by K H Lemoyne
She squatted and bounced a bit.
Still behind her, he put his hands on her shoulders and then arms, moving them in conjunction with her body.
“The strength and balance will come from your legs, not your back, and from above, not sideways twisting in your previous fashion.” He gestured with his hands and arms along her body to mimic the motion with her, then released her to move again before her.
“Women have stronger muscles along the tops of their legs,” he continued. “Men are a little more even in the distribution of strength in those muscles. You can use your strengths to your benefit. Generate your movement from your legs.”
She moved the bottle in the arc he had shown and smiled. “It hurts less this way.”
“I would think.” He smiled back. “The other posture isn’t wrong. It just may not fit you. This will leverage your strengths.”
He picked a second bottle from her backpack and stood to face her. “You need a sword or staff designed for your body. Perhaps someday…”
She backed up and stood straight. “I’m seriously outclassed.”
He fought back a smile. “We’ll pretend I haven’t used a sword before. Are you interested in competitive battle or showmanship?”
“I want to kick butt.”
“Of course.” He laughed, enjoying watching her spirit break free. Once invested, there was no retreat with Mia. If she made up her mind, it was full steam ahead. “When I was younger and learning to fight, several of us worked at methods to get a rise out of our teacher. We would pretend to slay each other.”
“With real swords?”
“It wouldn’t have been fun if they were fake.” He shrugged. “Remember, this was an act and we were adolescent males. We didn’t mind taking a few punches from each other, but we never desired permanent injury.”
He flipped his water back on the bed and reached to hold her wrists. “The motion worked like this.” He pulled her arms up and then down, turning her around and finally swinging her hands in toward the edge of his stomach. At the last moment, he pivoted her wrists to lodge the bottle along his side beneath his elbow.
Her eyes were still wide when she met his gaze. “That would take a good bit of coordination not to slice the skin or lose an arm.”
“We practiced a great deal to keep our bodies and minds engaged. It took more than a few slices to our bodies before we perfected the technique. Granted, some of us were much quicker at healing than others. You’ll be pleased to know no arms were lost.” He laughed again, though she appeared a little unsettled and pushed him away to toss her bottle into her bag.
“I’ll have to work on the routine in my off hours, between my day job and my moonlighting in the cell with you.”
He let her comment slid by. Even though the reality was a bit bleak, her mood had steadied. Whatever her true feelings were about her former husband, she’d migrated back to the attitude of readiness and adventure he associated with her visits.
Settled back on the slab of his bed, the bowl of salad in his lap, he gestured for her to join him. “Tell me what question you have today.” Lightness had returned to Mia’s posture. He was determined to keep away her other demons while she was here. Visits to him in hell should be enough torment for any one person.
She sat beside him, stiff and uncomfortable at his side. “You make it seem like you’re telling a bedtime story.”
He pulled at her sleeve until her back turned to him. “One is never too old for bedtime stories. They stimulate the imagination.” He put aside his empty bowl and slid his hands across her shoulders. His fingers massaged across her sore muscles.
She laughed, wiggled, and then groaned. “That feels so good.”
“If you don’t behave, I won’t tell you anything.” He pushed and circled his hands over her muscles until she acquiesced and her head dropped forward on her knees in resignation, allowing the attention her sore body needed.
Mia turned her cheek to her knee and bit back the immediate response to use Rheanna’s name. They needed to sort through the details of his past, why he was here, why she was here, but she wanted minutes more of his fingers to ease her muscles. “Tell me of your family.”
Turen hesitated a second, then continued his methodical kneading.
“My parents had a farm at the foot of the French western section of the Pyrenees.”
“France?”
He grunted a confirmation. “Several of our families lived near the region. I haven’t been back there in many years.”
“I can’t picture you on a farm.”
His chuckle vibrated through his fingertips to her skin. “You’ve only seen me in a cell. I can take a chicken’s eggs without a peck. I can milk a goat, and because my friend lived not far away, on the coast, I can trim a sail and navigate at night by the stars.”
“Whoa, talents. Your friend was a sailor?”
“Ansgar is a water rat, though his parents were merchants. They owned a series of shops throughout the coastal cities along the Bay of Biscay. I went there sometimes with my sister.” He paused, and his fingers stilled again. “Rheanna was a friend of Xavier’s. They were about the same age. I’d rather forgotten that.”
Mia turned her face back to her knees to hide her reaction. “I guess most of your people knew each other?” Her voice came out more gruffly than she had intended. He didn’t seem to notice as he stood to bring her backpack to the slab.
“Once we were old enough to fold through space, we were taught the need for discretion, and more importantly, how to recognize our own.”
He sat behind her and reached across her shoulders to pull her against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head. She dreaded her next question, but the link she’d found to Xavier wasn’t one she could disregard. “How old were you when you left your family?”
“I was fourteen. My sister was nineteen. We were the last of the people in our area to survive. She summoned Xavier to take me away.” His voice was low and heavy with emotion. “I didn’t get to be there for her at the end.”
“She might not have wanted you to watch.”
