The Ophelia Prophecy

by Sharon Lynn Fisher

  “I understand it to mean that most people have good intentions, but without follow-through they’re meaningless.”

  “So you’ve just damned yourself.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “You don’t sound all that sorry to me.”

  “Right again. Unless I hurt you.” He caressed her check, and she raised her head to look at him. “I would feel sorry about that.”

  She smiled and planted a kiss on one of the scars on his midsection. “You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to hurt me.”

  He shook his head, baffled. “You look like I could snap you between my hands.”

  “Maybe. I wouldn’t advise you to try it.”

  “I can think of much more interesting things to do with my hands.”

  Before he could demonstrate, she’d slid her hand up the inside of his thigh to his groin.

  “God, Asha.” He shivered. Her hand worked back and forth, and she sat up and straddled him.

  “No,” he grunted, pushing her off and sitting up. He sprang off the bed and started pulling on his pants. “We have work to do today. Be a good girl or I’ll tie you to the bed.”

  She pursed her lips together and crawled toward him, holding out her wrists when she reached the edge of the bed. Her upper arms framed her bare breasts, and below her elbows he eyed the graceful curve that had caused men to compare women’s bodies to hourglasses long past the time anyone had actually used them.

  Her nightgown still clung to her hipbones, concealing the rest of her, but he’d explored that territory. He grew hard again at the memory.

  “You like this,” he observed with satisfaction.

  Her eyes flitted from his mouth to his groin, and he grew even harder.

  “Yes,” she whispered, color filling her cheeks.

  He grinned. “My father always said human women tolerated it more than they liked it.”

  “He has a lot of experience with human women?”

  Pax banished thoughts of his mother. She didn’t belong in this conversation.

  “Mmm, good point. Also, the man never read a book that wasn’t related to military strategy.”

  “Then I think maybe you should judge for yourself.”

  He took a step toward the bed, laughing inwardly at how he was quivering for this woman. He felt like a boy again, sneaking with his sister into the kitchens after dark, discovering for the first time the cabinet where they kept the stash of confections for their father’s notorious sweet tooth.

  A smile spread over her face as she saw she had the power to reverse him in his tracks. She crossed her wrists and held them up again.

  He grabbed them in one hand, and a millisecond before throwing her onto the bed he remembered her back, and pulled her up instead.

  Many Manti had large sets of wings, making reclining sexual acts impractical. Most Manti also had a complete lack of inhibition when it came to mating. He glanced around the room until his eyes lighted on what he was looking for, barely protruding from behind the bed—a tall, cushioned bench with a scoop out of it, and a set of wrist restraints hanging from a post at its head.

  He dragged her around the bed and pushed her onto it, leaning over her to fasten the restraints. “Is this what you want?” he murmured in her ear, nuzzling her cheek with his rough, unshaven chin.

  “Uh…”

  He chuckled, tugging the nightgown free and letting it drop around her ankles. He pressed his erection against her backside. “I think you’re in very deep water now.”

  Her eyes shot a challenge over her shoulder. “You don’t scare me.”

  * * *

  Asha couldn’t have explained to him or anyone else what had come over her. But she sensed it was a sort of awakening, just as she’d awoken from her delusions about Sanctuary, and from the sleep that had brought her and Pax together in the first place.

  In the simplest terms, she was on fire for him. She’d felt attracted to men from time to time back in Sanctuary, and she had felt their attraction to her, but she saw now that she’d been like a seed blighted by the desert sun.

  While her eyes pored through text and images in the Archive—life, death, love, war, sex, birth, disease, famine, art, science, culture, the whole rich tapestry of human history—she had felt nothing. No connection to those people whose lives had been so carefully preserved in ones and zeroes.

  Those people didn’t exist anymore. They never would again. She hadn’t given up hope that humanity would one day rise from the ashes—that they could find some way to coexist with their enemies—but any civilization that tried to re-create the past was doomed to a flat, blighted existence.

  This civilization was vibrant and alive, and for the first time she felt vibrant and alive. This man who could not help but push inside her despite his intention to walk away—he was compelled by something in her. Whether her face, her body, her mind, or some combination, it was her. He’d told her that they shared a special bond, a bond he hadn’t believed in until two days ago. Wasn’t it a kind of sign? A sign that there was room for both of their species in this aftertime?

  Pax’s hands slid under her hips, fingers hooking around her pelvic bones, lifting and entering her in one motion as the breath hissed between his teeth. She yanked at the restraints, squirming and fighting him not because she wanted to be released, but because it sent a jolt of white heat through her every time he yanked her hips back into place.

  “You want me to let you go,” he panted, pinning her still with the heel of his hand.

  “Let me go,” she begged, knowing he would understand.

  “I won’t,” he growled in her ear.

  Turning her head, she locked gazes with him. “Then make me feel you.”

  Her body jolted forward as he shoved into her, and she gave a sharp cry as her orgasm caught her by surprise. It rippled out and entwined with his, building until he stiffened and shouted and they shuddered and curled into each other, straining for breath.

