Prophet: Bridge & Sword

by JC Andrijeski

  “Tell him he’d better,” I retorted. “Or he might just find himself cleaning out the animal pens for a few months, so I can keep him away from Revik.” When Balidor burst out in another laugh, I added, “And tell Pagoj I’m telling Neela, if he backs up Jorag’s story. You’ve got to know I’ll deny everything. I’ll call them traitors to the race, if I have to.”

  “Is it a security issue, then?” Balidor asked innocently. “Perhaps I should inform Declan, since Wreg is currently indisposed?”

  Fighting a smile for real that time, I only clicked at him.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Six o’clock? To be on the safe side?”

  “That is most suitable for me, Esteemed Bridge. I will arrange for dinner. On the upper deck, if that suits you. Assuming the weather holds.”

  “Dinner, huh? Now I’m definitely telling Revik.”

  Balidor chuckled. Hearing him say something to Jorag then, or maybe Chandre, I reached up, switching off the earpiece before I pulled it off, tossing it down on the white sheet near my leg.

  Well, that was that.

  I wondered how fast the story would get back to Revik.

  Remembering he was still out there, sharing a construct with the rest of them, I guessed pretty damned fast.

  22

  NOT KIDDING

  I SAT CROSS-LEGGED on the bed about twenty minutes later, going through the infiltration team’s notes on Dubai with the headset Revik left me. I must have been pretty absorbed, because I totally missed the ping from security.

  I heard the door open, though.

  Scrambling to yank the sheet back around me, I got my feet and legs caught in the material, and didn’t manage to accomplish my goal before the door opened. I still struggled with pulling the sheet out from under my butt when Revik walked in, holding some kind of tray.

  His clear eyes narrowed when he saw me.

  Turning his head, he motioned sharply to someone behind him, shoving the door closed with his free hand as soon as he’d finished hand-signing a message I didn’t catch. He didn’t move from his spot by the door until the hatch and wheel rolled shut, re-activating the Barrier seal.

  The light over the door shifted from red back to blue, right around the time I removed my headset and dropped it on the table.

  When I glanced back at Revik’s face, I found his eyes on me.

  They lingered where he’d cuffed my wrist. He glanced at the monitor, which had been serving as my work station, along with his link, right before he frowned.

  I watched his face, but he had his infiltrator mask on, so I couldn’t see much.

  Looking at him, I realized in some bewilderment that no one told him about Terian.

  Or if they had, he wasn’t reacting anything like I’d thought he would. I’d expected him to be angry. Not at me necessarily, but I’d definitely expected him to come in hot, ready to grill me about what happened. I figured he’d want to know every detail of what Terian said, and probably ask to read my memories so he could see it all firsthand.

  Even as I thought it, he moved away from the door with that cat-like gait of his.

  Clicking softly under his breath, he walked to the table, setting down the covered tray. When he straightened, I gave him a pointed look.

  “Is that breakfast?” I said.

  He gave me a wan smile.

  “Coffee?” I pressed.

  He nodded, walking over to the bed.

  “Took you long enough,” I scolded. “What in the gods were you doing for so long?”

  He didn’t slow his cat-like steps.

  As he walked, he reached for the back of his shirt collar. He pulled it over his head, not slowing his unhurried walk. After he tossed it on the floor by the bed, he kicked off his shoes, still studying my face.

  Frowning at the sheet wrapped around half my body, he leaned down, grasping hold of it tightly in one hand.

  “Revik,” I warned. “If you think you’re getting any, after leaving me here for two hours, you can think again.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “I’m not rewarding you for this,” I retorted. “I don’t care how much you mess with my light. So you might not want to put anything of yours too close to my mouth.”

  His lips twitched. “Noted.”

  His light slid into mine and I bit my lip, caught off guard by a liquid surge of pain. Closing my eyes, I fought to control it, to control my light, but I couldn’t.

