by Tiger Gray
Ashrinn eyed the bottle of bourbon warily as he took a seat on the couch. "What, that American corn fed swill?"
"Don't start. I'm drinking your terrible liquor."
"Fine, fine," Ashrinn said with bad grace, "Perhaps we can compromise on wine one of these days."
"I didn't know you Persians liked wine."
"Those French bastards don't have anything on Persian wine. They were still swinging from trees when we invented it."
Mal sat back down, trying not to appear as off balance as Ashrinn's close proximity made him feel. He took the bottle of whiskey to cover his nervousness, opened it, and poured. Silence descended and he reflected that it was sad how a moment of cheer could make a thing like your wife leaving you ache worse when it passed.
"I suppose you saw everything," Ashrinn finally said.
"Yeah."
"Nasty business, that." Ashrinn downed his drink in one quick swallow. "You could say she was living a double life."
"She was sleeping around on you? When you were hurt that bad? You could have died."
He'd considering abuse, yes, but cheating too? Mal killed his own drink and his vision blurred until the room was a haze of golden light. He decided not to mention the DNR order.
"I did die. Technically. My heart stopped. They told me when I woke up."
Mal's hand tightened around his glass. Instead of saying anything --- oh my god, I thought you were safe when they discharged you I can't take this --- he drank the rest of his bourbon. "No wonder you threw her out."
Ashrinn fidgeted. Mal expected him to be twitchy after everything he'd been through, but Mal got the sense he wasn't getting the whole story. Ashrinn laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I... She didn't love me. I needed her to love me. I gave her everything."
There was something strange in Ashrinn's words. Mal remembered when Ashrinn had first come home, the flame of fear in his eyes when Kir had asked him to go inside. The way Ashrinn's house had so few signs of his presence.
Ashrinn drew a shuddering breath and looked into his glass, now empty. He had a faint hurt expression, as though he were personally offended by the fact that there was no more liquor in it. Mal tipped a healthy pour of bourbon into the tumbler and Ashrinn drank it without comment.
"You hate bourbon."
"Actually, Malkai, I don't. It isn't my favorite, certainly, but really I just enjoy our friendly little arguments." He waved his hand in a sheepish gesture. "Maybe they make me feel normal."
"Ashrinn," he fumbled, touched by his friend's little confession, "is there something you aren't telling me?"
That laugh again, that one with no humor in it. So many things, it said, so many things I'm not telling you. Mal quailed.
"I don't know if I'm quite drunk enough for that, my friend."
"Certain sure I can fix that. If you're not too good for this corn-fed swill."
Ashrinn held out his glass and Mal filled it again. He waited while Ashrinn knocked it back. The man could drink a ridiculous amount. Mal wondered where the hell he put it; Ashrinn had been rangy before, but now he was downright scrawny.
"I suppose when I said a double life, I meant magically," Ashrinn said, so soft and quiet Mal almost missed it. "I couldn't see it before, I swear to you. But something about being in the coma... it changed me."
"Are you saying --- "
"Warlock magic." Ashrinn had to be three sheets to the wind to admit that.
The rest fell into place. If she were messing around with that kind of shit, god knew it wasn't good for Ashrinn or the Order. The strategist in him, the career military man, wanted to jump up immediately and get his ass to Randolph's, start assessing whatever damage she might have done. The friend in him put that aside for now.
Mal moved closer, half consciously. He had suspicions about Kiriana, but not even the darkest had included this.
"Oh, Ashrinn. It'll be all right," he said, feeling deeply inadequate.
Ashrinn's breath hitched in his throat as he forced down a sob. "I don't know. It doesn't feel that way right now."
In the end, it was a small thing that ended all of Mal's tangled inner lies, all those pathetic bargains with God. He reached over and brushed his fingertips over the line of Ashrinn's jaw. He knew it couldn't be mistaken for platonic the second he did it. Mal would have laughed like hell at Ashrinn's thunderstruck expression if all this weren't so insane.
Hell with it.