  “I’m never letting you out of this room,” he rasped in her ear.

  “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

  THE FLY

  Pax was still inside her, both of them dripping with sweat, when they heard a voice in the hall.

  “Asha?”

  “It’s Micah,” she whispered.

  Pax bent and kissed her cheek, releasing her restraints. Then he straightened and called out in an astonishingly steady voice, “Can we see you in ten minutes? We’ve just woken up.”

  “Of course,” came the reply. “I’ll find you something fresh for breakfast and come back.” They heard him moving away.

  “You’re a witch,” he growled, helping her off the bench. Her stiff, sore muscles protested, and she knew more of them would be sore tomorrow.

  “And you’re a beast,” she replied as she started for the bathroom. She squealed as the palm of his hand struck her backside.

  “Next time I’ll leave you strapped down.”

  He followed her to the bathroom and they shared a brief, non-erotic shower so they could dress by the time Micah returned. She watched him slipping into his clothes, marveling at the beauty of his body.

  He noticed her eyes on him and smiled, bringing flames to her cheeks. He reached for her, pulling her naked body against his fully clothed one.

  “You’re gorgeous,” he said, his hands gliding down to her backside, “and too sexy for your own good.”

  He gave her a long, deep kiss, and released her. “Let me shave and the bathroom’s all yours.”

  “Take your time,” she replied, pulling on a fresh tunic—sky blue with green embroidered leaves—and a clean pair of the close-fitting pants. “I’ll go out and wait for Micah.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her, but picked up a razor and one of the jars off the sink.

  She felt a strong urge to slip her hands around his middle and watch him shave, but instead she walked back out to the bedroom. She’d just picked up the various discarded items of clothing from th
e floor when Micah called again from the doorway.

  “Come in,” she answered.

  He pushed through the curtain carrying a tray heavy with steaming bowls and fresh fruit—oranges, grapefruits, bananas, and waxy pink round ones she didn’t recognize. She motioned him to the sofa, and he set down the tray.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving. Thank you for bringing all this.” She picked up one of the bowls—mushy hot cereal with honey drizzled over the top—and took a bite of something she recognized. “Grits,” she said, letting the bite melt in her mouth.

  He wrinkled his brow, smiling. “It’s sort of a cornmeal mush—we just call it polenta.”

  She nodded, returning his smile. “Grits.”

  “How are you?” His eyes shifted to the bathroom, and she knew he was wondering about Pax. How things stood between them. His eyes came back to her face and he said, “You look very well. You must have slept.”

  She swallowed, willing her complexion to remain neutral. “Yes, and showered. I feel much better.”

  “How is your injury?”

  “A little sore, but your medicines work wonders.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Pax came out of the bathroom and joined them. “Good morning.”

  Sitting across the table in one of the chairs, he picked up an orange and began peeling it. His countenance was composed and guarded, no different from the day before. Except the light behind his eyes was bright now. It gave energy and purpose to his expression.

  “How was the night?” asked Micah.

  “Fine,” replied Pax with a nod. He pulled the sections of orange apart and offered half of them to her. The slight contact of their fingers was enough to start her heart racing.

  When she glanced again at Micah his eyes were on the orange wedges in her hand, and it struck her there was intimacy in the gesture of sharing food with someone. If he’d passed her a whole orange it probably would have gone unnoticed.

  Micah turned and reached for the bag that had been slung across his back when he came in. “I brought you a tablet so you can contact your father,” he said, placing the thin screen on the table next to the food tray. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him?”

  “I have.” Pax picked up one of the bowls of cereal. “The main thing is to be direct. It’s the only thing my father understands.”

  “One thing I think you’ll want to be careful of is letting him get the idea you’re being held here by force,” said Micah. “If he thinks you’re in danger—”

  “He may raid the temple. I’ll make it clear.”

  Asha could tell by the creases in his forehead he was worried about this meeting. “You’re sure you want to do this,” she said. “You’re sure it makes sense right now.”

  He nodded. “It’s something I’ve been sweeping under the rug for a very long time. I resented Cleo trying to force my hand, and especially the way she went about it. I guess I’m a little like my father in that way. I hold a grudge.”

  “How much of this has to do with Asha?” asked Micah, and both of them turned to stare at him. “I don’t mean to pry into your business, and I don’t know what’s between the two of you, but if you’re doing this because you want your father to approve of or acknowledge her in some way, it’s not all that different from Cleo and her personal motivations. We don’t want to start by raising his disapproval.”

  Pax frowned. “I’d argue that it is different, since I don’t intend to hurt anyone.”

  “But people may get hurt,” Micah argued. “We don’t yet know how the amir will react. He still may raid the temple. Don’t misunderstand; we want this. But it’s dangerous enough as it is. If you’re not committed to it for the right reasons, it could add risk, and hurt our chances of succeeding.”

  Pax sighed and sank back in the chair. “In a way it is about Asha.” His gaze drifted to her. “When I met her we were enemies. Yet she risked herself to save my sister and me. I respect her. I trust her. It’s forced me to remember what I’ve believed for more than a decade: that the camps are wrong. It’s wrong for me to continue ignoring the constant threat that someone might convince my father to exterminate the remaining human population.”