  By the time I could see again, he was yanking the sheet sharply off my legs and torso, half-pulling me down the bed in the process. I bit my lip harder, trying to decide if I wanted to fight him, if I was angry or mostly in pain, if I was worried about his reaction to the Terian thing, or some combination of all those things, plus frustration about our aborted conversation of the night before.

  He caught hold of my ankle before I could make up my mind.

  Instead of pulling me towards him, he pushed my foot backwards on the bed, forcing me to bend my knee. Grabbing my other foot, he did the same on that side, forcing apart my ankles. Within seconds, I had my back to the headboard, my cuffed arm pinned behind me, my other hand gripping the pillow I sat on.

  Still gripping my ankles, he yanked my feet wider apart, pulling himself closer on the mattress. Before I could decide exactly how I wanted to react to this new development, he had his mouth on me. Then he had his tongue on me.

  Then he had it inside me.

  It was really, really hard to yell at him while he was doing that.

  He forced my legs wider, and my light flared.

  As I sank into the mattress, he slowed what he was doing, using his light more deliberately. He let out a low gasp when he felt mine start to open, then he was using things I’d taught him to get me to open more––light things, physical things, things I learned from the Lao Hu––things he’d been pushing me to teach him for weeks.

  When I let out a thick gasp, he stopped long enough to lean his face on my thigh, pain swimming through his light. Once he’d regained control, he started again, his hands tightening on skin and bone, his light pushing aside my attempts to grasp structures in his.

  I gripped his hair in my free hand, and he yanked me down the bed, resting more of his upper body on my legs.

  His pain worsened as he sank his weight.

  Some part of me must still have been holding back, because I felt when I began to let go.

  He did, too. He paused a second time, leaning his face against my leg. Something about the intensity of his concentration made my pain abruptly worse.

  He coiled into me as I opened, so deep I groaned.

  That pain I’d been sitting on, that had been sending sparks through my light since I woke up, unwound around me in a kind of liquid pool. When I pulled on him, asking him outright with my light, he stopped long enough to look at me. His clear eyes were glassed, but held an overt aggression.

  I looked at his chest, at where he was breathing harder, feeling him stare at my face.

  “Fucking talk to me,” he growled. “Ask. Out loud.”

  Another shock of pain hit me. Before I could speak, he moved up my body, his eyes still on mine. He stared down at my face, right before he gripped my hair, holding me down by my free wrist with his other hand.

  I gasped against the amount of light he flooded into mine, against the pain he threw at me. When I could see again, I could only look up at him, struggling to breathe.

  “Ask me,” he growled. “You know what I want. Gods. Why are you so fucking quiet with me still? Am I doing this wrong? Do you need to show me again? Or do I need to hit you until you do what I say?”

  More pain rippled my light, arching my back. I closed my eyes, looking away from him.

  “Alyson, so help me god––”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “No what?” he growled. “No on being hit? No on showing me?”

  I shook my head. “No, you’re not doing it wrong.”

  “Then ask, goddamn it. Ask me. Or I’
m going to tie you up for real.”

  My pain worsened. Still, I didn’t speak.

  Stubbornness, maybe. Or maybe I hadn’t been totally kidding when I told him he’d left me in here too long, in pain and alone. Maybe I could feel him holding back, and knew he wasn’t only doing it because it turned him on to see me in pain for him. He wanted me to open to him completely, but he wasn’t willing to do the same for me. He probably didn’t even intend to try. For all I knew, he didn’t even want to anymore, since he was still blaming me for Cass and Shadow trying to kill me.

  He let out a disbelieving grunt. “You think so, huh?”

  I bit my lip, glaring up at him, still thinking as loudly as before.

  Or maybe I was still pissed off at how little he told me last night.

  About Dalejem.

  That time, he winced. Letting out a thick exhale, he raised himself up on his arms, frustration leaving his light. I tried to pull my own light back, to control myself, but I couldn’t. His pulling and frustration wound into my own, until I let out an angry, frustrated sound, feeling my light slip out of control again.

