Chapter 39 All I Need
ALL I NEED
AMARA
“THE GATE IS there,” Vexar says, pointing at nothing but a wall of orange haze. The storm is thick and punishing, like being sandblasted in a convection oven.
I pull down the strip of gauze covering my mouth and shout, “Where?”
He shakes his head and reaches for my hand before remembering I’m still cuffed and offering me his arm instead. I grip his elbow and follow.
I’m not sure how he knows where the dockyard is—I can’t see more than a few feet right now—but he’s confident, and I’m learning to trust that. We also haven’t run into any more guards. I want to say it’s because of the storm, but the sinking feeling in my spine suggests something different.
We follow a long fence line, trudging through shin-deep sand drifts that tug at my torn feet and leave me cursing under my breath with every step. Shit burns. Bad. But I don’t complain.
After what feels like an eternity, we stop, and Vexar points to my ear. “Your translator. We need to remove it. It may have a tracking device.”
I hadn’t even considered that, but the thought is terrifying. It would also explain how I was found after my first escape attempt.
“Do it,” I say loudly so he can hear me over the wind.
His hand runs up the side of my neck, coaxing a shiver from me despite the heat. Then there’s a crunching sound and a sharp pain. I massage the sore cartilage as he launches the device into the hazy abyss.
When he looks back at me, his face pales. “I hurt you.”
My fingers come away from my ear, tacky with blood. It’s not too bad, so I wipe my hand on my thigh and nod at his shoulder. “My ear isn’t the priority right—”
“You are my priority. Always,” he interrupts before turning his attention to the fence.
Three-inch diameter metal rods reach vertically into the haze above us, separating us from the dockyard beyond.
Climbing it isn’t an option. I’m about to ask what the plan is when Vexar wraps his hands around two of the bars and bends them outwards with ease.
My jaw drops. I know he bent the bars of the cage earlier, but those bars were tiny in comparison. This … this shouldn’t even be possible.
Scratching my forehead, I ask, “Uh, is that a new skill, or …?”
“New,” he says, waving me through the gap.
Gripping his arm, I let him guide me in a zigzagging pattern that makes no sense until I look up. “Holy shit,” I whisper. Massive shapes loom like foggy shadows in the swirling sand. They’re ships. Giant ships.
We stop a moment later, and Vexar says, “In. Quickly.”
Confused, I look around. Then I notice the ramp. But the ramp doesn’t seem to go anywhere; it just goes up into … nothing. Weird.
He gives me a gentle nudge, and I start up the ramp.
Cold metal presses into my bare feet. I freeze.
That familiar metallic scent burns my nose.
Heart races. Panic takes over. No, no, no.
I start backing down the ramp. Need to get away.
Something stops me. I spin, ready to dart past the obstacle, but it’s not an obstacle; it’s Vexar.
He’s knelt at the base of the ramp, staring up at me with sad eyes.
His hands grip my waist. I try to move, but he’s too strong.
“Amara,” he says gently. “It is not safe out here. We have to get on this ship.”
My head shakes, mouth moves, but no sound comes out. I can’t do this. I can’t get on another spaceship. I should have known this would be a problem. He’s going to have to leave me here. Every cell in my body knows if I get on that ship, I’ll die. It will be the end of me.
“I am sorry,” he says, and then his hands tighten around my waist, sending a fresh surge of panic through me. I know what’s about to happen. He’s going to pick me up. He’s going to force me on that ship.
“No!” I scream. I try to push him away, but my hand hits his wounded shoulder, and he flinches.
I freeze, watching as he tries to hide the pain, but he can’t.
It’s written all over his face. As clear as anything I’ve ever seen.
His bright green eyes tense, lips press together in a tight line, and a deep furrow digs between his brows.
What the fuck am I doing?
The panic vanishes, embarrassment hits, and then purpose takes over.
I narrow my focus on his shoulder, at the blood dripping from his elbow, and I let everything else disappear.
If I don’t stop that bleeding, he might lose consciousness, and I’ll have no way of getting him out of danger. We have to move. Now.
“Up the ramp,” I order.
Vexar looks confused, but I shake my head and lead the way, ignoring the intense roar of blood in my ears.
I’m shaking and ready to vomit, but I keep moving.
Cold metal burns my skin, desperate to drag me back to that box, but I just keep focusing on Vexar.
On his injury. On the way he tried to hide his pain so I wouldn’t feel guilty.
We reach the top of the ramp, and I start pulling at the buckles on his axe-holder-thing.
“Amara,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “No. If you’re going to fly us—”
“Amara,” he interrupts.
I let out a frustrated growl. “Unless you want me to be completely fucking useless for the rest of the day, you’re going to stop looking at me like that and let me do my god damned job.”
He looks conflicted, but after a moment, he glances down and says, “Your hands are still shackled.”
Once my hands are free, I manage to convince Vexar to sit in one of the two bucket seats on the bridge. He put up quite the fight, insisting that he take care of my feet first, but I’m not the one who has to fly us out of here.
“Are you ok?” he asks, watching my shaking hands.
“I’m fine.” Or close enough. The ship is less …
ship-like … than I expected, and if it weren’t for that faint metallic scent and the cold metal deck beneath my feet, I might be able to forget it’s a ship at all.
