Spartan Resistance

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  His body tightened even more.

  Mavourneen gripped his shirt, drawing him to her. She wanted more and was taking it.

  Gawaine tore her hands away from his chest and pushed them behind her. “No,” he said. “That’s not how this happens.”

  Her lips parted and air whispered from between them. “Let me go. Just one hand.”

  It wasn’t a demand. It was a request. He released one hand and she reached out to the console next to his hip and ran her fingers over it, quickly and surely. Then she held her wrist up toward him. “Kiss me again,” she said. Then she added softly, “Please.”

  He took her wrist once more. Her body was soft and pliant against him. Pressing against him. Around them, mist was forming. Thick mist that would shield them from prying eyes.

  He pulled her up hard against him and kissed her, even as her clever fingers were loosening his clothing. Removing it. With a groan, he lowered her to the grass and took her.

  * * * * *

  Afterward, Mavourneen laid across his chest, her fingers stroking his flesh, her cheek against his shoulder. Gawaine watched the mist curling and floating above them, marshalling his thoughts.

  Mavourneen sighed and lifted herself up.

  “Where are you going?” Gawain demanded, lifting his head to look at her. Her hair was tousled and her lipstick was gone.

  She looked at him, her eyes half-open. “Some of us have to work for a living. I have circuits to rebuild.” She pressed her hand on the center of his chest, propelling herself upwards.

  Gawaine knocked her arm out from beneath her and she fell back on top of him with a startled gasp. He sat up, bringing her with him. He flipped her onto her hands and knees and curled his hands over her delectable ass. “You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you.” He settled behind her and gripped her hips.

  Mavourneen looked back over her shoulder at him. “And I thought you were just a hacker.”

  He slid into her, making her moan and his own heart to thud. “Takes one to know one,” he said hoarsely.

  * * * * *

  Macapá, Brazil, 2265 A.D.

  “This isn’t where you were going to bring me last night, was it?” Mariana asked, looking around the restaurant. It narrowly avoided being classified as a dive, but only because there were napkins on the table and the silverware was clean.

  “I had something a bit more upscale in mind,” Laszlo admitted. “But neither of us is in a fit state for anything grander than here. This place, though, has some of the best eating in South America. Only the locals seem to know about it.”

  “If the locals like eating here, then it must be good,” Mariana said.

  And it was. The shrimp stew was steaming, spicy and flavorful. When they put the dish in front of Mariana, the aroma had made her mouth water crazily. The taste was subtle, but lingered. It was one of the best seafood dishes she had ever eaten.

  They both ate quickly and didn’t talk. Laszlo kept his gaze on his plate, concentrating on the food, which left Mariana to her own thoughts. Once they had finished their meal, Laszlo ordered coffee for both of them and sat back to study her in the intense manner he had.

  Mariana raised a brow. “Yes?”

  He pushed his hand through his short hair, ruffling it. “You didn’t get to find out how one of my first dates usually goes, did you?”

  She smiled. “As a first date, this one has the virtue of being completely unforgettable.”

  His smile was forced.

  “You have a lot of first dates, don’t you?”

  This time, his discomfort was clear. “I wouldn’t say that exactly….” Then he sighed. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I have a lot of first dates. Most of them are like you. Curious to know how it works.”

  “That must make you quite lonely.”

  His green eyes met hers. “It depends upon how you define loneliness, I suppose.”

  “I didn’t for a moment think you woke up alone.” She smiled. “But even sex can become a mechanical exercise if you’ve got the wrong person in bed with you.” She gave a tiny shrug. “No connection,” she added. “It leaves you alone in a crowded room.”

  “You mean intimacy?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Connection,” she repeated. “It’s deeper than intimacy, which any two people can build if they stay in each other’s company long enough. I suspect a lot of people mistake that sort of intimacy, the sort that builds simply because you’ve known them long enough…I think it gets confused for love.”

  Laszlo stared at her. Then he said, “You’ve been in love before?”