“I’m sure that’s the case. It felt as if I failed her. Xavier forced me to leave with him, and only because Rheanna made me promise did I go. He didn’t want to leave her either. I don’t know what she did to convince him. One minute he was determined she join us, the next he accepted her wishes and never spoke of it again.”
She waited in the silence and gave Turen time to wander through his thoughts. The only sign she had he was still with her was his thumb absently stroking her arm.
“You said you went back?”
“Almost eighty years ago. It had been a very long time. Most things were so much different than I remembered. Progress. It’s difficult to witness. I expected people to appear who no longer exist.”
“How old are you anyway?”
His arm tightened around her shoulders and gave a quick squeeze. “Old enough you should give me respect as your elder.”
Mia snorted. “Of course, now that I know you’re a doddering old man.”
“Don’t tempt me. This old man can tan your ass and make you enjoy it.”
Of that she had no doubt. Just the warmth of his arm and the press of his body against her back made her skin ultra sensitive. She yawned with fatigue and settled farther back against him in comfort.
“So you didn’t take up farming at the Sanctum?”
“No, my talent doesn’t run along those lines. We had too much to do, train for defense and raise the younger ones.”
“I’m sorry, Turen.” Her words issued as a mumble from the haze of her doze.
He brushed her arm with his palm. “No need. It was another lifetime.” He dropped his hand away and seconds later settled the backpack to her lap. With his heavy sigh, his arms folded around her again. “Close your eyes, Mia. I will guard you while you sleep.”
“Who will guard you?” she whispered.
CHAPTER 9
Sun s
treamed through the kitchen window, reflecting off the contents of Mia’s backpack on the counter. The warmth and light should have been enough proof of the real world to shake the images of the cell. It should have been enough to wipe away the sound of Turen’s voice and the strength of his arms.
Fortunately, it didn’t. She still carried him with her.
The plastic bowl and cutlery lay in a tumble with empty water bottles and her fork on top.
Mia gave a quick swipe across the inside of the pack as she glanced out the window. The leaves were fluttering on the trees that bordered the garage—beautiful, but a sign that a storm would head in later. Her fingers skimmed over a cylindrical surface, a small lump tucked in the pack’s inner pocket. She stared at a vial of dark burgundy liquid she’d extracted.
Blood?
With a chill, she made the connection. Turen had stored this without mention. Did he assume she would find it and keep his blood—Xavier’s or someone’s—for him?
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Of course he did. She had offered to help. He was counting on her. Dropping the pack on the counter, she headed out the back door to the garage. A dinosaur of a fridge connected to a backup generator occupied a rear corner of the building.
Blood from Xavier’s prison was getting a higher priority than her groceries. She stifled a laugh. The vial glistened in the sunlight. How had he stolen Xavier’s blood? The thought of all that madness contained in the little vial sobered her mood.
Vial secured, she returned to the house. She disregarded her commissioned work and reached for the journal laptop, driven by a need for more answers instead of the swell of questions.
After a few minutes of typing key thoughts and names, she waited on the bright alien screen. It shimmered in the corner of the kitchen, heedless to the presence of daylight.
Mia sifted through her previous notes from Rheanna’s entries, and then raised her fingers to the ancient text. She tapped at words and swirled her wrist to force a response from the text so she could dig deeper for information on the virus and Turen’s people. No success. Finesse with sorting through the interface was possible, but detailed content on her specific questions hit dead ends.
She reversed her searches for more of Rheanna’s entries and touched her name on the screen in the air. Two more notations appeared.
This is my final account of the children saved, though my memory is undependable now. May He forgive my omissions and grant any not listed here shelter in His embrace:
From the Guardian clans of the East: Saladin, Kaaz, Genoveva, Nazar, Lika, Nikko, Maksim
From the Guardian clans of the South: Udo, Amara, Jafa, Oni, Viticus
From the Guardian clans of the Valley: Leonis, Salvatore, Xavier, Sagari, Turen, Ansgar, Briet, Isabella, Drogan, Grimm, Grace, Quan, Tsu, Kamau
There are more. They linger in the fringes of my mind, yet I can no longer grasp their names or see their faces.
Mia ignored the tears on her cheek and tapped on to the second entry.
By the grace of my mother, for each of you, I say our prayer. I hear her words as she spoke to my father, the blessing of her love to each of us, mate to mate, parent to child.
Should my mate exist in this time, please know that from my heart I would have sought you. I would not leave you to suffer, and I perish with my prayer to you on my lips.
May our Maker grant certainty in your soul that you are loved, though my eyes have never seen your face.
May the blessing find you, keep you, and protect you even though I cannot.
In our Maker’s grace, we will cleave to each other, heart to heart and soul to soul, bending before the will of both for the prosperity of the generations, for the protection and hope that will be the gift to us all.
May His love hold you safe.
May mine.
~ Rheanna
Swiping her face with her hands, Mia let the shimmer fade.
How could she possibly help solve Turen’s or these Guardians’ problems? She had no power, no clout, no great insight.
