The Wild Road

by Marjorie M. Liu

  His wings twitched. Lannes tossed himself down the link.

  It was different this time, now that she was aware of what he was doing. Her focus surrounded him, bearing down with startling awareness, as though he had the mental equivalent of an eyeball skimming every part of his presence inside her brain. The intensity of her perception surprised him.

  You are naïve to assume anything about this woman, he thought to himself, and imagined a ripple as though she had heard him. Was that possible?

  “Humor me,” Lannes murmured. “Have you been manifesting any odd abilities, besides the…telekinesis?”

  Her thoughts became tinged with incredulity. “Telekinesis?”

  Yes, he spoke into her mind, testing her. She flinched, physically and mentally, and began to pull away from him. He tightened his hold on her hands, just slightly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, opening his eyes. “I wanted to see if you could hear me.”

  Lethe said nothing, nor did she look at him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, lips compressed into a hard line.

  I can hear you, she suddenly said, inside his mind. Faint, delicate, less than a whisper.

  Lannes exhaled slowly. Good. Now relax.

  She did not relax, but she did not fight him, either, as he slid deeper into her mind, skirting the edge of the chasm where her memories had lived. The edges of the injury were not as raw as they had been, but the cut was clean and final. There was nothing left.

  “Oh,” she whispered, and then, I had no idea that was what it looked like.

  You were hurt deliberately, he told her grimly. I need to go in. Stay here.

  “Lannes,” she said out loud, but he did not listen. He jumped into the chasm.

  It was more like floating in free fall than flying, a slow descent that reminded him of an old Alice in Wonderland cartoon, drifting down the rabbit hole past bits and pieces of an odd material world; except in the darkness, he found scraps of thought instead of alarm clocks and teacups. Recent memories. Of himself. Frederick. Etta and Orwell. As though coating the walls with ivy, new roots that would grow and flower. But they faded the deeper he fell, until the shadows swallowed him in a cocoon that was endless, suffocating.

  It was too much like living in stone, frozen and dying in place. He and his brothers had been imprisoned, trapped as statues in the home of the witch, while Charlie—who had come to rescue them—had suffered in another cage, a sandy circle just within sight. Lannes would never forget. The witch had forced them to watch as she tortured his brother, cut him up for her stews. She killed him slowly, again and again, knowing he would resurrect.

  It was something Charlie had encouraged, after a time—because it allowed his spirit to escape. He was the only one of them granted freedom, of a kind. Lannes had been almost crazed with envy. Occasionally, he still was. His memories were almost as bad as the reality had been. So much that Lannes sometimes thought he would never have true freedom.

  He felt a moment of envy that this woman—Lethe—had no memory. He wanted to forget. Not everything, but enough. Enough.

  He went deeper. He sank into the abyss. His fear faded. And Lannes felt instead the woman’s emotions. Her own terror was buried deep: a primal, sickening horror that coiled around him like a leech, latching onto his mind. And for one reason only. She was afraid of being found. He could feel it—a profound terror at the possibility of being discovered. By whom, he had no idea.

  I don’t know why, he heard her whisper, surprising him. He had not felt her follow him into the abyss.

  Feels like the boogeyman, she added. Whatever it is…it’s something terrible.

  Something you were running from when you lost your memories? Lannes inquired gently. Is it possible you did this to yourself, that you cut your own recollections away?

  It was a horrible thing to ask, and he would never have considered it before now, but the potential ability was there. Telepaths could inflict wounds on themselves, though it was rare and extremely difficult. Minds, human or otherwise, were embedded in layers of protection. Attacking them was like peeling back the skin of an onion. Which was why this hole, drilled straight through her memories, was so remarkable. And so gruesome.

  Lethe denied nothing outright. Until finally, she said, I don’t know. But if I did, then I don’t want to remember.

  He did not blame her. It was difficult untangling himself from the grasping roots of terror flooding her deep unconscious, but he sensed the presence of the woman bound close to his side like a warm shadow, and it helped center him. Together, as minds alone, they were not so different; he could almost forget the disparity of the flesh.

