ache low-down, familiar and always ignored. There wasn’t a lot of time for romance while hunting nightmare monsters, and intra-squad dating was a big ol’ no-no.
Or as Bern put it, don’t shit where you eat.
Cass realized she didn’t want to think about that, especially not when she wriggled again and her partner took it as an invitation.
Thankfully he seemed to be having an okay time, to judge by the size of his hard-on, and their bodies knew what to do.
A heavy, stretching invasion—Cass stiffened and he flinched, freeing his mouth.
“Sorry,” he gasped, breath hot against her cheek, and the awkwardness was strangely touching.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. I’m breaking in a virgin bogey-hunter, go me. “If you worry too much, it won’t—”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Harsh and ragged, as if pained. Maybe he wasn’t having a good time.
“Just do what you have to.” Cass braced herself.
Still, it wasn’t unpleasant at all.