97 (Rise of the Battle Bred)

by V. L. Holt

  I sighed.

  “William, you’re like a…a Calvin Klein ad from Krypton,” A blank look. “Ripped. Cut. Chiseled,” I let my hand drift towards his torso, paused, glanced up at him, and allowed my hand to touch his abs through his shirt. I pulled away before I went crazy. “You’re handsome and strong. So strong…” my husky voice drifted away as I looked up at him, seeing him, but not seeing him, as my mind’s eye replayed the scene at the playground. His eyes softened when he looked down at me.

  “You think I’m handsome?” He asked me quietly. My blush completely engulfed my skin. I nodded. Was this the moment? Would he bend down and touch his oh-so-divine mouth to my own? I dared not close my eyes, even though it seemed like the thing to do. But no. He smiled a little. “More questions? I’d be surprised if you didn’t have more,” He told me.

  Swallowing disappointment, I decided to launch into them. “How does somebody with 99 lives not just live forever? I mean, what happens when you all get old?”

  I thought this was a safe bet. He could decide whether or not to divulge what life he was on. Maybe he was on, like, his tenth one, or something. I couldn’t imagine what that would be like, to have that many do-overs.

  “Do you get diseases, like cancer and stuff?” I was itching to caress his face with my palm. He looked like he needed a shave, but just barely. His hair curled at the nape of his neck. I wanted to run my hands in it. Whoa Nelly. I needed to rein it in.

  William rocked back on his heels. “Good questions. There are legends of a Warrior who lived to be in his nineties. We just tend not to live that long. The Warlochs really have it out for our kind, you know. And they develop weapons and spells that incinerate multiple lives at once,” He stated it so calmly, like it was just encyclopedia facts.

  “We don’t get diseases, though. Healthy as a horse,” He pounded his chest and smiled wide, showing those beautiful white teeth. The Warlochs hadn’t shied away from creating beautiful specimens of manhood, I decided.

  “How did your mom die?” I asked softly. I hoped it had happened long enough ago that this wouldn’t be a sore spot, like Toledo apparently was.

  “Lochspawn, of course. I was only two. I’d already lost a couple lives in utero. My mom was a true Warrior. She fought, even late into her pregnancy. I guess we had died together a few times. My dad went crazy and hid us in the middle of Juarez, Mexico. We lived in this hovel in a tiny barrio. The sheer size and poverty of the city seemed like the perfect hiding place. A Lochspawn found us by accident, and of course, my dad had just left across the border to try and make some contacts. It used the spell and my mom didn’t have a chance. If the spell gets repeated twice, then the Warrior pretty much loses any lives he or she has left,” He looked out into the woods, probably not seeing anything in particular.

  “My dad tells me that neighbors described a great Diablo Negro made out of stone attacking the hut where we lived. They described blue flames and a fire that didn’t consume the wood. After it left, they came looking for the bodies. They found me stuffed under a pile of clothes and things. My mom had hidden me and fought to the death.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I remembered that he had only just learned this a year ago. “Do you remember anything?”

  He turned his head to look at me and smiled. “No. I’m glad I don’t; it seems that would be pretty traumatic. What about you? Do you remember your dad?”

  I decided to sit in the grass, and he followed suit. “I don’t. I used to be really mad that he ditched us like he did, but my mom and I had this talk the other day, and it kind of changed things for me a little bit,” Our arms brushed against each other as we sat in tall grass and heard birds and wind stirring the leaves and pine needles in the woods around us.

  “How?” He asked me.

  “She told me how much they loved each other. She told me that when she looks at me, she gets happy remembering him,” I felt a blush begin, but it didn’t bother me. William never teased me or remarked on it in any way, so maybe I could deal. “How can I be mad at him when even she doesn’t seem to have any bitter feelings? So that’s it.”

  William started shredding grass in his large hands. “Did she say why he left?”

  I watched his fingers tear delicate strands of green. “No. She said he never came home one day, and she had called his mom and neither one of them ever heard from him again. I guess I kind of figured he got scared of parenthood or something,”

  “He left before you were born?” He asked.

