She laughed. “Not sure I remember what that’s like.” She took a deep drink, shutting her eyes for a moment to savor it. “Much better. Now.” She put the glass aside. “Sit down, and let me clean the rest of that blood off you.”
He took another drink and then sat, while she ordered up a hand towel and a small bowl of water. Primitive but intriguing. She pulled her chair nearer to him and put the bowl on the table beside her. “I’m glad we never passed a mirror, so you saw how bad this looks. Might have been discouraging.”
“As opposed to everything else that was going on?” he asked dryly.
“Smartass.” She dipped the towel’s end in the water. “If this hurts, you tell me.”
“It already hurts.”
“If it hurts more.” She wiped the moistened cloth along his uninjured cheek, tentatively at first, then, when he didn’t flinch, more confidently. Thus were ancient warriors cleansed. The water was cool against his skin and the gentle stroking motion was soothing; after a few seconds he shut his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. Periodically she would pause, and he would hear water dripping as she squeezed out the towel. He used one of those moments to take another drink, and as the warmth of the alcohol spread through his veins, it relaxed his knotted muscles.
When she was done wiping away the grime and blood on his undamaged skin, she moved to the wound itself. Her touch was so gentle, so gentle, as she probed his injury. He could barely feel it. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she murmured, as she began to wipe that area clean. When her fingers strayed to his hairline he could feel them tracing his Variant markings, leaving behind thin trails of moisture that cooled as they evaporated. She stroked his hair back from his face, combing it with her fingertips, then continued down the back of his head, until her fingers rested on the nape of his neck. He could feel his skin flush beneath her touch, and heat was beginning to stir elsewhere.
He opened his eyes. “Here.” He took the towel from her. “Your turn.” She had a cut across one cheek, and he patted it gently, wary of it bleeding anew. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?” He chuckled softly. He squeezed the cloth clean again, sending tendrils of red curling across the surface of the water, and then began to stroke her cheek with it, wiping away dirt and sweat and blood, revealing the honey-colored skin beneath. Now it was she who closed her eyes, relaxing into his touch. He wiped a dried trickle of blood from her neck, following it to the base of her throat. Then a streak of dirt led him outward to her shoulder, his fingers slipping beneath the narrow strap of her tank top. He could hear her breath quicken as he moved back again, his fingers brushing her breast. Hunger was growing in him now, causing his heart to race and his flesh to stiffen, but it was more than just a sexual heat—it was joy and desire and pain and exhaustion and relief combined, and most of all triumph. Because he was alive—alive!—despite the best efforts of Tridac and Shenshido and Hydra to make it otherwise. And now triumph was a fire inside him, demanding outlet.
She set aside the towel and stood, drawing him to his feet as well. Now there was nothing between them but a few thin pieces of clothing. Her tank top was easily removed, but his T-shirt tangled around his arms as he tried to pull it off. She laughed as she pushed the fabric upward, until he was finally free. Then her body was pressed against his, hands teasing, exploring, parting the last garments and pushing them aside, until there was nothing left to remove. She eased up onto the table for support and then drew him to her, her long, lean legs wrapping around his hips, her hand guiding him. He thrust into her slowly at first, savoring the moist heat that enveloped him, then faster, again and again, losing himself in the rhythm of it. There was fear and pain and triumph and desire in every stroke, and he grasped her by the hips to pull her forward, so he could thrust even more deeply. Her lips met his and her arms wrapped around him, and then there was nothing but the two of them moving together, sharing pleasure as two people can only when they have looked upon the face of Death together, and lived to tell the tale.
Beware trust, for it is a double-edged sword.
NICOLE MAKI
The Pursuit of Power
HARMONY NODE
HYDRA STATION
“KIA TALEN is here to see you, sir.”
Dominic Saito put down the Hassiri charge gun he’d been inspecting, setting it alongside the other weapons his people had commandeered from a corporate armory. “Send her in.”
The woman who entered was small and wiry and dressed in her usual black: the kind of person who might flit in and out of shadows unseen. She bowed her head respectfully.
“You have news of Ivar?” Saito asked.
“As you ordered, he was accosted and badly beaten, but left alive. I arranged for him to be retrieved by a whore whose connection to Saito isn’t public knowledge. Ivar knew her from before, so when she came across his injured body and brought him to a place of safety, he would ask no questions about her motives. As he was too badly injured to recover on his own, she asked where he wanted to go for proper treatment. Only one of the great Houses would have the kind of equipment he needed, and Saito was the obvious choice. She brought him to our medical facility.”
“How long before he’s on his feet again?”
“The medics estimate a week of downtime, at least.”
“How much will he remember of the attack?”
“He wasn’t given anything to fog his memory, if that’s what you’re asking. But he didn’t see anything he needs to forget. The agents who attacked him all wore faux-skin masks, so he has no idea what they really look like. One of them wore the badge of House Cassini on her jacket, so if he remembers that much it won’t be our House that he suspects.”
Saito nodded his satisfaction. “Cassini has approached him in the past, so that will play well. He won’t take it kindly that they tried to use violence to force his hand. All good.” He leaned back in his chair. “Hydra is a dangerous place for the unaligned. Now, hopefully, he’ll understand that. He can’t go it alone anymore, and Saito is his best choice for an ally.”
“Are you sure that’ll be enough?” When he raised an eyebrow she added quickly, “I’m sorry, but you know he’s a stubborn asshole.”
Saito chuckled softly. “Paying us back for all that medical attention will take a while. After that . . . I have some new leverage to help clinch the deal. And for all his bluster, I can’t imagine he’ll want to risk another beatdown like this one. How does the saying go? The writing is on the wall.”
He smiled. “I will own that stubborn asshole.”
Control of resources = survival and reproduction = continuance of the species. That is an equation embedded in the DNA of every animal on Earth.