Chapter 43
Damn Every Consequence
Trudging from the empty infirmary back to her suite was a long, thankless task, even if one of the Sons flanking her stepped in to point out the way when she nearly got lost near the big refectory.
That was another thing; the kitchens here sent up whatever a lirai ordered, but the guys ate in cafeteria settings when they ate at all.
Good food, haute cuisine, sure. But she would have traded it all for some of Grik’s potato salad—hell, even Steve’s would be welcome, raisins and all—and Bern’s famous smoky-spicy ribs after a successful bank heist.
Nobody knew where Nigel was at the moment.
Maybe he and Edward were talking things over somewhere quiet, they had to have a lot to say to each other.
Once that was done, would they both be going back out ‘on patrol’ or looking for potentials?
Would they be heading back to Boise? Mary-Alice said all the other Sons sent there to clear and prepare the city had ended up dead, and Cass’s heart hurt thinking of how neither man probably had a chance to grieve yet.
Putting off that chore wasn’t healthy, and she should know.
From Idaho to the Pacific coast was a long way, and the big kahuna had chased them there to flush Cass out. How selfish was she to be secretly grateful? Trille would call it survivor’s guilt, but the only term that truly applied was fucking unfair.
It was already dusk; she wasn’t used to the vast space of the plains, or how twilight always came rustling like chiffon, creeping into every corner.
The wind was constant, a subliminal hum no matter how calm the weather or big the building.
Maybe she’d eventually get to like all the space, but right now all she felt was exposed.
A bare nerve.
“Ma’am?” George, the Father who spoke most often, had a grey stripe at both temples instead of just one. He held the door to the liraim open, and his eyebrows were up.
She’d been standing there woolgathering—for how long? They all probably thought she was crazy, even if they were used to lirai.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You guys just do whatever, I’d like to be alone for a little while.
” Which meant, of course, they would congregate in the big sitting room with its empty couches, two loveseats, and the big recliner set near a bay window, where she might want to sit and think about things on an afternoon or two, if it didn’t mean being watched so closely.
Or the constant questions, seeking permission, asking about her preferences.
She was never going to get used to being prodded to talk all the time or needing a ‘guard’ for every single step. It was like having Trille on her back when he was worried about her blood pressure, or about the sheer amount of uppers needed to balance out the sedation.
“Yes ma’am,” George replied, crisply, and she had to navigate across the room while being examined by several sets of eyes.
Once she got the bedroom door closed and leaned against it she could sigh, rubbing at her forehead. Finally she reached for the light switch, and warm electric glow filled the space she was supposed to call her own.
The bed was sounding pretty goddamn good, and Cass took a few steps in that direction before stopping dead in the middle of the room.
A shadow at the casement had turned, slowly, a ring’s dark stone giving a single painful warning glitter.
His gaze, though weary, was just as sharp as ever, and the grey patch at his temple lit up.
* * *
Nigel was gaunt as Ed, but he’d managed a shave and some fresh clothes; the swordhilt at his shoulder peered warily at her. Cass stared back, pulse pounding thinly in her wrists, her throat, even behind her knees.
His eyes were a little darker than usual, but still bright blue.
The dark half-moon smudges underneath made the gleam even fiercer; he all but scowled as if she’d just walked in on him getting dressed.
An urge to retreat collided with relief at seeing him vertical and presumably conscious, and the crash nailed her in place.
The leather harness, the swordhilt, the guns at his hips, the knives—all familiar, and his jacket was the same as all the other Sons’.
He was probably overjoyed to be back in uniform, among his own people again, ready to move out with a new crew.
Cass scraped together all the courage she had left, and opened her mouth to say… what?
How in God’s name, after all this, did you talk to a guy you’d slept with?
Nigel saved her the trouble, stalking across the room with that easy fluid grace. Though pared down to bone and sinew he still looked dangerous; a skinny, starving mountain lion was still a goddamn apex predator, as Bern would say.
Missing her crew hurt all over again each time another reminder hit. Maybe she could focus on that, and all the other pains would get in line. They could do a conga all the way from the temple compound’s big iron gates, snaking through the halls up to her door.
“Are you well?” Nigel stopped right in front of her, glaring down from his considerably taller height. “They tell me it’s been five days and you haven’t truly been sleeping, or eating. Are you hungry?”
What the hell? “Nigel…” One breathless little word was all she could manage.