  That time, I really wanted to hit him. If he hadn’t been pinning me to the mattress, I might have.

  His eyes narrowed more.

  I felt pain there, rising in his light. Most of it still felt like separation pain, but looking at his eyes, I couldn’t be sure what he was thinking.

  Which of course only made my anger worse.

  “You want to hurt me?” he said.

  I thought about his words. Fighting to pull back my light, I shook my head. “No.”

  He laughed. “Bullshit.”

  “Everyone has thoughts like that,” I said, my voice hard, not even a little bit apologetic. “I don’t really want to hurt you. I won’t. But yeah, I thought it.”

  “But why? Why do you want to hurt me, love? You angry at me? For leaving you in here? For Dalejem? Or is it the trust thing? The Cass thing? What you were thinking just now?”

  I felt my jaw harden more.

  He didn’t deny it, I noticed.

  He let out another humorless laugh. “I didn’t? I’m pretty sure I did.” He pressed his body into mine and I closed my eyes, letting out an involuntary sound. “You want to fuck,” he observed. “Your light is pulling on me like crazy, wife. So what is this? You want to fuck angry? You want to hurt me first? Because I’ll let you. You know I will.”

  I looked up at him, frowning. I honestly couldn’t tell how serious he was, but I found myself thinking about his words.

  Was I angry? Was I really angry? Or just frustrated with him and his damned silences? Was I tired of this dance between us, where he was still angry at me for leaving him and dying and working behind his back, and wouldn’t admit it?

  I felt him about to speak and cut him off.

  “What did I say in my sleep last night?” I said. “About Dubai?”

  He shook his head, smiling as he clicked at me. “You want to talk shop right now? Really, wife? When I’ve got my cock pressed against you?”

  The pain in my light worsened.

  He pinned me to the bed while I fought with it, watching my face. His hand slid between my legs, his fingers still gripping my unchained arm. Slow, painfully slow, he began exploring me with light-filled fingers, caressing me so precisely I thought I’d lose my mind. Within a few more seconds, I’d forgotten all about Dubai and shop-talk and being angry at him for not trusting me more and for not telling me anything about that seer, Dalejem.

  A few seconds later, I was talking to him, losing track of my own words.

  When I didn’t stop, he shifted his weight to one side, groaning, fighting with his belt.

  I felt him wanting intercourse now that I was talking to him, even though some of my words hurt him––or maybe partly because of that. He wanted to fuck me before I stopped talking, to put his ear by my mouth while he coaxed me into taking my anger and frustration out on him in other ways. Images came with that, more detailed than usual, and not just a few gentle slaps. I saw myself hitting him, and not only with my fists, with his belt.

  I had my hand on him somewhere in that. Gasping as I massaged him there, he stopped unhooking his belt long enough to press against my palm.

  “You really want me to hurt you?” I asked.

  “No.” He shook his head, gripping my wrist. “Gaos. Yes. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  Something in his light shifted. I felt conflict, hesitation, more pain as he tried to decide how much to tell me. I felt that wall in his heart, felt him thinking about it, knowing it was there. Something about him admitting to that, consciously or not, brought my frustration back in a wave. When he felt my aggression, his pain worsened.

  Then something clicked.

  Once it had, I was staring at him.

  “You know you’re holding back with me?” I said, incredulous. “You want me to beat you up, to get you to stop it?”

  He shrugged. That more predatory look sharpened in his eyes.

  “You are seriously fucked up, you know that?” I said.

  “You knew that when you married me. Well,” he amended, thinking. “…The second time you married me.”

  I stared up at him, trying to wrap my mind around what he was telling me. He wanted me to understand this about him. The request may not have been fully premeditated, but it also hadn’t just “slipped out.” He’d been nervous to ask.

  Not shy exactly, more nervous about how I might react.

  Staring up at the ceiling, I turned over his words, trying to view them objectively.

