by Elsa Jade
A lungful of the crisp night air cleared her head a little. Or at least made her get moving.
The outhouse wasn’t as scary as she might’ve imagined. If anything, it looked like an olde-tyme bathroom that might end up in Evens’ shop eventually, with a delicate vanity table holding a pitcher and basin. She tipped a few splashes of water into the basin—shining her little light inside to check for any wildlife—and took care of her business. A discrete pail of sawdust was tucked next to the commode, and she sprinkled a good handful within when she was done before washing at the basin. Ah, just like her scouting days. The water was ice cold, but the small bar of soap was silky smooth—surprising for a fishing shack of security guards.
When she emerged, her little light reflected in two spots of watchful gold.
“No bigfeet,” she reported.
“Maybe next time.” Cross pushed away from where he was leaning at the corner of the shack. “I grabbed this from your place while you were changing since you didn’t have a chance to eat before we left.” He waggled something in his hand, and she realized he’d brought the bag of pastries from the Twinkle.
Along with the bottle of chocolate syrup.
A small, silly part of her—the yearning part that Brett had seen sophomore year in their computer science classes, that he’d so expertly stoked when he called her “brilliant, not beautiful” because he said he knew that was what she wanted—poked its nose out from where it had gone into hiding at this evidence that someone might care. It wasn’t a sleepy bear coming out of hibernation or a wary wolf ready to howl at the moon. It wasn’t even a bashful bigfoot, appearing only when low lighting conditions and lower resolution photography was available.
No, that little part of her was an even more endangered beast, and she couldn’t believe it was making an appearance now, when the lure was nothing more than syrup. How desperate did she want to seem?
Into the silence of her hesitation, he let the offerings sag his grip. “If you’re too tired…”
“Any chance you have a stiff drink in there?” When he shook his head no, she let out a sigh. “Probably just as well. But I’ll take my sugar any way I can get it.”
He gestured beyond her. “We could take it down to the lake, if you want. The Twinkle barista suggested the view and will likely ask for a report from you at some point.”
She chuckled. “If you’d talk to them about something, anything, they’d probably be less likely to needle you about your silence.”
He walked toward her, gesturing for her to turn around. The faint glow of the tin lantern picked out a faint pathway she hadn’t noticed before. He fell into step beside her. “Should I be forced to share more than I wish?” Deftly juggling his burdens, he draped his coat around her without asking.
Though she should probably set him straight about his man-handling…well, it was chilly, and his body heat was very nice. She fluffed her hair out from underneath the collar. “Definitely don’t share if you don’t want to. But it’s the wanting that makes the connection possible, right?” She peered up at him. “You said Evens would let you and your crew be some of the first users of this algorithm. And I can tell you, you’re going to have to tear down some of those walls to find your match.”
He paced along in silence for a few strides beside her, his gaze on the faded circle of her light, although she had the sense he wasn’t even looking. Maybe he’d just been down this path enough times before.
Finally he said, “I do not think I would be a good match with the Twinkle barista.”
Snuggling down into his coat—the fabric was surprisingly soft for what seemed like a utilitarian military surplus knockoff—she considered for a moment. “They do seem a little gregarious for your comfort level. But we’d have to process all your data to know for sure. Sometimes there’s some truth to the saying that opposites attract.”
“Because the cells of living beings contain ions that hold an electrical charge, thus creating capacitance that indicates an overall polarity that might attract or repel certain other charges?”
She blinked at him. “Um. I’m not exactly sure that’s the reason for the saying, but it sounds reasonable, I guess.”
He nodded. “When I add my input to your algorithm, I will share fully and honestly. That’s why I took this job from Evens.”
The thought of him sharing himself with her algorithm and waiting for it to spit out the match he so clearly wanted called for an alcoholic beverage or three. She scowled into the darkness ahead of them, frowning harder when their shoulders bumped as the path narrowed and he steadied her.
While she’d taken this job without knowing the exact parameters, once she’d agreed to it, this was exactly the outcome she’d be working toward: as Evens had pitched it, people finding their perfect fated soulmate.
“Turn off the light,” Cross said. “You won’t need it.”
“Of course I need a light,” she groused. “I don’t want to fall in some black hole or some Bigfoot’s mouth. Not everyone is comfortable just stumbling around in the woods.”
Because bumping into him was already giving her…feeeeelings. Ugh.
“Tyler,” he said softly. “Trust me.”
Trust him? She didn’t know him. And he’d deliberately made sure she didn’t know enough. How was she supposed trust that, especially considering everything that had come before?
With a grunt, she doused the little lantern. The blackness rushed in, absolute. “Just so you know, I’m not being a big-city girl afraid of the dark,” she said, her voice sounding very, very small in the night. “I used to go camping all the time, got all the scouting badges, but I’ve been busy.” Busy giving her life away to someone else. “Anyway, it’s been a while.”
“Then I’m glad I get this chance to remind you of something you enjoyed.” His voice wrapped around her in a way that even the absolute darkness couldn’t, as if it sank below the surface of her skin and made her nerves sparkle. It reminded her of many things she used to enjoy before… “It’s just this way.”