Mal stole the moment before his insecurities ruined it. He sure had enough liquid courage in his veins, so he might as well fuck everything up good and right. He pressed a kiss to Ashrinn's lips, chaste in practice but not in intent. Ashrinn froze, then pulled back.
The fear threatened to crash in on him as they looked at one another. Ashrinn muttered a stream of shocked nothings. Mal shook his head, emboldened now that he'd let himself crawl into a bottle, and pressed the point.
This time there was nothing chaste about it. Ashrinn's hands were on him, shaking, sliding under his shirt, pressing him back onto the couch. Mal grabbed fistfuls of Ashrinn's jacket as though he couldn't decide whether to shove Ashrinn off or pull him closer.
Ashrinn kissed him. Ashrinn tasted like liquor and smelled like musk, a unique skin-scent that warmed Mal from the inside out. He grew brave enough to slide an arm around Ashrinn's waist, laid his other hand tentatively on the back of Ashrinn's neck. Their bodies rubbed together in a way that made Mal hiss a half formed curse in one of the rare moments his mouth was free. Mal was hard as steel in no time, and lightheaded with lust. So this was how he should have felt with those girls in high school.
Ashrinn shifted and slipped a hand between them. Mal arched and swore as Ashrinn gripped him and stroked him through his jeans. He pushed Ashrinn into a sitting position, though, intent on returning the favor even if he had no idea what he was doing. He could feel the burn scar on Ashrinn's chest easily through the thin silk of Ashrinn's shirt and a bolt of worry shot through the lust, an electric blue thread amidst a sea of white.
"Like this," Ashrinn murmured. Ashrinn guided his hand, and after a moment Ashrinn drew a sharp breath that became a strangled, needy sound on the exhale. He felt a moment of unexpected pride. His thoughts were a hurried, bright jumble.
My god what are you doing what would Dad say you are married he is your best friend jesus he's big god oh god.
Mal thrust into Ashrinn's grip and Ashrinn tightened his hand in response. Ashrinn mouthed his neck, ran fingers through his hair, and for one goddamn glorious moment as they stroked each other towards coming, everything felt right.
Trust Rai to ruin it.
The insistent knocking at the study door might as well have been a hail of bullets, what with how fast he and Ashrinn separated. He had the sheepish, crazy thought that it hadn't done much to kill his erection even so. He wished he could remember the last time he'd gotten hard like that for Raietha, but he'd be lying if he said he did.
Fury pinched Ashrinn's features, making him look extra eagle-like. Mal knew he was angry in that way only being startled out of coming could make someone; he could sympathize. Ashrinn stood, totally unconcerned about hiding his hard on, and marched to the door. He was smart enough to angle himself around the door as he opened it, though.
"Dammit woman!" he said. "Can't you see I'm intoxicated?"
Rai drew herself up to her full height as though she were a queen, framed in the doorway in a way that brought the point home that much more. Mal prayed that the room was dim enough that the fact that he looked like he'd been making out in the back seat of some guy's car wouldn't be obvious.
"I'd say you deserve to be," she said, her tone frosty, "but I'd like it if my husband came to bed, thank you."
"I'll go," Ashrinn snarled, shoving past Raietha and disappearing down the dark hallway.
Mal hid his face in his hands and prayed with all his being that Rai would just leave, that she wouldn't ask him any questions or yell at him about anything else.
&
nbsp; Like a slap in the face, she did. Trust God to answer his small prayers and ignore the big ones.
Could have made me straight. How about that for a miracle?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The last year of Ashrinn's life reminded him of a steam-clouded mirror, showing only impressions and color rather than complete images. That sense of surreality might have afforded him some pleasant denial, but even if he hadn't been so scarred the pain would have reminded him that his stay in the hospital had been more than just a passing nightmare. That pain was constant now, more so than before, even on the astral and despite the medication he took every morning. Even Kir had afforded him a respite now and then. His own body could not now be trusted to do the same.
