Darr

by Theresa Beachman

  A soft grunt came from the other side of the Chittrix, unmistakably female. “Bailey?”

  “He’s dead. Give me a second.” Darr rested on the butt of his crossbow, before hauling himself up to standing. His head swam, and for a moment he thought he was going to black out. Nausea swooped through his brain in gagging waves.

  He tugged his scarf from his neck and wrapped it around his fingers before carefully picking the shattered safety glass free of the metal frame. As he cleared the glass the girl was visible, one leg half out of the windscreen, the other caught in a loop of thick seatbelt canvas. She wore an oversized men’s green army jacket with a black scarf wrapped around her neck and across her mouth. A worn navy wool hat covered her head.

  As he knelt and extended a hand toward her, she aimed her pulse rifle at him. “Stop right there.”

  Darr grinned and did his best to suppress a chuckle. Fuck. “Spunky, even while stuck in a van with a dead Chittrix. I like that. No worries, lady.” He rocked back on his heels, ready to stand up and leave the crazy kid to sort herself out.

  The rifle wavered as Darr straightened. “Wait. I’m stuck.”

  “Yup. Fuel’s leaking too.” He sniffed loudly to make his point and coughed as the fumes burned his lungs. “Shit.”

  The battle over whether to trust him flickered across vaguely familiar green eyes.

  Fuel touched the edge of his boot.

  Shit, he didn’t have time for this. Darkness was fast approaching, and he still had his stuff to collect before he headed home to safety. Throbbing in his temples hurried the decision along. “Drop the gun.”

  She kept the weapon high. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you.”

  “You want help or not?”

  The pulse rifle lowered in a wobbly arc, finally dropping into her blood-soaked lap. “I’ll still kill you.”

  “Yeah, you do that.” He blinked stinging sweat from his eyes then crawled into the cab. Brushing broken glass from her lap, he cut the seatbelt trapping her thigh. As he grabbed her forearm and pulled her free, the engine exploded, blasting them across the concrete in a tangle of limbs and scorching air.

  Darr landed heavily, his arm caught under the girl as heat roasted his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he was facing a dirty, pale face framed by thick auburn hair in a ponytail. Golden freckles were visible under the grime, kissing her nose and forehead in a pattern he knew only too well.

  Violet.

  3

  Violet coughed. Her teeth were gritty, and stones pressed against her cheek. Shit. She blinked and focused, still not quite believing what she was seeing.

  She’d not been wrong.

  Nathan Darr.

  She eyed the dirty scavenger warily. Darr had disappeared three months ago while purporting to help her group destroy a Chittrix nest beneath London. He’d been part of a small community scraping out an existence in Crossness, a Victorian pumping station in the city’s underbelly. There had been friction, lots of it, between her people and his. Between her and him. But when he’d discovered the location of the Chittrix nest under Crossness, they’d found a mutual way forward. Or so she’d thought. They’d agreed to fight, to destroy the nest together, but in the chaos of battle, Darr had up and disappeared.

  And yet here he was. Alive.

  Violet pressed her lips into a fine line as she shoved his arm from her hip and pushed herself upright, ignoring her stinging palms. White-hot heat blazed from the van on the far side of the road, consuming hard-earned supplies and tightening a band of stress across her temples. Her pulse rifle had been ripped from her in the explosion, and a quick body pat confirmed she was weaponless apart from the knife always tucked in her boot.

  “The Sweeper’s in there,” she said, cradling the hope that the acoustic weapon might have survived.

  Darr grabbed her upper arm and shook his head. “Not anymore.”

  “Damn.” There were only two prototypes so far. “Julia’s going to go ballistic,” she muttered under her breath. Four months of painstaking lab work gone in an instant. Craptastic. No weapons at all.

  At least Bailey was no longer visible. Violet squeezed her eyes shut against the flames and gave a silent moment of thanks that at least he’d died quickly. She pushed the thoughts away. There was no room for sentimentality or emotions anymore. Feelings got you killed.