  Mariana picked up her cup. “Could I get more coffee, please?”

  “Ah.” He waved his hand to attract the attention of their waiter. “That hit close to home.” He looked up at the waiter and spoke in French, which was almost as easily understood as Portuguese here in Macapá. The waiter nodded and hurried away. “So there is someone else,” he finished. “Do they know how you feel about them?”

  “It was a long time ago,” Mariana told him and kept her gaze steady.

  “Good,” Laszlo said flatly. “I don’t want to have to compete for your attention.”

  “There you go again. Making assumptions.”

  “There I go again,” he agreed easily. “I’m a stubborn man, especially when it comes to you.”

  “Me?” She put her cup down slowly. “I don’t understand. You keep implying that I’m…some sort of….” She bit her lip.

  “That you’re a desirable woman,” Laszlo said. “Which you are. Very much so.” There was warmth in his gaze that added emphasis to his words.

  She spread her hands on the tablecloth. “I’m not like any of the women you’ve taken out in the past. Why me?”

  “Why not you?”

  “You’re ducking the question.”

  “You’re avoiding the interpretation. You insist on thinking of yourself as fat, stupid and unworthy of anything that looks like happiness. You don’t see yourself the way I do. I want to change that.”

  She could feel her cheeks heating, though. This time, he had struck home. Deeply. “Why?” she said bluntly. If he felt like using frank, ugly words, so could she.

  He hesitated.

  Got you, Mariana thought almost gleefully.

  Laszlo let out a slow, heavy breath. “You’re right. The type of woman I’ve spent the last twenty years trying to woo…they’re not like you. They don’t look like you and that’s the reason I crossed the room and asked you out to dinner. You’re not my type at all. Thank god,” he added heavily. “In the last two days, we’ve crash landed from the outer atmosphere, been held for ransom and slogged through some of the least romantic jungle I’ve ever met. In that whole time there hasn’t been a breath of a moan from you. You’ve bargained down a drug lord and operated a vehicle so ancient the fumes are an offense against humanity. You were the one that anticipated thievery and thanks to your foresight, we could pay for bus tickets and taxis. You’ve shown the most remarkable calm and sensibility, but what I can’t forget, what I can’t get out of my mind is your laughter when I found my wallet gone.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at you.” Her cheeks were hot again.

  “You were laughing at the irony of the situation. I know. What I don’t know is a single other woman who would have appreciated that irony and found it funny enough to laugh themselves into a hernia over it. That takes character—something you have in spades.”

  Mariana was at a loss to find a response. She settled for a simple, “Thank you.”

  “I know, you don’t believe me. But you will.”

  The waiter cleared his throat next to them and when Laszlo looked up, he spoke quickly. He nodded toward the front door of the restaurant. Mariana looked, too. There were people gathered outside, peering in through the glass doors.

  “Dammit,” Laszlo said heartily.

  “What?”

  His nod toward the door was tiny and he didn’t look that way at all. “Th
e media are outside, waiting. Someone must have recognized me and bought himself a bonus telling them where I was. My reputation has caught up with me.” He scrubbed at his hair. “I look like hell. Damn it all.”

  “You look glorious for someone who has piloted a semi ballistic to an emergency landing, then slogged through the jungle for two days. Wear your accomplishments. Don’t dismiss them.” That was something Ryan often said, when vampires tried to dismiss achievements from their past, a holdover from the days when they were passing as human and had to re-qualify for everything, every time they changed identities.

  “You are absolutely right,” Laszlo said firmly. His gaze flickered toward the door. “They’ll have taken images of you with me by now. Tomorrow, you will be all over the neural nets.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. I forgot that most of the political media corps would be looking for fresh news while the Assembly is on hiatus.”

  The waiter spoke once more, pressing his hands together in agitation.

  Laszlo nodded and replied, then stood up. “The media are blocking the entrance to the restaurant, which means customers can’t come in. They want us to leave, so the media will, too.”