  “Yeah, like, my mom was just barely pregnant. I don’t know if he knew about me or not. I kind of thought maybe he knew and that’s why he left,” I shrugged and glanced at William. His dark hair curled slightly at his neck and my fingers just itched to reach out and touch him. I started shredding grass too.

  “You know,” he started. He cleared his throat, like maybe it was going to be difficult to say what he was going to say next. “It’s good you’re not mad at your dad anymore. Maybe it wasn’t his choice that he didn’t come back,” He cleared his throat again. I looked over at him, and saw moisture glisten at the corner of his eye. If it fell, it would track down the dark stubble on his jaw, and maybe drip onto the collar of his dark shirt. I decided I didn’t want his shirt to get wet, so I reached over and wiped at his eye with my thumb. He closed his eye. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  “What are you thinking of?” I whispered.

  He took a shuddering breath. “Toledo.”

  I didn’t press him. I just nodded and let my hand fall to his massive bicep. He was like this bulwark of strength, and it slayed me to think of him hurting. He seemed more capable of inflicting pain, not feeling it.

  “So, can I ask you another question?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “What is it about this place? Why’d you bring me here, and why were you asking me about if I’d been here before?” I just laid it out for him.

  He chuckled softly. “Nothing gets by you. Ever,” He stood up, and then reached down to pull me up with him.

  I went along with it, if only to feel my hand in his. He took me around the field. “I have something to tell you, about why I’m so curious about you. But it’s something that I don’t really understand,” He used his other hand to swipe across his mouth, and his brow furrowed. I admit; I was completely intrigued.

  My hand felt swallowed up in his. He squeezed ever so gently; I couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, or not.

  “I can see everywhere you’ve been,” He finally said.

  I’m sure I looked as confused as I felt. “Explain.”

  “I can see your path. Everywhere you go, everywhere you’ve ever gone, you leave a path behind you. I can see it,” He just looked at me, probably waiting for my reaction. I didn’t know what to say though, so he continued. “You shine. You glow,” Oh great. Was he really going to bring up my blush now?

  He still held my hand, and squeezed again. He brought his other hand up to my cheek. “I’m not talking about your blush, Jane,” He said my name, and I’m fairly certain I melted into a blushing puddle at his feet.

  “You have an aura about you, and you leave a glowing trail behind you. I could see your path as soon as Dad and I entered the town limits. It’s really bright in places you’ve been recently, and it’s really faint in places you visited a long time ago. Places that you go often, are really glowing pink. As soon as I realized it was someone’s path, I had to meet them. I saw you on your paper route Friday morning. You left a pink handprint on our moving truck.”

  I recalled that embarrassing moment, the one I’d been so sure no one had witnessed. I had to look down, feeling as stupid as I did.

  Still, he didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he pulled me to him. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Jane. I wanted to know everything about you. When I saw you in the parking lot at school, staring at me with those eyes…” He stopped. He looked into my eyes, and I was wondering, what about my eyes? What?
>
  “I felt angry that you were so beautiful. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just blow you off. I knew then that I would have to get to know you, no matter what.”

  “Oh,” I said, my lips in an ‘o’ shape, and my breath easing out like a slow leak from a tire. I tried to comprehend what he was saying about my ‘path’.

  I looked around the field. “Is my…?” I kind of gestured around us.

  He broke into a smile. “After this morning, I drove around, trying to find a place you’d never been in town. I thought I wanted to get away from you,” He shook his head no at me, when I frowned, about to complain.

  “I found this spot, where a pink trail is so faint, it had to have been made a very long time ago.”

  I looked around again. “Where is it?” I asked. I was feeling curious and wonderful and alarmed and confused. I couldn’t believe I was here, with big handsome William, and that he admitted to caring about me, or at least, of having a freakish curiosity about me. I’m charmed. And what on earth was he saying about pathways and auras? I mean, I know he’s unlike anybody ever, and I know that he wears the supernatural like a cloak, but this was all so new and strange.