He paused, waiting for more—but not for long. “You should have run when I told you to, especially since the combat teams were incoming. You should not have risked yourself. You will never, ever risk yourself again, Cass. Do you understand me?”
He sounded a little like Bern bawling out a recruit for doing stupid hero shit, but Frank would never have loomed so close to her, bony hands clenched into fists and a muscle twitching in his gaunt cheek.
Thank God, she finally found her voice. “You were stabbed in the abdomen nearly all the way to your spine, and in the chest too. Your pericardium was scraped, and they said those spear-things are poisoned. I was afraid you were dead.”
“That doesn’t matter.” His chin jerked slightly to one side, shaking the prospect of his own death away into irrelevance. “The only thing that matters is—”
“Nigel. Stop.” She didn’t want to hope that he was maybe a little relieved to see her, but couldn’t help herself. Like bumps or nods, wishing was an addiction all its own. The detox was awful, but maybe it wouldn’t hit just yet.
Miraculously, he listened—and went silent. There was little trace of the ferociously calm, imperturbable kidnapper now; a steady tremor was visible in his shoulders, the hem of his jacket moving slightly as vibration communicated through fabric.
He looked, in fact, ready to explode.
“Thank you,” she continued. Practicing what she would say over and over in her head hadn’t helped, she was still tongue-tied as Trille attempting to talk up a cocktail waitress. “For saving my life. You almost died out there, and I… I just…”
“It’s my job, Cass.”
Great. Her chest hurt so badly, what was one more jolt? Really, that was all she’d ever be to anyone—a task, a problem, a freak. The other lirai here knew so much more than she did, and would probably always be more competent.
Well, at least she hadn’t said anything truly embarrassing yet.
She could be professional about this, even if her heart was cracking again.
Big, jagged pieces, ready to fly apart the moment she was alone—locking herself in the bathroom would do for another sobbing fit, she decided, and all she had to do was get there.
“Yeah.” She braced herself and nodded, swallowing hard. “So do you get a promotion now? Are you transferring somewhere else? I… I know there’s that sealing thing, but you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, I know I’m not exactly the kind of lirai you’re—”
Nigel pitched forward, his hands loosening. He cupped her face, palms warm against her cheeks, and his mouth descended on hers.
For someone who claimed to have very little practice at kissing or related endeavors, he wasn’t bad at all.
Cass’s fingers tangled in his hair, the rest of her turned liquid, and she barely noticed when her back touched the wall next to the bathroom door.
He’d driven her right across the room; when he broke away she gasped, and his forehead rested against hers, his eyes shut and throat working convulsively.
Holy… wow. Is… does that mean he…
“I’m too old,” he whispered, his breath touching her slack, nearly bruised lips.
“I am too selfish, I am glad I sealed you, I would do it again and damn every consequence. I do not deserve to be yours. But I am, and if you think I will let you continue to harm yourself, Cass, you are sadly mistaken.”
Oh. Maybe there was a little room for optimism after all.
Her knees were suspiciously weak, and she could be glad he was pressed against her so tightly.
There were even definite signs of interest below his belt, which was great even if he was just looking for a little soldierly R she was dazed and blinking when he took pity on her and backed off, carefully, his hands clasping her shoulders, straightening his arms as he stepped away.
Nigel regarded her levelly, blue eyes blazing, dark eyebrows drawn together, and his mouth only a little softer than usual.
“More than willing,” he repeated, and it definitely sounded as if he meant it.
“Although you no doubt need a few proper meals and some actual rest first. I’ve half a mind to tie you to the bed, in order to see you get both. ”
Kinky. Now her heart was expanding like a balloon, fragile hope and trembling this can’t be happening mixing like gas and gelatin powder to make basement napalm. It felt wrong to be actually giddy, after all the blood and death and pain, but at least she’d saved something.
Saved someone. And he hadn’t left her behind, either.
Maybe it was just a case of taking what you could get; still, he’d dragged her eastward and fought off everything the big kahuna could throw at them.
He was weird, but then again so was she.
He was polite, extremely repressed, and she really had to find out what he thought too old was, along with the answers to a thousand other questions.
All that could wait. Cass took a deep breath, watching his face. The strange, unsettling feeling flooding her was called safety, and she couldn’t tell if she was more scared of it vanishing… or staying.
Either way, she wasn’t alone anymore.
“First kiss me again.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. Still, Cass decided, totally worth it to see his eyes widen, plus the shy, half-disbelieving quirk to his mouth. “Then we’ll decide.”
finis