The Breaking

by Imogen Keeper

  “Your skin is pale,” he said, voice low and husky and filled with smiles. “The sun here is bright.” He walked them back to the shade of one of the willowy trees. “I can’t let you burn.”

  “You’re as pale as me,” she groused, but it was a flagrant lie. His skin was a rich, coppery gold. He shook his head, and she stretched her arms over her head, a hum rising in her throat. Lazy and happy.

  The thought made her wary. Happy. She chewed over the feeling, humming louder. Happy had always meant laughing with Mamma in the red gardens of Triannon, dancing, singing. When had she last sung? On Triannon, surrounded by red ferns and old friends. Long ago. Before the Vestige had come and taken over their planet.

  She let the hum rise into a song. A nonsense one, a children’s song from home. She kept her eyes on the cathedral of purple in the tree that arched high above.

  Her eyes drifted shut. Ajax had gone still within the circle of her thighs, his big hands firm around her rib cage. He didn’t move a muscle. The river’s current set them gently asway. If moments could be perfect, this one came close.

  When she opened her eyes to peek, Ajax’s face was inscrutable.

  A long moment passed. “You sing,” he said, voice gruff.

  She swallowed against the emotion in his voice. “Not since I was a kid.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard a woman sing in person. Not since before my mom died.”

  She wanted to ask what kind of music his mother had sung. Lullabies, perhaps? Or happy songs? Learning songs?

  Mamma had known a song to suit each mood. She’d had a song for every type of day, each time, each purpose. She didn’t want to make him sad, though.

  “Your voice is beautiful.”

  “You’d say that even if I squeaked.”

  “I’d say that especially if you squeaked.” He bent his body over hers. “I like your squeaks. And your squeals.” Pressed a kiss against her lips. “And your moans.” Another soft kiss, as he towed her toward the sandy bank. “And your screams.”

  He kissed her until she was weak and pliant in his arms, then whispered against her lips, “Keep singing.”

  She did, because really, by this point, just to feel his hands dip lower and his mouth close around her nipple again, she’d have done almost anything he asked. Almost.

  22

  Happy?

  Ajax stared down at the woman in his arms, at an utter loss for words, or even rational thought.

  Twenty years ago, he and his brother had a sister, and their mother had been alive. They’d lived in a big stone house back on Argentus, shaded by great blue bayeran trees, with leaves twice as long as he was now. He’d run in the yard with his siblings, Clari’s curly golden hair spinning behind her, dancing in the breeze. Their garden had been filled with songs. They’d chanted as they played and danced, spinning and happy and laughing.

  Then it had all stopped. The songs had died, and he and Spiro and their father had watched as their family had been burned in the great stone bier where the dead of their family had been burned for centuries. Silence had reigned on Argentus, a planet thrashing in the dire throes of grief and terror. Only when he’d joined the Tribe to become a warrior had he found his purpose in healing.

  He’d listened obsessively to recordings and holo-performances by female singers. All the Argenti males did. They sang haunting music that gave him chills. Bittersweet echoes from the past, of voices long since dead.

  Never anything like the simple, joyous trill of Feola’s happy song. Her voice was high and pure, and it made his chest ache as he pressed her back against the muddy soil beside the river.

  Wet, her hair was darker, and her skin glowed around vibrant eyes that made his belly clutch. The B better not stand for bacteria. He couldn’t lose another person to an illness.

  “You’re happy,” he said, something tightening in his chest, condensing.

  She nodded, and her lower lip wobbled.

  He caught it in his teeth. “Me too.”

  She traced her fingers along his cheek, grazed the back of his neck, stroked her tongue against his, wrapped her legs around his waist, rocking wet hot against his cock. He tortured himself, sliding against her slick folds. It was too much. All that heat, right there, a compelling, hypnotic pull tugging at a place deep inside. His cock just took over, butting up against the entrance it craved, slid inside, just the head, and nothing had ever felt sweeter.