  Mariana bit her lip and flickered her gaze toward the door as Laszlo had. “Is that a good idea?” she asked. “Rob said he would meet us here.”

  “He won’t be able to get inside any more than a paying customer would.” Laszlo pulled out his emergency funds. “Let me pay for this, then we’ll run the gauntlet.”

  The waiter processed his payment at the table and Mariana got to her feet and brushed down her dress. It felt very shabby now and she was conscious of the media people peering through the door, probably taking more images of her. Laszlo was right, she was so not his type. She wasn’t the sort of beautiful woman he was always seen with and the photos and footage that would flood the nets over the next twenty-four hours would reflect that. Her discomfort rose. This had been such a bad idea.

  Laszlo picked up her hand. “Relax,” he said as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. It was a very old-fashioned gesture. “Let me answer all the questions. I’m used to it and this particular corps is very good at stripping away nuances and exposing any weaknesses they find.”

  “Very well,” she said doubtfully. The media had their own ideas about who got to answer questions. She had spent hours watching Deonne try to guide them along pre-set channels and knew it was like herding a group of curious cats. Deonne was good at it, but she still found the task challenging and frustrating, although she never let the media see her impatience.

  They stepped out of the restaurant and were instantly surrounded.

  “Laszlo! Laszlo! Would you mind sharing with us the identity of your new companion?”

  The area around the front of the restaurant was bathed with an unearthly, ghostly white light, which the cameras needed. Mariana tried hard not to squint.

  Laszlo squeezed her fingers. A warning, she guessed. “Not at all,” he replied. “This is Mariana Madison Jones.”

  “Mariana! Mary!” came the instant calls, from a dozen lips. She didn’t know where to look. “Mariana! Mariana!” The cries were insistent.

  Mariana recalled Deonne’s dry tones. If you keep trying to look at the idiot with the light in your face, you look furtive. Better to stare blindly and look frank and innocent. But it takes practice to get that wide-eyed look down.

  Mariana had seen Deonne do exactly that, in dozens of media conferences and press announcements. She straightened up her spine and made herself look directly into the light, eyes wide and blinking naturally.

  “Mariana!” came the cry once more. “Can you tell us how you and Laszlo met?”

  The direct question. Oh well. Laszlo had introduced her. She would look completely vapid if she didn’t answer for herself. So she smiled. “We met completely by accident.”

  “Mariana! Mariana! Are you concerned about Laszlo’s very recent marriage break up? The bounce back effect?”

  Mariana smiled coolly. She could see Deonne smiling the same way in her mind. Her hand came up to her hip the same way. “You’re assuming that Laszlo asked me out to help him recover from his divorce. Perhaps I asked him out to help me.”

  “Did you?” came the follow-up question.

  “Mariana! It is true that you work for the Chronometric Conservation Agency?”

  Damn it, she mentally muttered, using Laszlo’s hard tones. But she kept her smile in place. “That is correct.”

  “Are you a vampire?”

  You never respond with a negative. They’ll use it against you if you do. Every word you utter can be twisted, so you don’t bring negatives into the conversation unless you are completely boxed in. More of Deonne’s wisdom, this time from a meeting with the agency leaders, prepping them for a conference they would appear at.

  Mariana took a breath. “I’m happily human.”

  “Mary! Tells us…how do you feel about Gabriel’s terror reign against the vampires?”

  Mariana didn’t even hesitate. She had heard Deonne answer the same question dozens of times before. “Gabriel Miyamoto Terranova is an unfortunate victim of the dilemma that all psi-filers must face. Vampires and humans have been equally impacted by his activities, but working together, I’m sure that we will find our way back to peaceful co-existence.” She even managed to copy Deonne’s warm tones.

  “Come on, guys,” Laszlo called. “We’re tired from two days of hiking through jungle. Let’s call it a night, huh?” It was a subtle way to get them to focus on him and leave her alone and it gave them another direction to focus on—their adventures in the north.

  But no one bit.