In another few steps they emerged from the trees and on to the lake shore.
She let out a soft gasp of pleasure. “It’s so beautiful.”
Now that her eyes were adjusted to the darkness—or more accurately, to what little light existed—the lake was a stunning, almost abstract monochrome of silver and obsidian. Even the deepest shadows were touched with an edge of glimmering light, more a memory than an illumination. Which she supposed made sense, since the only source of photons around them was the starlight between the broken clouds, and that light was so old it was almost beyond her comprehension, even with a good calculator and spreadsheets.
She inhaled and held the breath. The air was spiced with the lingering summer fragrance of pine resin and the hint of woodsmoke from campfires long extinguished. But across the serene stillness, the promise of winter whispered on a cold breeze, a reminder of the quiet and isolation to come.
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding back a not-quite shiver.
Cross angled closer to her. “You’re cold. We should go back.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not cold. Well, I’m a little cold, but it’s just cold. It’s too beautiful to leave just because of that, you know?”
“I know,” he said softly.
Though she didn’t look over at him, her focus wandering across the still lake, she was achingly aware of his matching stillness. I know with that almost invisible crack in his voice. What situation had he come from that dark and cold meant nothing to him?
Though she didn’t ask aloud, he continued, “I took this job because Evens promised something that we need but also because we have nowhere else to go.” He too kept his gaze fixed outward over the dark water. “We didn’t know what we’d find here, but it has been a sanctuary for us.” He let out a slow breath. “I’m the only one who uses the cabin. Sol can’t stand being confined and prefers to sleep outside. Zenith… I don’t know where he goes in his off hour
s, as long as he’s back for his shift. It’s the most peace I can give them.” Finally, he turned to her. “Until you launch the matchmating algorithm.”
He seemed like he wanted to share, but she didn’t want to scare him off either by asking too much. “Finding a match seems very important to you,” she said in the same tone her therapist had used to say making things add up is very important to you.
“My people have always demanded that our adult males be ceremoniously bonded before they are allowed to…” His hand flared at his side in some vague gesture. “Allowed to be fully ourselves. It’s a strict protocol for…vital reasons. I believe here you call it an arranged marriage.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, it’s not that common in my own culture, but I know what you mean, yes.” She tilted her head. “I suppose you could think of dating services and matchmaking apps as something like those arrangements.”
“My crew and I were forbidden from pursuing any such arrangement in our homeland.” He glanced away from her, and the edge to his voice wasn’t anger but shame.
She bristled on his behalf. “Why not? You seem like quite the catch: responsible, thoughtful, gainfully employed”—she almost said tall, dark, and hot cross buns, but managed to end with—”and not hard to look at.”
His narrowed his eyes. “Even in the dark?”
“Well, I do have to use my imagination.”
“I think it will take more than that,” he murmured.
She might’ve been inclined to think this was another one of his cryptic comments, but she could accept him at face value too. Not that his face was such a hardship. Somehow, in the darkness, she felt as if she could see him better. The sharp edges of his cheekbones and hard jut of his jaw seemed softened in a way that made him more approachable. Or maybe it was just that he was holding pastries and chocolate syrup.
And she didn’t want to keep hounding him about a past that was obviously painful. Even if her first instinct was to get all the data, she could just be present too.
“Is there a place down there where we can sit?” She gestured at the bag in his hand. “Serve up the chocolate syrup and all the ways that love done us wrong.”
“Follow me.”
He led her parallel to the lake shore a little way. Where he paused, the darkly mirrored surface of the lake was broken up by clusters of rocks, some rounded, some flat. She thought they were a natural extension of the shoreline, but then she realized the honeycomb of roughly inscribed circles had to be placed there by hand. Cross stepped out onto one partial arc of one circle which led him to the arc of another circle, balancing gracefully on the stones despite the darkness. He came to a halt on one particularly large, flat rock and began taking off his shoes.
She raised her eyebrows. “When I washed my hands, the water was almost frozen.”
“There are geothermal vents here, like the barista told you about,” he called. “Come join me.”
So her feet would be boiling, her butt would be freezing, and she’d be eating stale doughnuts.
With a shrug of one shoulder, she stepped out along the interlinked arcs of stone.
Chapter 8
Cross’s heart beat a little faster. He hadn’t been sure that she’d want this, not when everything had turned upside down for her.
Or maybe not a full one-eighty, but definitely listing off center. He needed her to believe in the matchmating algorithm—she had to if she was going to create it—but how much could he tell her without making things weirder?
When she reached him, he grasped her elbow to hold her steady while she slipped off her boots and the fluffy stockings underneath. When she put her bare feet down on the rock, she sucked in a breath but then let it out as quickly. “I thought it would be much colder.”
“I told you there are hot springs here. Keeps the stone from getting too cold.” He thought for a moment. “That’s kind of what I need from your matchmating algorithm: to keep me from getting too cold.”