She sat back in her chair and covered her mouth with shaky fingers. Okay, so what can I do?
***
The tickle on her face didn’t stop. Mia shrugged and rolled away to reach for sleep, but the pestering followed.
“Mia.” The deep voice at her ear vibrated along her skin. She blinked. Turen’s face hovered inches from hers, a wrinkle between his brows and her fingers clasped in his hand as he crouched beside her.
“You had me worried. I was afraid you weren’t going to wake up.” He moved beside her. “You need more sleep.”
With a stretch, she sat up. Lethargy still blanketed her mind, leaving her feeling thick and out of touch.
“Maybe if I wasn’t moonlighting, I could work on sleep. At least I’m giving this my all. What have you been doing lately?” She tried to infuse some sarcasm in her words. His laugh let her know she’d succeeded.
He pressed a kiss to her palm and released her. “You’re correct. We need to attack this all or nothing. But I’m bound here, beautiful. While I appreciate your vigor, please don’t risk your health or sanity for me.”
Over the nights she’d appeared here, he’d opened more to her and teased her with light terms of affection. They’d settled into a comfortable, though strange, companionship in this cell. Sometimes his injuries precluded more than just quiet talk. Other nights he would work her through defensive maneuvers and strategies.
She curled her fingers around his. “I’ll do my damnedest not to get killed. How’s that?”
His wince was almost too faint to notice. The clench from his fingers wasn’t. “I want more quality for your life than not getting killed. You aren’t expendable.”
“I’m not an adrenaline junkie, so don’t treat me like one. No one’s caught me here—yet. How about we move on from the worrying?” From her perspective, she was better off now than when she’d first encountered him, no longer adrift in her own self-doubt. Turen’s unusual problems provided her with focus. He needed her, such a foreign experience for her and rather compelling.
“You press your luck.” He stroked her cheek, and that easily, she forgot restraint. The warmth of his touch, the stir of his breath across her hair, drove common sense from her brain. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His fingers froze at her advance but didn’t retreat. Then his lips pressed back.
He cupped her head and tilted it for his tongue to brush along her lips. The caress savored her and stoked the fire inside her, awakening a slumbering desire as his tongue teased along her lips.
Too quickly, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “You could try to tackle this problem from home for a change. Use your skills.” His whispered words brushed across her cheek. “Maybe then I won’t have nightmares about you trapped somewhere, here with me or worse.”
“Then you wouldn’t have the benefit of my company to exorcise your demons.” She pulled away with reluctance and avoided his gaze, reluctant to see an absence of the emotion she needed in his eyes. He wasn’t intended for her.
She dug through her backpack until she located a small toolkit, then placed it between them, and snapped it open.
Turen scrutinized the tools with a frown.
“If we can get the cuffs off, you can leave to work on your issues yourself.” Not really what she wanted, at least not the part where he left her alone to resolve his problems. But his safety was at risk in this prison. That was her nightmare.
“I don’t think those tools will get through this metal.” He glanced at her.
She sat back with a defeated sigh.
Then he nudged her and braced his arm over his raised knee, offering the manacled wrist for her closer inspection. “Try it anyway. Perhaps it will be useful. If not, maybe you have other tools that would work.”
His palm lay open and she moved her face close to the thick, black metal. The surface absorbed the little bit of light in the cell, no glint or sheen, just a du
ll matte finish. Her fingers traced along the curves. Nothing indicated a lock or seal. Fortunately he was free of the chains today. The manacles would be enough to deal with.
She puzzled over the connection. Her fingers again worked along both edges of the metal from the start of his wrist to three inches up his forearm. The seal had to be here. Even Turen admitted it wasn’t magic—which left engineering.
She worked one direction and then back, progressing in a methodical circuit. A slow tingle preceded cold, followed by a numbness that permeated the pads of her fingers and the palm of her hand. Frowning at the sensation, she gasped as the cold exploded into pain and seared along the surface of her skin. Her hands fingers sizzled and she lurched back, shaking them to stop the sensation.
Turen grabbed her hands and brought them toward the light before she could move from his reach. The neon green in the room provided little visibility to assess the damage, but the black smear of blood on her palms stood out, as if the top layer of skin had been scraped off.
“Damn it.”
She agreed. While his grip was gentle, she struggled against it anyway. The need to do something for the pain overrode logic. She tried to pull back from Turen’s hold, but he didn’t let go. “It hurts.”
“Mia, stop.”
“No. I need water. Just let me—”
“You don’t have a choice. Stop fighting me and listen.”
“Yep, hurts.” She blew out a strong breath and tried not to whimper.
“Lay your hand here.” He lowered her palm to the bloodied lash mark on his abdomen.
Not hygienic. “No.”
“We have to cover your scent. My blood won’t call them.” He held her tight and angled his head to listen.
Shit, not those creatures, too.
He squeezed her hands, forcing her attention away from the thought. “My saliva healed your cut. My blood may help these lesions.”
She pulled against his grip. He was far too strong and relentless. Even with her struggles, he managed to force her palm back to one of his bleeding wounds.