  No more masks, whispered the woman. Not after this.

  You don’t understand, he told her.

  I know you’re afraid. We both are. Just of different things.

  She was calmer than he. Lannes could not understand that.

  Neither can I, she replied. But I must have known what I was before I lost my memories. And down here, wherever “here” is, I feel closer to myself.

  Lethe, he said, tasting her new name. Do you remember anything?

  No, she murmured, but I feel something strange.

  A moment later, so did Lannes. Just out of reach. Hard, like a small pearl. Another mind.

  No, he realized, a moment later. It was a doorway to another mind. An anchor.

  Fear spiked through the woman, but she stayed with him as they drifted through the spiritual abyss, hovering close to the anchor glistening tiny and round in the shadows. Lannes touched it, tentative, but nothing stirred, and though he sensed a slight hum of energy, it was not anything immediately dangerous.

  Feels dormant, he said quietly, surrounding the anchor, searching out its roots. But she can enter you at any time. It’s a hook. All barbs beneath.

  Can you get rid of it?

  No. Not without the other side letting go. Or dying.

  Lethe drifted from him. Let’s go, then. Before she wakes.

  But Lannes hesitated, still listening to the pulse of the anchor, feeling its energy fill him. Tasting it. Catching the hum against his mind where he sank into its mental footprint. He wanted to know whom, or what, they were dealing with.

  But all he felt of the spirit behind the anchor was something wilder than the heart of a raging river, chaotic, unstoppable—and in the next moment as still and flimsy as a rag doll. There were two sides to the creature, so very opposite that they hardly seemed to belong to the same individual.

  Lannes wanted to stay longer, but Lethe drifted farther away, floating up the walls of the abyss, the chasm of her lost memories. He watched her, and she was a mote of light, like a fairy surrounded by moonglow and wisps of stars. He followed, aware of every shifting nuance in her heart, hungry for her luminosity.

  He started up, passed the memories residing close to the mouth of the abyss until he and Lethe were free, perched at the top of her mind. Then, not even that. Lannes returned to his own body, and the divorce between his mind and hers hit him so hard that he doubled over fighting for breath. He felt hands slide against his healing chest, small and warm, and he struggled to sit up. Instead, a slender sweet-smelling body followed those hands, the woman slumping against him, also shuddering.

  Lannes could not help himself; he touched her waist, loneliness roaring through him with such force that his heart felt as though it would stop dead. He closed his eyes, afraid to move, breathless when her hands slid over his shoulders, grazed his wings. Heat pulsed through him.

  Desire. Such longing, such desperate need—he was suddenly afraid of himself.

  Her breath stirred warm against his neck, and his jaw tightened so painfully that his teeth ached. Among other things.

  “You were in my mind,” she whispered, incredulous. “I can still feel you. Like an echo.”

  He fought for his voice. “I’m sorry if it was intrusive.”

  Lethe leaned back to peer into his eyes, solemn and unafraid. “It was illuminating,” she said, but be
fore he could worry himself sick over what that meant, she added, “How…how would something like that anchor…get into a person’s brain?”

  “It takes permission,” Lannes said, thinking of the witch, “The mind has to accept things. It has to say yes.”

  “You have to give in, you mean. Even just a little?”

  Lannes hesitated, and the woman bowed her head. He touched the back of her neck, holding his breath as he drew her closer. She did not resist, burying her face against his chest.

  “So,” she said quietly, “I did this to myself.”

  He held the woman tighter, keenly aware of his strength, his size—feeling like a giant, a monster in comparison. “She could have caught you at a bad moment. Or…forced you. Tortured your mind and body. If that happened, losing yourself might have sounded like the more pleasant alternative.”

  She went very still. “Is that what happened to you?”

  His skin crawled, and though being in the car had never bothered him before, he suddenly needed air. Lannes fumbled for the door. Lethe caught his arm, her hands small against him. He froze, her body pressed close.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be,” he told her roughly. “It’s been years.”