  He broke his grip on my hand, and made a soft gesture toward a particularly lovely spot. The meadow flowers were the most plentiful, and a grouping of tree limbs hung over creating a secluded bower.

  “There is the tiniest flare, like a flower blossom, here,” He stops and looks down, and I think I know what he sees. I also think I am about to die of the most extreme mortification of humankind.

  “Is this…is this where…?” I stumble and stammer and feel embarrassed down at the molecular level. I kind of laugh, and gasp and just die a little.

  He looks up and has the goofiest grin on his face. “I know, right?” He says to me.

  I catch my breath. “Why did you bring me here?” I ask.

  He stares at me hard with his dark eyes. “I guess because,” he paused. He was killing me here.

  “When I was running away from you, I found you. So, it’s like I was running to you. I want you to be in my life always,” And as if his confession wasn’t enough to send me to my knees in awe, he walked right up to me, bent down enough to bring his face to mine, and breathed on me.

  His breath was minty and cool. He brought his enormous hands up to my cheeks; they enveloped my head. He watched me lick my lips, and then he brought his own warm ones to touch my own. His kiss wasn’t anything like the sneaky one he’d sprinkled on me before.

  This kiss was full of intention.

  His intention was as clear as the sky after rain. He intended for me to feel that he wasn’t complete without me, that his life had no meaning without me in it, that us together, was more complete and more reality than us apart…he kissed the corner of my mouth softly, and the other corner, just as softly. And he centered his mouth on mine, and pressed so firmly that I couldn’t tell where my skin and his met.

  I breathed in the same air that he did, we breathed each other’s souls, and life swirled around us, in the form of birds and insects and wind in the pines, and stirring leaves, and a tiny pink spark that revealed the moment I came into being.

  As crazy as it was, it seemed right, too. It was like he was acknowledging my complete existence mattered to him, even the parts where he hadn’t known me yet. He slowly pulled away, and trailed his thumbs down my jaw and down either side of my neck. “I hope this wasn’t wildly inappropriate,” He said, brows furrowed in concern.

  I had to laugh. “Kind of strange, and kind of wonderful,” I said, while nodding and laughing a little breathlessly. Oh no, there was that breathless business again. But I found I couldn’t bring myself to care at this point.

  39

  Zeko paced back and forth inside his luxuriously appointed apartment in the same building as his gleaming corner office. What was Zarastrid doing? Why was he here? How much control would he have to give up, and more importantly, how many perks would he have to give up? He hadn’t come this far to be swept aside. He didn’t miss the era of chamber pots and poxy barmaids. He liked the comforts he had surrounded himself with.

  A small scratch on the door stopped his pacing with the force of a bulldozer, though it was so quiet a mouse could have made it. “Enter!” Zeko almost shouted.

  His meek assistant, the one with the truly outstanding cleavage, entered the room. “You asked for the report, Mr. Zeko.”

  It didn’t have the same ring as ‘my liege’, but these modern era types didn’t take to the title very easily. And they never sounded convinced when they used it, anyway. “Yes. What do you have for me?” He let his eyes drift, and then return to her face.

  “Mr. Zarastrid took the elevator to the subbasement. He had a brief interview with the Marine, and moved his room. He is in Cell 1, now. Mr. Zarastrid’s assistant gave him a set of clothing as well. And a meal.”

  Zeko resumed pacing. He muttered to himself while his assistant stood calmly near the door to his apartment. She really was very lovely, but he was distracted beyond belief. Zarastrid was changing the game plan. Why? What could it mean? He paced another ten minutes before her discreet throat-clearing reminded him of her presence.

  “You may leave, Grace. Thank you,” He said distractedly. He noted the wave of relief that rolled off her back as she left, but thought nothing of it. People often had such feelings as they left his presence. Everyone except Zarastrid, of course.