  Her eyes widened, and he shifted, pulling away so his cock slid free.

  As she rolled her hips so her clit pressed against him, he winced against her neck.

  Small moans that sounded like her song spilled from her lips. He clamped down on his control. Recited heinous medical procedures in his mind. Wart removal. Foot fungus. Goiters on wrinkled, old Argenti necks. They all contorted in his mind, crushed out, as always by the vibrant beauty of the reality of her. There was nothing in his mind but Feola spread out and naked.

  He grazed her nipple with his teeth, imagining taking a seat on his stool before her spread thighs, pressing a finger deep inside her pussy, her moans—Oh, Healer Willo—echoing off the walls of an exam room.

  “Someday,” he whispered, “I’m going to give you”—he swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth—“a very”—thrust his fingers deeper—”thorough medical exam.”

  She tilted her neck back, her hips rocking against him, thrusting her breast into his mouth, rubbing that sweet pussy all over him, too far gone to even ask what he meant.

  He gritted his teeth. It hurt, but he held his body still and let her take her pleasure from him. He didn’t trust himself to move. She was so close, gasping against his neck, thrusting the burning bead of her clit against his hardness.

  Her fingers dug into his back.

  She tightened her grip around his body until no part of her touched the ground; she just hung beneath him, suspended over the damp soil, sounding out her pleasure against his wildly thumping heart. The low gravity made it so easy to hold her body. She was practically weightless.

  When it was over, when she collapsed down beneath him, she reached out. He dodged her hands, fisted his cock. It only took a moment before he finished the deed himself, pumping and gasping with his head thrown back.

  Her eyes were sad. His probably were too, as he trailed a finger through the thick ropes of serum across her chest and brought it to her hungry lips.

  23

  That pesky B.

  In their shaded spot on the shore, in the dim, silvery light, it was almost cool. The river rippled to their left. There were birds on this planet, they’d discovered, to go with the fish. Big birds, white with long, blue necks that sang with voices even higher than Feola’s. And small twittering blackbirds too, that lived in the trees and set the feathered fronds stirring, releasing more of the flowery scent so similar to hers.

  “Ready?” Ajax asked a few minutes later, his hand cupping the back of her head, where she rested on top of him.

  “For what?” she asked drowsily.

  “To learn to hold a knife.”

  She peeked up at him, all blinking yellow-green and curling pinkish-orange. “Right now?”

  “It’s as good a time as any.”

  She bolted upright, small breasts bouncing, the soft hair between her thighs tickling his belly. He bit back a groan.

  She hopped to her feet, face glowing and animated.

  They retrieved their clothes. He strapped up again and pulled his pants over a newly awakened cock, but ignored the hot shirt and the miserable hat.

  She donned her sheer white dress.

  He carefully selected the smallest of his knives for her. He’d have to adjust the straps for her later. Maybe one thigh sheath? And one to wrap around her forearm, where she could access it easily? He liked the idea of her carrying some level of protection. Just in case. The gods only knew what kind of animals were on this planet.

  “Do you know why we fight with knives? The Tribe?
”

  She shook her head.

  “Rezals can damage a ship, and then everyone dies. Even the Vestige will rarely draw a rezal in space. Mostly, we use knives because it hurts. And death shouldn’t come cheaply. Knife wounds are disgusting. People bleed like animals. It’s visceral. It’s personal. It’s not like stabbing a pillow.” He took her soft hand and pressed it against his abdomen. “Feel that. There’s a layer of skin to get through. And under that, a layer of fat. That’s all easy to pierce. But beneath the fat is muscle. Thick and hard.” He tapped her hand against his skin. “You need enough power to push through the muscle. Depending on where you aim, you can hit organs and take an opponent down.” He moved her hand up to his ribs, her fingertips cool against his skin. “If your aim is off, you can hit bone, and the knife will glide away. All you’ll have done is pissed someone off and let them know where your weapon is.”