My adrenaline’s still pumping, and every sound keeps making me jump, but I’m focused on getting Vexar stable enough to fly. That’s all I can do right now.
The ship’s med-kit is well-stocked but confusing. Most of the items are things I’ve never seen before, and everything’s labeled in Vhorathi. After some digging, I manage to find a couple of pre-loaded syringes that look a lot like morphine shots. I hold them up. “Are any of these for pain?”
He grabs one of the syringes, flicks off the cap, and jams it into his thigh. “Vok,” he groans, letting his head fall back as the automatic plunger releases the drug into his system.
I raise my brows. “I was going to ask if those might interfere with your ability to fly, but I guess we’ll just, uh … worry about that later.”
A whisper of our connection flits through the back of my mind before quickly disappearing again.
With a sigh, I stand from my crouched position and ask, “Why can’t I feel you anymore? Are you blocking me out?”
He makes a pained grunt and looks at the display that’s showing an image of what I assume is outside. It’s just a wall of orange that shifts as gusts of wind shake the ship beneath our feet.
The bridge is simple. An oval-shaped room, two bucket seats, a display that curves along the forward bulkhead, and a control panel that spans the length of the display.
The control panel looks like a long piece of glass, but when Vexar touches it, symbols appear.
And then there’s Vexar, leaned back in the port-side bucket seat, covered in the evidence of the war he just fought for us.
It’s clear his mind is no less affected than his body, and my heart breaks for him.
Today was a complete shit-show. Our plan might have gotten us out alive, but in the process, everything else seemed to fall apart.
I rub the back of my arm over my eyes, abrading my skin with the grit that covers my entire body. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say.
“Come here, please,” Vexar whispers. His hand wraps around the back of my thigh, tugging me closer as he appraises me with a distant longing, like I’m a million miles away and never coming back.
“I’m right here,” I whisper.
He nods, but it’s clear he doesn’t fully believe it.
“Don’t we need to get out of here?” I ask.
“We have time.”
With that, I place my hands on the sides of his neck and climb onto his lap, hoping the closeness will help ease some of his anguish.
It feels a bit odd at first, like I’m sitting in the lap of a stranger, but the feeling fades the moment his hands find my hips.
It’s hard to remember how new this is, especially when it feels like I’ve always known him.
“Talk to me, please,” I say, pushing the sweat-soaked hair from his face.
His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes shift uncomfortably. “I did not want to do it,” he whispers. “That manta was innocent… It did not know why it was there, or what it was meant to do. It was just an animal.” He closes his eyes. “And I butchered it.”
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”
In a voice so quiet I almost miss it, he asks, “Do you think I am a monster?”
My eyes close as I try to hold back the sadness his question brings before I shake my head and say, “No. Never.”
“You saw what I did to the Skugga.”
I blow out a breath and rest my forehead against his, right between his horns. “Do you want an honest answer, or a nice one?”
“Honest.”
“What happened with the Skugga was … bad—maybe the most savage thing I’ve ever seen.
But it wasn’t evil. And it doesn’t mean you’re a monster.
” His eyes lock on mine, green instead of black, as I stroke the sides of his face.
“I’ve seen monsters. Real monsters.” Memories from my past push forward, but I fight them back, trying to stay present.
“You are nothing like them. Nothing.” My voice cracks, but I keep going.
“What you did today was motivated by love, not hate or fear or greed. You did it because you had no other choice. Because this was the only way to help a lot of people who need your help.” People like Roveen and those women from the bath.
“Real monsters commit atrocities for personal gain, or out of fear, or because they don’t believe other people have value unless those people are useful to them.
You are the furthest thing from a monster, Vexar. ”
He’s silent for a long moment before saying, “But I wanted the violence. I craved it.”
“Why?” I ask. His brow furrows and he shifts uncomfortably, not understanding what I’m asking. “Why did you crave the violence? Was it because you hated those other gladiators, or was it because you”—I take a steadying breath—“was it because you wanted to protect me?”
His eyes say a thousand words in a single second. There’s a deep sadness there, but also a heavy truth that scares me a little. A truth that he would do more to protect me than he’s willing to admit.
I press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “If there’s one thing I know to be true, it’s that the violence we’re capable of in the name of love is so much greater than the violence born of hate.”
“So you do not fear me?” he whispers.
“No,” I answer, “the only way you could make me fear you is by denying me your honesty.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he notices my choice of words. Then I add, “So please, don’t hide from me. Don’t shut me out.”
“That is all you need? Honesty?” he asks.
“That’s all I need.”
Seeming to accept this, he nods, and a moment later our connection bursts open. His emotions flow through the back of my mind like a gentle wave, washing away the uncomfortable feeling of detachment. He’s full of shame and sorrow, but now he doesn’t have to carry it alone.
We sit in silence, just holding each other and breathing deeply, until I fear we’ve been here for too long.
I lean back. “We should probably get out of here. And I need to patch your shoulder.”
He frowns. “I have something I need to tell you first.”
I feel the distressing sadness that accompanies those words, and anxiety tightens my gut. “Ok,” I say slowly.
“My sister, Aelrith, was working with Gaius…”