  “I’m sorry about Bailey.” There was genuine sympathy in Darr’s voice, but it did nothing to lessen the unyielding hardness in her belly.

  Darr continued. “He was an idiot, but still…”

  Violet blinked, her eyes smarting from billowing smoke. Above the van, a dirty column of soot curled high in the sky, alerting anyone and anything to her location. “Shit, the radio.” She rocked onto her palms, but pain shot through her thighs. When she touched the leg of her cargos with a shaky hand, her fingers came away slick with blood.

  Darr staggered to his feet next to her, resting on the impressive metal band of an industrial-looking crossbow. His eyes narrowed, the lick of flames reflected in his dark pupils. “Others will be here soon,” he muttered. “They always come and find their dead.”

  His gaze clouded for a moment then locked on to her. His face was scruffy as if he hadn’t shaved for several days, but there was a rough beauty in his dishevelment. Dark cargo pants hugged long, defined thighs as he straightened and checked his crossbow for damage. Even with the thick hiking jacket he wore, the solidity of his broad shoulders and strong arms was evident under the thick padding. The corners of his mouth tugged up in an approximation of a smile but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes, which remained cool and assessing.

  Nothing new there. Violet remembered him as serious and intense from before.

  Satisfied his weapon was undamaged, Darr turned to leave.

  Violet struggled on to her feet. Her thigh throbbed as she stood, and blood rushed from the gash in a hot pulse as she hobbled after him. The world swam around her, and she stopped and bent over, gripping her knees as she waited for the world to right itself. “Wait.”

  Darr hesitated and dropped the nose of his crossbow to the ground. He stared at her, conflict racing across his dark eyes.

  Violet pushed loose hair from her face. She was hurt, and he was all she had. “I need your help.”

  He cocked his head to one side.

  She straightened, extended her hands. “I need your help,” she repeated. Then she took a deep breath and held it before she said anything she might regret.

  Darr gave her a curt nod, and after a less-than-cursory glance at the threatening clouds overhead, he walked back toward her. “Here, lean on me. Let’s get over to the steps where we can’t be seen from above.”

  One strong arm slipped under Violet’s armpit. Darr bore her weight effortlessly, guiding her across the pockmarked road, the tips of her boots barely connecting with the ground.

  Her face bumped against the defined planes of his chest, and his scent enveloped her, earthy and green, like a woodland. He eased her down onto the steps of a large department store and squatted to check her wound, dark brown hair falling across his eyes and concealing his expression. Confident fingers pressed at the torn fabric of her cargo pants, trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. His touch, though gentle, forced a sharp inhalation of pain from her lips.

  He unzipped a pocket on his thigh and produced a small first-aid kit. “Any particular reason you drove your van into a Chittrix?”

  Violet opened her mouth to retaliate, but a can of antiseptic spray appeared in his hand, and he unleashed it on her raw flesh, temporarily depriving her of the power of speech.

  By the time she’d gathered herself back together, he was expertly wrapping her thigh in a length of gauze bandage. He wore a watch on his wrist—analog, with a beaten leather strap. It looked elegant and refined, at odds with both the violent world in which they now lived and with him. He glanced up, sensing her scrutiny, and she flinched in embarrassment.

  He squeezed her knee. “That wi
ll hold until you get somewhere safe, but it needs taping or stitches.” He towered over her, his eyebrows raised, blue eyes revealing nothing as he extended his hand in an offer of assistance.

  She slid her hand into his, accepting his help. Thick, warm fingers closed around her wrist and pulled her to her feet. She hopped on her right leg, steadying herself with only the toe of her left boot.

  Darr swung his crossbow over his shoulder, letting it rest on his back as he studied her. “You got away lightly under the circumstances. It was a young one. And alone. An adult would have killed you both.”