  He didn’t take his hands off me. My pain worsened when he starting putting more light into his fingers, pulling on me sensually.

  “You’re not doing a good job, if you’re trying to convince me not to do this again,” he said, going back to unfastening his pants.

  “Convince you not to do what again?” I retorted. “Chain me to the wall like your pet?”

  I slid my hand inside his clothes.

  His eyes closed. He shifted closer, giving me more access to him.

  When I started pulling on him from that other place, using structures I’d developed working as a consort for the Lao Hu, he let out a heavy gasp. I felt him fighting me seconds later, trying to wrestle control back from my light, but I’d finally gotten past his defenses. I could feel more of him again, and not only the parts of him that wanted sex.

  For a long-feeling few minutes, he fought my hold on him, but I felt the difference in his body already. His muscles had gone soft. He rested more of his weight on his back and sides, leaning against me. His hand wrapped around my waist, even as he turned his head, staring at my face. The submission felt willing that time.

  I couldn’t read him worth a damn though, even now. The realization frustrated me, even as it turned me on.

  “Convince you of what, Revik?” I repeated.

  “Did you need me to answer that?” His fingers gripped my hair, clenching. “Convince me not to tie you up. Not to lock you to my bed so I could imagine you in here. Gaos. I had a hard-on the whole time I was gone.”

  I smiled in spite of myself, clicking softly. “Sure you did.”

  “I did.” He looked at me, eyes glassed. “I stayed away. I stayed away longer than I wanted… until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted you to miss me. Did you miss me, Allie? I really, really wanted you to miss me.”

  When I pulled on his light, he winced, closing his eyes.

  “Tell me if you missed me, wife. Tell me the truth.”

  “I missed you, Revik.” I opened my light, letting him feel my pain, and he let out a low sound. “I missed you a lot. Enough to want to punish you for it. Enough to be angry about it. To start thinking of ways to get you back…”

  His eyes slid out of focus, right before he looked at me. I couldn’t hold his gaze.

  My eyes shifted down his tattooed arms, to his chest and then to his lower body, over which he still wore most of his pants. When I glanced
up next, pain tightened his expression, right before he looked away, gasping.

  Sometimes it scared me how much I wanted him.

  I knew he felt the same way, at least sometimes. It angered me that a part of me still wanted to punish him for his life before we got married, as well as the parts of his sexuality that had nothing to do with me.

  And yeah, I was still pissed off about Dalejem.

  “You could do it to me.” He glanced at my chained wrist. “I can pretty much guarantee I’ll be hard the whole time you’re gone.”

  I laughed, unable to help it.

  Even so, I could hear the thread of seriousness in his words.

  I knew he’d never do anything if I really said no. On the other hand, I could tell he was more than willing to push it, if he thought I’d let him get away with it. He’d warned me already, he wasn’t feeling overly burdened by rationality when it came to the two of us, not since thinking I was dead for the second time. He also told me he was feeling more than a little self-indulgent when it came to reassuring himself that I was all right, even if that meant not letting me out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time for the next year or so.

  He also asked, in one of our more honest conversations in the past few weeks, if I’d let him boss me around sexually, as long as he didn’t abuse the privilege overly.

  Of course, I’d asked him to clarify what he meant by “overly.”

  The only answer I got was that smile.

  Pretty much the same smile I was looking at now.

  Since that talk, he’d been throwing minor tests my way. I definitely got the impression he was only putting a toe in the water, but we’d already done a few things that fell roughly into that category. He’d asked to hit me a few times, too, under controlled circumstances, and I admit, it turned me on.

  The fact that he’d felt the need to ask me about it again made me think he had something different in mind now, maybe something more psychological. I couldn’t even be sure if he knew what he wanted precisely. Looking at him now, I found myself thinking about it again, and thinking about the other request he’d made, a few minutes earlier. So he wanted to boss me around, but part of that was that he wanted me to boss him around, too.