Anxiety added itself to the mix as he approached headquarters, shrouding himself in the stuff of the astral to obscure his path. The Order moved headquarters to a new location in the Underground every few weeks, but one could never be too cautious. His fear wasn't about being followed, however. It was that he hadn't told anyone what Kir was about, and he dreaded having to do so. Well. He'd told no one except Mal, but as far as he knew Mal hadn't revealed his secrets. Though he had to admit he likely wouldn't know if Mal had, since Mal had been avoiding him since that night in the study.
The memory suffused him with residual warmth and he felt himself flush. He thought of all the treachery Kir had been responsible for and that was enough to sober him. For the first time since the dragon, he felt freezing cold.
She might have been a traitor, but since she had gone he'd had a difficult time ordering his days, without her to tell him what to do and when to do it. He hated to admit how much in thrall he'd been, how he hadn't noticed her betraying them all from inside his own home, but the fact remained that she had anchored and managed him. He wasn't sure if he could manage himself now, not after twenty odd years where his only freedom had been on the battlefield.
He'd found himself falling back on those same military routines, waking up at five-fifteen every morning without fail. Cora had scolded him about eating enough every time he'd come in for physical therapy. He was eating light because he couldn't shake the notion that he had to avoid the sluggishness a full meal could bring, lest he be called to action. Moving forward on the Cult let him slip even further into that mindset. It comforted him, even if he was embarrassed about needing that comfort.
He had a job to do still, and he was pitifully grateful for it. He was glad things were so complex and their battle plans were taking so long, since it meant he'd gotten out of the hospital in time to participate. More than that, they needed him for what they were going to do now. He was the only one who had forged a connection with Sonth's mind that they could use for their benefit, or so the Order hoped. They'd been attacked by the enemy shadowmancer together so many months ago in the Plaza building, and there was a possibility they might be able to glean something residual that could help.
He didn't let himself worry about whether he had the mental fortitude to do this. Turning away wasn't an option, and he refused to entertain the notion of failure. If he let himself remember how hard it had been just to leave his home and its protective wards, he was sure whatever steel he had left in his soul would desert him and leave him useless.
The crowd in Randolph's office now included men and women openly wearing their fatigues, the soldiers from Fort Lewis who had decided to throw in with the Order of the White Eagle rather than the National Guard. They still had their American flag patches, but their other insignia had been replaced by the White Eagle crest.
Several of them put their hands on their side arms when he stepped in from the spirit world. It was no wonder the soldiers were jumpy. The Order had barely cleared the streets of creatures, and water and food were in shorter and shorter supply. Most of them had seen horrors they'd never even dreamt of before. He put his hands up and they calmed as quickly. He was glad for his cover persona as no one more important than the chief gardener, though with people starving every day it was a far more vital position that it had been when he'd first joined.
He tried to ignore his rising fear, but he couldn't help but spare yet another thought for his parents. He'd wished for his mother many times while he lay in his hospital bed, but he'd been told that Washington D.C. had become a pro-human zone, that magicals were being shot on sight. His mother's lessons on assimilation being necessary for survival throbbed in his head like a migraine, and he only hoped she'd taken her own advice. Conventional news channels had either been shut down or served only to inundate people with pro-human propaganda, so he had no way of discovering their fate for now. He could only wait for Natalie's messenger birds to return, if they ever did. It was another train of thought he couldn't afford at the moment.
Mal, Sonth, and Randolph walked in, startling him from his grim inner world. Randolph allowed Sonth to precede him in that fashion Randolph had never quite been able to shake, little habits that spoke to old world charm. Randolph's expression did not match the refined nature of his mannerisms this time, however. The lines in his face were so deep he looked like a wood carving. His rings cut into his gnarled fingers, and there were shadows under his eyes. At least the eyes themselves had not yet lost their customary diamond-sharp edge.
Sonth didn't salute, not with all of these people in attendance. Still, she twitched in a way that told Ashrinn she wanted to. Her black shirt, crossed with the midnight-blue leather of her tight-fitting bandolier, only accentuated her black gaze and wan complexion. Overall, she looked too much like one of the shadows she commanded. The war was taking a toll on them all.