That was a one-eighty lie. Without his mate, he would get too hot. But the premise was a sort of truth.
Fussily aligning her socks into a thin pad on the rock, she clutched the hand he held out as she settled down and slid one foot into the water. She jerked out. “Oh! It’s hot.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
Disingenuous of him when he needed so badly to avert his own immolation.
More slowly this time, she dipped her toes into the water, sliding them farther and farther. He found himself inordinately focused on every dip and curve of her skin that disappeared beneath the dark water.
Except none of her actually disappeared. The shimmer of starlight seemed to enhance his vision, and her feet and ankles and the arch of her calves gleamed as tiny bubbles collected on her skin.
She groaned with pleasure. “Do you know how much I’d pay for this in San Francisco?” She wiggled her toes, dislodging the bubbles in silvery helixes. They lingered on the dark surface of the water like cryptic symbols in some language his universal translator didn’t know.
“I was engaged to Brett when he sold the business out from under us,” she said quietly. “He couldn’t understand why I was so mad. He said it wasn’t like he was stealing from me because his money would be my money.” She shook her head. “He just couldn’t get that it wasn’t about the money; it was about him keeping secrets from me, making decisions about our life together that didn’t include me.” She scowled. “One of the changes that Evens is going to have to agree to is making this algorithm as transparent as that starlight there.” She gestured across the water. “People need to know not just who they matched, but why.”
Evens would never allow real transparency. Couldn’t, according to the closed-world protocols. But Cross appreciated her vehemence on behalf of beings she’d never know, some of whom wouldn’t even be Earthers.
He considered for a long moment. “Among my people, the mated bond is one of our most sacred vows. Not just because we pledge ourselves to another soul, but because that connection keeps us…” He struggled to find the concept that would make sense to her without sounding too alien. “Keeps us from going wild.”
She snorted out an amused breath. “My culture called it the old ball and chain. And it’s considered pretty rude. If only resentful duty to someone else keeps you from acting like an ass, maybe you need to rethink whether you even want a bond.”
“If it was only a domesticated herbivore quadruped that the bonds were holding in check…”
“Cryptic,” she chided. “And confusing. A true and loving connection to someone who loves you shouldn’t make you less of who you are and want to be. You should be able to shine in all your glory, and they should love that about you. Being together should empower the best parts of you.”
Her words were so outside the beliefs of his people. It froze him in place as even the chilly temperatures of the Montana night could not and sent a hotter rush through him than any geothermal vents.
A fire he must never let loose from his control. Because his truth was not her; the beasts of Xymir must be bound.
“I think your world and mine are very different,” he said quietly.
Even as he bit his tongue for saying world, she sighed and nodded. “I know not everyone comes from the same place as I do, and they’ll all have their own idea about what dating and mating and love should be.” She gave him a wry smile. “I guess we’ll see how good I am at my job.”
She might not know that other worlds belonged to other sentient races, but she understood well enough that some people were so far apart they could never find their way together—not even with a perfect matchmating algorithm.
And yet, impossibly, part of him yearned to agree with her, that mates should be able to see and know each other’s true hearts, even when that heart could burn.
But while her heartache had led to a loss of money and position, his would unleash a beast.
Still, somehow the tickle of bubbles around his feet seemed to loosen his
tongue, despite everything he knew, everything he’d told himself. “I’m afraid of your vision,” he admitted. “It calls to me, but… What if the one I choose makes me more of what I am and what I am is…a nightmare?”
She couldn’t know what he meant, but she didn’t scoff or dismiss his fear. She swung her legs gently through the water, swirling up more bubbles. “Are you abusive, cruel, or callous?” She fixed him with a steady look that allowed no cryptic asides. “Would you hurt someone you love, repeatedly, on purpose, outside the boundaries of whatever shared gratification you agreed to?”
“Never.” His voice caught roughly. “But what if the fire gets away from me and I can’t stop it?”
She nodded. “Then maybe you need to work on yourself and not expect someone else to do it for you.”
He redirected his gaze to the dark water. “I feel like I’ve been doing that for so long now. Alone.”
She let out a soft sigh. “I know how that feels. That’s why you have your friends, or your crew in your case, to help you work through some of it.”
“But we’re not,” he said softly.
She glanced over at him uncertainly. “Not friends?”
“Not alone.” He shifted on the stone to face her. “Not right here, not right now.”
In the shimmering night, her storm cloud gaze was the same color as the still waters capturing starlight. Her eyes widened, her pupils so black he felt he was looking into the reflection of the cosmos itself. “Are you offering me something more satisfying than day-old pastries?”
Her question was a low, husky murmur that seemed to send bubbles of heat through his blood. “Definitely,” he murmured. “Although maybe not better than chocolate syrup.”
She laughed softly. “Is this the place and time?”
Rather than answer, he returned the promised second kiss.
He needed to stop her questions. He needed to stop his own. He needed…
This.
The first kiss she’d given had been an impulse. This was a sensual foray that he’d been devising with exquisite detail ever since.