  Tension radiated across her shoulders. As much as she hated it, he was right. “I need a radio. I have to let the others know what’s happened.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  “Darr, stop being an ass. I need your help.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  Violet suppressed a large swear word and spoke through clenched teeth. “Please. My radio—” She pointed at the inferno still decimating the van. How on earth had her day gone from medium-bad to epically-bad so fast?

  “I already got you out of the van.”

  “Fuck!” She threw her hands up in the air in disgust.

  “Charming as ever. Do you speak to your brother like that?” he asked.

  “How I speak to my brother is none of your damn business.” Blood pounded through her veins, heralding a fresh onslaught of pain. “I think I need to sit down again,” she mumbled, the surrounding buildings suddenly bending around her.

  Unexpectedly, his gaze softened. “Here.” He extended his arm for her to lean on, and she took it gratefully before she fell over. He eased her back down, his grip solid and reassuring.

  Violet hung her head forward, sucking in deep breaths and willing the world to stabilize. “We all thought you were dead.” She looked up at him.

  A bemused expression danced across his face, and an uneven smile graced his lips.

  She scowled. “Okay, not really. Maybe I hoped you were dead.”

  “If nothing else Violet, at least your honesty is refreshing.”

  Violet grunted, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. Tiredness was a deep ache in her bones that never eased these days. “Where have you been?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  He gave her a disparaging glance. “Around.”

  Violet took in the empty street. “On your own?”

  Darr inclined his head in agreement. “I’m doing fine.” His worn boots scraped on the road. One was held together with a loop of brown packing tape.

  Violet pointed. “I can see you are.”

  He looked down, his brows pulling together in concentration as he rubbed his forehead. “Well, it’s been great, but if you’ll excuse me.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Violet got up and instantly tripped forward, falling into his arms. She might as well have collided with a rock. He didn’t even flinch as his arms reflexively caught her in an iron grip. He steadied her back onto her feet, his fingers brushing her forehead.

  She pushed away, her palms pressing against sculpted muscle as she staggered back, avoiding eye contact.

  Her only goal now was to make it back to the Command Base, to those she considered family and for that she needed his assistance.

  She kept her tone level. “I need your help. My radio’s gone. Garrick and Foster are scouting in Bath, but they’re returning to the Command Base from there. I’m on my own to get home.”

  Darr raised his eyebrows. “That’s not my problem.”

  “You’re not going to help me?” she asked.

  His eyes darkened, and she sensed him retreating within himself. “It’s not personal. I don’t have a choice.”

  “What? What does that mean?” Violet spluttered.

  “It means you’re safer if we go our separate ways.”

  4

  Darr checked the sky. It would be dark soon, and the temperature was plunging. His scalp pricked from the cold, forcing him to yank a worn woolen hat from his pocket and cover his ears.

  “Darr?”

  Damn, she was still following him. His cold shoulder apparently wasn’t frigid enough. He braced himself. Clearly, he needed to act like an even bigger ass for her own good.

  He turned on his heel. Violet hobbled a few paces behind. Snow dusted her auburn hair, giving her an ethereal vulnerability in the fading light that ripped holes in his resolve.

  “My radio’s gone,” she repeated.

  “I know. I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

  He began walking again, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets to stop his fingers turning into popsicles and to prevent them from reaching out for young women who needed his help. Maybe if he walked away, she’d leave him alone. He’d seen Violet in action before at the Command Base—he’d even been at the receiving end of her fists. He didn’t doubt she was capable of looking after herself, even without transport and communication.

  “Darr. Are you really doing this?”

  This time when he checked over his shoulder, she stumbled, her injured leg clumsy on the frozen road. Damn. He hadn’t checked her over fully. What if she had other injuries in addition to the gash to her leg?

  But.

  But, if he stopped now, he wouldn’t be able to leave her, and she was safer without him. Conflict gnawed like acid in his stomach.

  “Darr!” Violet called, frustration tingeing her voice.