He might not have done it before the accident, but this time he crossed the space and hugged her until she couldn't breathe. He didn't care about her being a shadowmancer anymore. That had fallen away somewhere between the battle with the dragon and his first waking memories afterward, and now he just saw his friend and fellow operator instead of someone who might exploit him. She clung to him as desperately.
He saw her sniffle, though she tried to hide it. He was glad the doctors had let Daniel out of the hospital some months before him; he hoped it had strengthened the Storm's morale some. Divine knew they all needed some help in that department.
"I'm glad you're better," she said.
"We all are." Randolph added. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this so soon after your coming home --- "
"But needs must as the devil drives," Ashrinn finished. Mal didn't say anything, just fixed him with those mournful eyes. He guessed Mal thought himself quite stoic at the moment, but he had often seen through that facade.
Trying very hard to pretend nothing happened, Ashrinn thought, a complex mess of regret and lingering eroticism coloring the thought. Good luck, Malkai.
"Ashrinn," Mal tried, shifting from foot to foot. He never did that. He was always solid, immovable as a rock, and now he was shuffling his feet like a ten-year-old. Ashrinn had to admit that he didn't feel any more mature himself.
"Malkai. Ready?" He turned his gaze on Randolph and Sonth to encompass them in the question.
"Sonth assures me that she is as recovered as she is going to be," Randolph said, motioning for them all to follow him upstairs, "and we need any information she can give us."
"Yes, sir," Ashrinn said, following into the relative calm of the second floor, "Sonth knows her limitations and strengths better than I could."
"Don't worry, Commander," she said, using his title --- such as it was --- now that they were alone, "I will be fine. If I can help, that is what is important."
Randolph lead Sonth to the chaise lounge in the corner. She took a seat on it and her face lit up with humor. Ashrinn caught her look and smiled back.
"A little Freudian, isn't it?" he asked, though underneath the amusement he wondered if he could sneak a few painkillers without any of them noticing.
"You're not going to ask me about my mother, are you?" Sonth said.
Even Mal laughed. Ashrinn watched Mal despite himself, confuse
d. He'd always thought Mal was attractive, from a distance, but the surge of emotion he'd experienced after slinking back to his own house a couple of nights ago continued to baffle him.
"Commander?" Sonth's voice drew him back to reality.
"Yes?"
"Uh," Sonth's face was pinched with embarrassment, "will you sit with me?"
Ashrinn tried not to appear as touched as he was, for the sake of her pride. "Of course," he said, moving to match his words with action. "Is this going to be difficult?"
Sonth had described the basic details of what she would do, but she had a tendency to understate. He took her hand without being asked. "It may be," she whispered, as though it were only the two of them in the room, "but if you anchor me, I will be fine."
She said the last with quiet conviction, the way she did when she'd decided on a course of action and would not be dissuaded. Reaching for her on a psychic level got easier every time, more so now because he knew that she wouldn't have the energy to probe his mind even if she had the inclination.
The preternatural stillness of the void cradled him in arms of nothingness, a mother that whispered lullabies in a voice that paralyzed. Nothing of tumult now, nothing to remind him of what he had touched when she'd lain at his feet on the ruined street corner.
Not yet.
"I will put myself in trance," Sonth said, as Mal and Randolph drew chairs and sat across from them, "and try to recall what their shadowmancer may have communicated to me while our minds were linked. Commander, there is a likelihood that there is a trap buried there, somewhere. If I find it, I will trust you to draw me out."
"No one gets left behind. You know that," Ashrinn said. He meant it, though he questioned whether he was mentally sound enough for this. He firmed his resolve an instant later. He wouldn't let his troubles keep him from protecting her.
The work before him helped him drown Malkai's presence out, a welcome relief. He delved within himself, into the strange place where mental magic waited, open to him as long as he was linked with Sonth. It wasn't quite the same as walking the astral, which by its very nature was outward turned, a projection. Instead, this power was more felt than seen, cords of psychic energy tangled up inside him, forming his core being.