  “They have paid enough,” agreed Micah. Asha remembered that his father was human. As was Pax’s mother.

  “There’s no one but me who has a chance of persuading my father to shift his thinking on this,” said Pax.

  “What will you do if he refuses? You have a sister. Has it occurred to you he might put her in your place?”

  “Yes,” Pax said with a nod. “But let’s worry about the rest as it comes.”

  From what Asha had observed of Pax and Iris’s relationship, she couldn’t imagine her going against him. It was probably the furthest worry from his mind right now.

  Pax reached for the tablet, and Micah said, “Remember to keep me out of this. I still work for DAB-lab. Many of our efforts will unravel if that’s discovered, and it could put Asha’s father at risk.”

  “I understand.”

  * * *

  Asha watched Pax over the top of the tablet as his hands manipulated the touchscreen. After a few moments he stopped, stated his name, and then swiped the mark on his arm across one corner of the tablet. Then he sat watching the screen.

  “Augustus, I wondered if we’d hear from you today.” She could hear the smile in the amir’s voice. Pax spoke with a slight British accent, but his father’s accent was different. She wondered why that would be. Perhaps Pax had spent more time with caretakers than with his father.

  “I’m sorry for not checking in with you earlier,” replied Pax.

  “I was worried—it’s not like you. But your sister was so disgusted I figured there was nothing to worry about.” Pax joined in his father’s laughter. “I’m relieved, actually. You spend too much time in the library. It’s not good for you. Before the war we had to fight every day just to hold on to the little territory we managed to carve out for ourselves. We were always fighting or fucking.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  “I wouldn’t wish that for you, Son. But I’m glad you’re warming your blood a little.

  “Dad, I need to—”

  “There’s something else I want to say to you.”

  Pax waited.

  “Be careful. I know I don’t have to tell you that you can’t have an official union with this girl. But keeping her as a mistress could be problematic as well. There could be a pregnancy, and a child born that way could not be officially acknowledged. You’ll have to take measures to—”

  “Yes, I understand about that.” Crimson stole along the high cheekbones, and she could almost feel him straining not to look up at her. It was a jolt of reality for both of them. What had they been playing at last night? After all they’d been through together in the last few days, she had desperately wanted—needed—that connection with him. But could it realistically continue?

  She jumped as she felt Micah’s hand close over her arm in a gesture of support. She’d been so engrossed in the exchange between father and son she’d all but forgotten he was there.

  “Good,” continued the amir. “We can talk about it more later. Tell me where you are so I can send some men to you, in case you have any trouble.”

  Pax hesitated, blinking at the screen. Then he said, “I’m at the temple.”

  “Mmm. Well, the woman lived here for a third of your life, and I don’t expect you to write her off, but be on your guard. I don’t trust her.”

  “I’m not here to see Cleo. In fact, she’s turned over management of the temple’s affairs to others. She’s pulling back to focus exclusively on spiritual leadership. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Are you sure about this?” She could hear the surprise in the amir’s voice. “It’s hard to imagine she went along with that without a fight. Who’s in charge now? Someone we’ll have an easier time managing, I hope.”

  “M
e, in part.”

  “You? What are you talking about?”

  “Rebelión Sagrada is hoping to reengage with the Alhambra. I’ve agreed to serve as a liaison in setting up talks about the issues of most critical concern to their constituency.”

  “Constituency?” She was grateful she couldn’t see the Manti ruler. The still fury in his voice was bad enough. “The rebellion has no constituency. They’re a fringe group, interested in disrupting legitimate government.” There was a pause before the amir continued, “Am I understanding you to say you’ve joined the temple against me?”

  “Dad, if that’s what you’re hearing, you’re not listening. They’re not your enemies. But they have concerns, legitimate ones I believe, about the influence of the genetics lab, and the fate of the human survivors. They just want to talk. My own views are in alignment with theirs, so I’ve agreed to broker a meeting.”

  A frigid silence descended. Pax stared at the screen, never breaking eye contact with his father.

  “This is about the human woman. You’ve let your loyalties be clouded by lust.”

  The actual physical change to Pax’s expression was subtle, but the effect was not. He hadn’t spoken a word, and she could see that he was livid.

  She could hear him straining for control as he replied, “I know you’re angry, but please don’t reduce me to that. You know me better.”

  “Then give me some kind of explanation I can understand for why you would betray me like this.”

  “This is not a betrayal,” insisted Pax. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for years. You’ve never taken me seriously. But I need you to understand that I am serious.”

  “You’ve made that clear enough. I thought we were through with all this. I assumed this was Iris’s mother’s influence. I thought it would fade in time. I thought you were going through a rebellious phase.”

  “No, Dad. These last years of me not talking about it was a phase. A phase where I gave up because I thought I had no choice. But I’ve never been happy with myself about that, and I had to do something about it. Surely you can understand that.”