  He ground to a halt, focusing on the taped toe of his boot. His sock was wet, his numb toes rubbing against the grain of the worn leather. He wanted to get out of the night, put dry clothes on, and ignore the world.

  “I need your help.” She muttered something indistinct under her breath and then added, “Please.”

  Darr stared at the cold street ahead. He’d been alone for so long in an attempt to keep himself and others safe, but it had been a long three months. And now? Even with their brief history of rubbing each other the wrong way, his conscience bothered him. She was injured, had no transport, and no communication. The thought of abandoning her, even though he knew she was a tough soldier, didn’t sit easy with him at all.

  He risked a glance over his shoulder. Her cheeks were pinched with cold, and her freckles stood out in sharp relief against her creamy skin. His gaze slid to the base of her throat and lingered there.

  Darr shook his head. Living on his own was taking its toll. With a roll of his shoulders, he made his decision. Just this once. He’d help her out, get her back to her brother and the rest of the soldiers at the Command Base. The quicker he helped her home, the sooner he’d have only himself to worry about again.

  He gestured for her to follow, a low growl escaping from deep in his throat. “Keep up. It’ll be dark soon.” The agony in his brain had eased, leaving him with an ordinary headache he knew would last for hours—less if he knocked it out with some heavy-duty analgesics. He had none on him now but he’d been scavenging for painkillers when the van had crashed. A pharmaceutical bounty awaited him back at the store.

  He cut through several streets, his crossbow armed. Aware of Violet’s labored breathing, he slowed his pace enough for her to be able to keep up with him, but not so much that she might think he was making allowances.

  His backpack was where he’d left it, and the pharmacy still sat dark and silent on the other side of the street. He briefly considered simply heading to safety with Violet, but it wasn’t a choice he was free to make. His supplies were depleted, and he needed the medication.

  Darr turned to Violet. “You can wait inside.”

  Violet’s face was pale, her gait strained as she limped up to him. “You live there?” Her face was full of questions as she pointed at the open door of the pharmacy.

  Darr frowned and rubbed the space between his eyebrows. His thinking was so damn muddy lately. He was going to have to take her to where he lived. “No. This is a pit stop for supplies. You interrupted me with your Chittrix party.”

  Her mouth thinned, b
ut she remained silent.

  “Come in out of the cold. I won’t be long,” he said. He waited until she was safely in then pushed the door shut, engulfing them in shuttered store gloom. “Here,” he said, reaching out to guide her into the plastic seat next to the service counter.

  “I thought I’d have a few years yet before I needed one of these seats,” she joked, dropping heavily onto the plastic chair normally reserved for elderly customers.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead. She was hurting, but he could do something about that as soon as he’d restocked.

  He took his handgun from the holster at his hip and pressed it into her warm palm. “I won’t be long.”

  Violet nodded, her green gaze unfocused, her breathing ragged with pain.

  Darr turned and left her, heading toward the rear of the store where the drugs were located. Pulling his flashlight from his backpack, he clicked it on, the beam dancing across the glass counters and cabinets and illuminating posters advertising anti-depressants and hemorrhoid cream. Glass crunched underfoot, worrying him that someone had already cleared the place out. But to his relief the metal shutter was still in place.

  With a final glance over his shoulder and a sweep of the torch beam he confirmed that Violet hadn’t followed. The only things behind him were shelves of dusty talcum powder and hairspray.

  He rattled the shutter. It was locked. His pulse accelerated, and the tension in his chest eased. The drugs were likely untouched. Today could be a good haul.

  Next to the shutters was a white door marked ‘Staff Only’ in large red letters, an electronic keypad to its right. He slipped his hand over the handle and muttered a few words of persuasion. The handle turned, and the door swung open in well-oiled silence. He blinked, not quite believing his luck. It made a nice change from having to beat the shit out of the metal window lock.

  The room was dusty under the beam from his flashlight. Even now, a year after civilization had ground to a halt, a hint of antiseptic perfumed the air, and a white lab coat was still pegged on the door.