  Her tension did not ease. “The claustrophobia. It’s because of what you went through.”

  “I couldn’t move,” he whispered, trapped by her eyes, unable to share anything but the truth. His heart was aching with such furious pain, he had trouble breathing.

  Lannes sucked in a deep breath and shoved open the door, tumbling outside onto the pavement. He sat on the concrete for a moment, feeling pathetic but too glad to be out of the car to care. Cold night air swept over him, soothed his flushed skin. His healing wounds protested, but he ignored the pain.

  Behind him, Lethe crawled from the passenger to the driver’s seat and out the door beside him. She also sat on the concrete, cross-legged, staring at her hands. He had good night vision, and with the faint light cast by one of the towering security lights, he could see every line of her face and feel every nuance of her heart inside his mind.

  Her breath puffed out white, and she slumped in front of him, looking very small and alone. But strong. He felt her strength radiating like sunlight, warm and true. It made him feel stronger. He had to be strong—for her.

  “It was my fault,” he said quietly, hearing cars on the highway, listening to the first morning warble of birdsong. The sky was growing lighter in the east, just a blush. “I was careless.”

  She did not ask for details. Lannes sighed, unbuckling his wings—forcing himself to do so in front of the woman no matter how much a part of him resisted. He let the belt rest in his lap, his wings stretching painfully, invisible as the air. She bit her bottom lip, then held out her hand. It took him a moment to understand what she wanted.

  He gave her the belt. She hefted it in her hands then looked at him and at the area just behind his shoulder.

  “Does it hurt?” she asked, which was not the question he expected.

  “To bind them? Yes. But it’s better than accidentally bumping into someone who wouldn’t understand the discrepancy between sight and touch. Who wouldn’t appreciate that discrepancy.”

  Lethe sat back for a moment, staring, then turned to scan the parking lot behind them. It was mostly empty, and they were far from the store. She started to stand, and he said, “Are you cold?”—but a moment later she was on her knees in front of him, and he lost his voice as she raised her hand, ever so tentatively.

  “May I?” she asked, holding his gaze. He nodded, unable to speak, and she reached very carefully behind his shoulder. Her fingers grazed bone and skin, the hard thumb of his wing. He knew her intentions were innocent, born only of curiosity, but heat flowed through his body in slow aching waves, and the pleasure was so good, it was all he could do not to make a sound. He rested his head against the Impala door, trying desperately to control himself, when all he wanted—all he needed—was to take her in his arms, if only for a moment. Just one.

  So he did just that.

  Lannes ignored her gasp as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands sliding up her lean back, drawing her in. He held her as tightly as he dared, her body pressed against his own, and though he was mindful of his strength, he did not hold back. He was not shy. His blood was too hot for that, his need too great. And her body felt too good. Just holding her—as little a thing as that—was better than anything he could have imagined.

  Then rational thought crept in, as did heartache. Lannes closed his eyes, bowing over her body, pressing his cheek against hers. He savored the stir of her breath, the sound of her heartbeat. Until, though he felt as though it would break him, he let her go.

  Or rather, he tried to. Lethe did not move. She sat very still in his lap, her emotions fluttering through their link like the wings of some desperate hungry butterfly.

  “I lied to you,” she whispered. “Back at the motel, when I asked for your help with my shoulder. I didn’t need your opinion. I knew nothing was broken. I just…didn’t want to be alone.” She shut her eyes, trembling in his arms. “That’s horrible, right? A person should be strong enough to be alone, but it terrifies me. My head is empty. I’m afraid it’ll happen again. But when you’re around I can pretend I’m safe, like I have an anchor. So that if I lose my mind…”

  She did not finish. She did not need to. Lannes smoothed back her tangled hair and murmured, “So that even if you lose your mind, you’ll still have a friend. You’ll have someone who remembers you as you were. For a brief time, anyway.”