  “Mariana! Mary! Do you think Gabriel is right? That psi-filers should have the same legal rights as humans and vampires?”

  Politics. It was a loaded question and Mariana knew she couldn’t afford to answer it.

  “Gabriel says that psi-filers are equal to humans and vampires and should be treated the same. Do you agree?”

  Anger touched her. She clenched her fist, hidden in the folds of her dress. “I don’t speak for the Chronometric Conservation Agency,” she said stiffly. “I only work for them.”

  “You work with vampires and psi-filers attacked them and destroyed their homes. You have to have an opinion about that.”

  Mariana saw where they were trying to lead her, but there was a way she could use that. “I have my own personal opinions, certainly.”

  “And they are?”

  “What are my personal opinions?” she clarified.

  “Mariana, don’t,” Laszlo murmured in warning.

  She ignored him and drew herself up even straighter. “If you really are interested in what I think, as a human and an individual, then I should remind you that I’m not famous, I’m not a vampire and I’m not a politician, but it is my very personal opinion as a private human that the whole idea that humans and vampires are equal is utterly ridiculous. Vampires have the right to vote and to own businesses and to go about their affairs in the same manner as humans, but it’s a purely theoretical right. It’s on paper, but it’s not part of society. Not at all. There are thousands of vampires around the world that still pass as human because they know that if they were revealed as vampire, then their businesses would suddenly begin to ail and go bankrupt. Friends would disappear. Now that vampires are acknowledged as individuals in law, they would find themselves subject to dozens of lawsuits from humans claiming they had been defrauded. Vampires are automatically found guilty in those cases because passing as human fits the criteria of legal fraud and the law hasn’t been repealed or overturned. If they have acquired a family or a partner, then their loved ones would be harassed.” She paused for breath. The gathering of media people in front of her was utterly silent. She had surprised them. “Gabriel can scream for equality. I hope he gets it. If it’s the same equality that vampires enjoy then he’s welcome to it.”

  “Good night, folks!” Laszlo called loudly and tugged her sideways, p
ulling her through the gap between the restaurant and the pool of reporters.

  Mariana breathed shakily.

  “You’re a bucket of surprises, aren’t you?” Laszlo asked her quietly.

  “I surprised myself,” she confessed.

  “They caught you off guard.”

  “They made me angry.” She grimaced. “I suppose they provoked me, didn’t they?”

  “They found one of your hot buttons, yes. The political press corps excels at it.”

  “Mariana!” The soft call came from farther down the street and she looked carefully. Her eyes still weren’t adjusted to the dark after the bright media lights. “Rob?” she asked, for the voice had sounded like his.

  “Here.” She saw a tall, heavy shadow rise from where it had been leaning against a car.

  They went over to him. Rob was wearing casual cotton pants and a shirt. It looked very human and fit in with what locals wore here and it was a long way away from the kilt and sleeveless shirt he normally wore.

  “You’re early,” Mariana said.

  “Aye,” Rob agreed easily. “I told the man you’d be needing three hours, but he insisted ye be brought back sooner than later. Proper bee under his bonnet.” He grinned. “That little fracas over there isn’t going to make him any happier.”

  “You heard it all?”

  “Aye. It was well done. But Brenden isn’t going to think so. And now I’ve warned ye. We’d best be getting back. I can take both of ye.”

  “Both?” Laszlo said sharply. “Back to where?”

  “The agency,” Mariana told him. “This time, we get to go first class.”

  Rob snorted. “First class? If I don’t hit a tree or screw up my landing, then I may drop one of ye. Never heard jumping called first class before.”

  “After the last two days, jumping seems like five star travel to me.”

  “Jumping?” Laszlo repeated. “Time jumping?”

  “Just jumping,” Rob told him. “Although if you’ve got any qualms about touching a vampire, get over them now.” He moved closer to Mariana and slid his arm around her waist and tucked her in tight against him. Then he held his other arm out toward Laszlo and waited.