  She nodded, her face so earnest and determined he wanted to smile, but there was something dark and grim beneath it too. Memories and secrets swirled like mist behind the yellow-green of her eyes.

  He took her hand and traced her fingers along his neck. “This is a good spot. Everything in the throat is soft and vital.” He trailed her hand lower. Over his collarbone and sternum. “All of this, shoulder, to chest, to ribs. All of this is bone and muscle. You won’t achieve much of anything with a stab here.” He brought his hand lower to the base of his ribs, and then down to his groin. “From here to here is good. All soft, squishy organs. Even better if you can angle the knife upward, under the ribs. Pierce something vital.”

  He dragged his hand across the hard swell of his biceps, to the tendons and muscles on the inside of his elbows. “Strike here, sever these tendons, you can render your opponent’s arms useless.”

  She swallowed, gaze locked on his. She didn’t look afraid so much as thoughtful. As if she were internalizing and memorizing his words.

  “You hold it like this,” he said, showing her the proper hold. “With your hand, not your fingers. Use the fleshy part of your hand. Just there. Not too tight, but firm.”

  Her hand shook as he closed her dainty fingers around the blade, and more of those mysterious secrets seethed behind her eyes. Something flared there, though, hope or satisfaction, determination maybe. Like someone who’d experienced violence and wouldn’t be on its receiving end again.

  He studied her for a long minute. Her eyes widened, meeting his gaze.

  Her secrets weren’t so secretive after all.

  She shook her head at him. “Not now, Ay-shocks. I’m not ready.”

  “Soon.”

  She nodded, and he dropped his hand, leaving the blade in hers. He backed away slowly.

  “Knees bent, slightly, arm strong. Like this,” he said, showing her the proper stance.

  She mimicked his posture, and he spent a few moments correcting it. “Most important thing, always pull the knife back out. And twist it as you do. You leave your knife inside of someone, then you’ve either stopped the blood flow so they can keep fighting you, or you’ve given them a weapon and left yourself defenseless. In and out. You never lose your weapon.”

  She nodded again. He had to give her credit. Happy, singing, river-angel Feola had morphed into no-nonsense Feola. Not for the first time, he wondered what had really happened between her and Rennie.

  “Most important thing about fighting someone, Feola, anyone. Expectations. People respond to what they see.”

  Her gaze slipped away from his, scanning the distance. “They’re going to look at you and see big eyes and a sweet face. Pull a knife on them, they might laugh at you, especially if you look like you’ve got no idea what to do with it. If they don’t take you seriously, that’s an opening. The second you start attacking and they realize you mean business, you’ve played your last card, and they will incapacitate you. Anyone you come up against is probably going to be bigger, stronger, and faster than you.”

  She chewed her lip, returning her gaze to his face. “I know that.”

  “We’ll practice how to draw it later.” He stepped back and spread his arms with a grin. “But for now, come stab me.”

  Her mouth dropped. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I might,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  She scowled, and the warm amusement on her face evaporated into a cloud of determination. Glancing down at the knife in her hand, she adjusted her grip, bending her knees slightly, eyeing him with such resolve he nearly laughed.

  She studied him for a minute, chewing her lip for a bare second. And charged.

  She didn’t hurt him.

  But she kept at it for hours, until she was pink in the face and sweating herself, and he let her work out strategies for getting around his blocks. He was proud of her and more determined than ever to make sure she never needed to use that damned knife.

  He was just hoping the B stood for badger.

  24

  A flutter of wings.

  The first time Utto had hurt her, she’d sworn to herself that she’d get away from him. That she’d get away, never look back, and never, ever let anyone have the power over her life that he had. But then she’d looked around with fresh eyes and seen a base filled with men who looked like Utto. Big, handsome, powerful, and joined together like brothers. A mess of alien laws, and her own planet thousands of light-years away.

  She’d been all alone.