  Zarastrid was going to force his hand. Zeko made thoughtless gestures with his fingers while he marched, and small objects began to tremble and lift off tables, some of them dropping and smashing on the cold granite floor. Zeko stopped pacing. He would have to abandon some of his indolence, but it would be worth it to get his autonomy back.

  He paged his secretary, who rang him on his apartment phone within a minute. “Jasmina. Get Zyrick on the phone for me. I’ll hold on,” A few minutes later Zeko heard the voice of one of his compatriots. “Did you know about this?” A pause. “Zarastrid is relocating here. He’s going to be breathing down our necks. He’s going to want better results sooner,” Zeko rubbed the back of his neck and scowled. “I know that and you know that. He probably knows it too, but you know how he is. Do something to make him happy and hold him off for a few days. I’ve got something on my end that I could keep him busy with.”

  He got his secretary back on the phone. “Now I need Zainel,” He only had to wait a moment.

  “We need to talk. Zarastrid is here. In L.A.”

  He hung up his phone. Rotating his shoulders, he regretted not making plans with one of the women around his office. Any of them would have been sufficient. Now he didn’t want to bother with it. He thought of the Marine, in a new cell and possibly even more comfortable than he was right now. What was Zarastrid’s plan? Why did he deviate from the original schedule? They were supposed to be consulting with the entire Warloch clan. Zeko began pacing again. Zarastrid must have something; something valuable, something big. He wasn’t afraid of making waves and asserting his power. Zeko felt itchy, suddenly. He decided to visit the Marine one more time.

  Upon arriving, he thrust the door to Cell 1 open without knocking. The Marine was dressed and sitting ramrod straight on the pallet on the floor. He looked up at Zeko, expressionless. This irked Zeko. “Marine. I don’t recognize you with clothes on,” No response. “I see Zarastrid has made you more at ease. This is a departure isn’t it? I seem to recall the last time you two were in the same room, you were just about broken, and he was quite in his element,” Zeko scrutinized the Marine’s face carefully, trying to detect any reaction at all. Zeko cracked his knuckles. Perhaps Zarastrid was the more powerful of the two, because he could restrain rage; Zeko himself was not capable of doing that.

  “I could reduce you to ash with one phrase,” He said, barely containing his anger. Zeko knew his rage was disproportionate to the situation, but something about the man really frayed at his nerves.

  “Then why don’t you?” The Marine as
ked softly.

  Zeko choked back a shout. He schooled his features. “You know very well why I don’t. Zarastrid would have my head on a spike. Why don’t you just do what we want you to do, and give her up?” Zeko’s eyes grew round at his error.

  The Marine looked up suddenly. “Her? Who?” He looked completely surprised and befuddled. Clueless, even.

  Zeko entered the room, barely registering the shield Zarastrid had created in the doorway. He squatted down. “Don’t tell me you have no idea why we’ve kept you for days, tortured you, threatened your life?” He grabbed the soldier’s chin in a fierce grip. He inspected his face, looking for deception or subterfuge. He saw only confusion. He stood and cursed and turned on his heel. He stared at the art on the wall, but saw only the likelihood that Zarastrid would have his head on a spike anyway. He’d tipped their hand. He slowly turned back around to face the Marine.

  “This can all end. Just let us know everything there is to know about your wife,” He exhaled. There. Let Zarastrid clean up after his mess.

  The Marine stood up slowly, as if he was an old man. Confusion clouded his features for a full minute.

  “Wife?”

  Zeko’s face drained of his color. It became clear to him all of a sudden. That spell. The one Zainel perfected so many centuries ago…

  He murmured the words that would undo the effects of the memory chant, and then watched as full recollection dawned on the Marine’s face.

  “All this time. Running from your minions for the last year. These two weeks of hell. I thought you wanted State secrets or something. Details of government operations. You never believed me when I said I knew nothing,” He stared at Zeko, his brows sewn together. “I haven’t seen my wife in…” he trailed off, and a cloudy look dimmed his eyes. “Years,” he whispered so softly, Zeko could barely hear him.