  Despair twisted down their link, across her face. “I shouldn’t put that burden on you. I shouldn’t even trust you with it. I shouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Lannes held her away from him, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You think I feel differently? Do you know what would happen to my kind if I made a mistake—with you, with any other? Can you imagine?”

  I don’t want to, she whispered in his mind; deliberately or not, he couldn’t tell—nor did it matter. He suddenly felt as though he had spent his entire life looking through windows, envying the closeness others seemed to have, and now suddenly, he was his own window with a life that someone else, gazing in, could envy.

  But he hardly trusted it. No matter how much he wanted. Not even though her body was snug in his lap, her curves soft under his hands, her mouth right in front of him, soft and open—and those eyes, her eyes, which were a mirror of her mind…

  Stick with your own kind, he remembered his father saying. Your fascination with humans is unhealthy. You can love them, but you cannot be with them.

  “Because it’s dangerous?” asked the woman suddenly, and then blushed a bright red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hear your thoughts.”

  “Touché,” he said unsteadily, fighting the urge to push her away from him—which made him an insufferable hypocrite. “And yes, because it’s unsafe. I suppose, too, because there are so few of us left. Survival of the species.”

  She was still flushed red, and refused to look him in the eye. But he felt her mind again, the hum of their link, and remembered how little flesh had seemed to matter when it was only their thoughts binding them. Floating in the abyss, together.

  And with that thought came another, unbidden, an image in his mind of them entwined, naked, his body buried inside hers, thrusting hard.

  It was an overpowering thought, visceral and hungry, and when the woman—Lethe—let out a muffled gasp, he realized with shame and horror that he had dragged her several inches closer, and that she was sitting snug and tight against the erection straining beneath his jeans.

  But when he let go of her, she did not move. When he tried to push her away, her arms flew around his neck and she held on.

  And moved, slightly.

  The pleasure was so intense he almost lost his mind. She did it again, and he realized with shock that it was on purpose.

  I’m an idiot, she whispered, on
the outskirts of his mind. This is so dumb.

  Incredibly dumb, he told her, hardly able to think straight. But don’t stop.

  She burst out laughing, which was a delight, and not just because it made her jiggle against his aching groin. Lannes had never heard her laugh. He supposed she’d had no reason to, but it was beautiful. And short-lived. Her smile died into something small and sober, but though a trace of pain entered her gaze, he found warmth, too. Unaccountable, unfamiliar.

  As though she liked him. Him. And not just because of the illusion. This woman had seen more of him than any other, protected him when he was vulnerable, taken care of him when she had no reason to. Accepted him without fear. For now.

  Lethe held his gaze and moved again, grinding her hips against him. Her own pleasure rocked down their link, melding with his—and, feeling like a fool or some stripling hardly out of his first wing-growth, he cupped her breast in his hand.

  They were sitting in the dark parking lot of Wal-Mart, totally exposed for the world to see, if anyone should glance in their direction, and he did not care. Neither did she, if her reaction was any indication. She closed her eyes, breathing raggedly. Her nipple was hard through the sweater. No bra, which he found unbearably sexy.

  He felt like he should warn her. Give her another chance to push him away.

  “I’m not human,” he said, which was the first thing that came to mind, and felt about as awkward and dumb as his overwhelming desire to unzip his pants.

  “Whatever,” she breathed dismissively, and then gasped as his thumb flecked her nipple, hard. “Oh…oh, do that again.”

  Make me forget, she said inside his mind. Which seemed to him the last thing she should want, though he understood.

  Forget just a little, for a brief time. Forget the pain, the blood, the fear. Be here. Now.

  Make a new memory. Something to fill the abyss.

  But he never got the chance. An engine rumbled, ominous and loud. Lannes and the woman stiffened, and a moment later she began scrabbling off his lap. But in midmovement she leaned in close and her lips brushed his cheek.

  At first he thought it was an accident—he could hardly believe otherwise, despite the intimacy of the last few moments—but he caught her gaze for one split second, and there was something in her eyes that shot through him like those bullets that had been flying so freely. She really did like him. Holy crap.