  And then Rennie had come, and suddenly Utto wasn’t the biggest threat in her universe. There was something even worse. It had all made sense then. The scraps of conversation, the words she hadn’t understood. Utto had taken her using the power of Argenti serum against her. He may have ruled her world, but Rennie had ruled his.

  Utto may have stolen one woman, but his cousin and he had stolen many, many more.

  They just needed proof that her suspicions about his involvement on Pilan were correct.

  Ajax stood in the water, as still as if he’d been born there and taken root. He bent at the waist and let his hands dangle. The sunlight stroked over the broad, rippling planes of his beautiful back. Along with the two knives, he’d given her a tremendous gift today by teaching her. He’d given her trust like no one ever had.

  And she just kept rejecting him.

  He’d done nothing but take care of her, protect her, support her, share with her, risk his life for her, sacrifice everything for her… and she’d offered him nothing in return.

  She rested her elbows on her knees and chewed her lips. So tempting. She could Bond with him. They had time now. They were safe on this planet. They might have months before Tam came to find them.

  He didn’t move his body, but he smiled and winked at her.

  A second later, a fat, white fish sailed through the air and landed at her feet on the bank.

  She squealed and scrambled backward up the beach.

  Ajax lunged through the water toward her. The fish flopped on the bank, desperate and awkward.

  When he picked it up in his hands and smacked it against the silver bark of the nearest tree, she hid a wince behind her hand. His muscles clenched in the easy violence. This was a new Ajax. Easy and free. Nothing like the ascetic man on the base before she’d met Utto. He was coming alive. Every second he got under her skin, pulled at her heart more. Utto’s Bond slithered darkly in her chest, a warning.

  “I haven’t fished like that since I was eight or nine,” Ajax said, grinning. “Hungry?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. She needed to know something. Had she gone to Utto of her own free will? She knew in her heart that she hadn’t, but she needed to hear it from Ajax. “Have you heard of septusine?”

  All trace of a smile vanished. He stiffened, eyes growing intent. “Not in a long time. Where did you hear that name?”

  The look in his eyes was enough. Maybe she didn’t want to know anymore. Not now. Later. They could discuss it later.

  “Let’s head back to
the ship now that the sun’s going down. We’ll build a fire.”

  He pulled on his shirt and donned his boots, moving with the caution of a man lost in his thoughts. “Feola? That’s a drug that hasn’t been in use for twenty years. Not since the last woman died from the Plague of Days. It’s dangerous. Where did you hear about it?”

  “Utto and Rennie mentioned it in passing. I think he used it on me back when… back before we Bonded.”

  Ajax’s jaw dropped.

  “What does it do?” She knew the answer. But she needed to hear it from his lips.

  “Its original purpose was to use artificial serum to heal women without needing the Bonding ritual.”

  She held still. Barely breathed. Just waited.

  “But it didn’t work. The women didn’t recover from the illness. It did, however, make them dependent on serum. It made them… malleable.”

  She nodded, and a thousand weights lifted off her chest. “Could it be simulated? Using real serum. From just one man?”

  His gaze intensified. “Is that what…”

  The rest of the sentence hung in the air between them, louder than if he’d shouted the unsaid words. Is that what Utto did to you? Is that why you Bonded with him? Is that why you didn’t wait for me?

  Emotions welled in the back of her throat. “Part of it. I think.”

  He crossed the distance between them in fast, even strides, the fish forgotten. His hand closed around her nape, fingers digging through her hair. His mouth fell on hers, open, and his kiss was almost desperate.

  “I should have killed him,” he whispered against her mouth. His lips found tears tracing down her cheeks, brushed them away. His hands were intent on her body, pulling her against him in a hug that was brutal enough to banish Utto from her mind and brand her with no thought but him. “I shouldn’t have let you leave.”

  “It wasn’t the only reason, Ajax. I was… I was angry at you, for the way you just walked away after kissing me in the hallway. I didn’t understand.”