The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance (Mammoth Books)

by Trisha Telep

  “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s not a bad idea, now that you mention it.” The corner of his lip turned up in what almost looked like a grin.

  Rexa fought the urge to throw the bowl of mush at him. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She desperately needed a drink, and the bowl of mash was beginning to resemble roasted meat in her delusional mind.

  “Who were those men in the desert?” She asked, poking at the steaming food. “Were they headhunters?”

  Her captor nodded. “When the Red Hand Gang finally took over control of the planet, they appeased the less violent masses by offering a bounty for the heads of anyone with a brand on their face.” His cheek twitched just beneath his scar. “Thieves, conspirators, prostitutes and drug-users aligned themselves with the gang under the promise that there would be no murderers or rapists in their midst.”

  “They got rid of their competition.” Rexa mused.

  “Smart girl.” The man sat back down and kicked his feet up on the table.

  “And these headhunters kill for money?” She knew the wasteland was a bad place, a dangerous place, but in her worst nightmares, she couldn’t have imagined this.

  “Trust me, the irony is not lost on me.” Bitterness dripped from his voice. He looked at her, his expression grim and serious. “The really bad ones kill whoever they want and brand the face post-mortem. You were lucky I found you.” He tilted his head at her unused cup. “It’s only water.”

  Rexa picked up the cup and slowly took a sip. Her whole body cried out in relief and she hastily gulped down the rest. She waited for dizziness, some sort of sign he had ill intent, but there was nothing.

  She picked up her bowl of food. She watched as he filled another bowl for himself. “What’s your name?”

  “Taven.” He took a bite, and she did as well. The mash tasted rich, warm and soothing, with a pleasant sour bite.

  “I’m Rexa.” She took another spoonful. “Thank you,” she forced out.

  He looked down at the bowl in his hands. “You’re welcome.”

  Three

  Three weeks passed while Rexa remained chained. Thankfully, the tether was long enough that she could move fairly freely through Taven’s ramshackle home. She could only get about a foot outside the mouth of the cave, though, before the chain stopped her. In that three weeks, she took great care in observing her host.

  To say he was a man of few words was an understatement. In fact, since the day she’d woken up, he hadn’t initiated any conversation or interaction at all. He always left it to her. At first it was infuriating. Then Rexa came to the startling realization that he was, in effect, taming her. Any interaction between them was always her choice. She had to seek him out.

  When she did, it was often rewarding. In spite of the fact that he was quiet, she found Taven to be thoughtful, observant, fiercely intelligent and patient. On occasion, he showed a dry wit. He was even gentle. When her kiver-bite wound festered, he treated her hand with delicate care, and apologized under his breath when his efforts to clean it stung.

  She still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted from her, but as each day passed, she knew without a doubt he would not harm her. He earned her trust the way one would a wild creature’s, and she wondered if he’d used the same method to tame his hawk, Wingman.

  Any time she neared the bird, it gaped its beak, hissed at her and puffed all its feathers up in warning. She decided to give the raptor a wide berth for both their sakes.

  Even after all this time, Rexa still didn’t know what Taven had done to earn the brand on his cheek, but in her mind she came up with a million excuses for him. Maybe it was self-defense, or perhaps he had been trying to protect someone. She couldn’t believe he would willingly kill another person in cold blood. Perhaps she was fooling herself. She’d heard stories of people allying themselves with their captors out of self-preservation, but from where she stood, it didn’t seem like too bad an idea. So far, he’d proven she could trust him. She couldn’t say the same for the rest of the planet.

  That morning, Rexa watched him as he stood at the entrance to the cave, preparing to go out to check his traps for food. Whatever star threw light at this backward hole of a planet seemed to take pity on them that morning. For the first time since she’d arrived, a sun broke through the endless layer of clouds. In the unfiltered light, Taven’s hair looked more dark brown than black, with parts that shone deep red when the rays hit them right.

  He concentrated on untangling a snare. She could only see the unbranded side of his face. It was harsh, barely tamed. In that moment, he was a handsome man.

  “Can I come with you?” she asked. “I could help.” Her belly fluttered nervously as she stared at him. He slowly turned to look at her, his heavy lashes low, giving an inexplicable heat to his dark eyes. She knew it was futile, but she wanted to be with him on such a nice day.

  He strode forward with slow and carefully placed strides, a half-grin quirked in the corner of his mouth. It reminded her of that first day. Her heart kicked up, thumping loudly in her ears, and her throat went dry. He bent down and wrapped his large hands around her ankle. With his fingertips, he deftly unscrewed one bolt, and the entire contraption fell away.

  “It wasn’t locked!” Rexa kicked the damn thing, and then had to hop on one foot as she nursed her bruised toe. “The whole time, I could have walked away?”

  Taven shrugged. “You coming?” He held his arm out to indicate the world outside the cave.

  In half a millisecond, Rexa thought of a million acts of torture she could inflict on him, and every single one of them seemed like a pretty good idea. “Damn you,” she muttered. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.” And damn herself for being so stupid.

  “Too late. C’mon, before the scavengers beat us to the traps.” He smiled at her, and she found herself chuckling in response.

  Freedom, even such a small taste of it, felt good. The heat from the sunlight soaked into her coat as they carefully hiked down a well-worn path through the ravine. Wingman flew overhead, circling through the bronze-tinted sky.

  “From this point on, you have to obey any order I give without question,” Taven said, turning back to her.

  “Why?” She stopped in her tracks, worried for the first time.

  Taven looked exasperated. “That’s a question.” He took a careful step forward and pointed down to a thin wire crossing the path. “I’ve set traps all along here to keep headhunters out. Pay attention, follow my lead, and go slowly. Got it?”

  Rexa gave him a quick mock salute, determined not to disappoint him. She’d never learn her way around enough to survive on her own if she couldn’t keep his trust. They proceeded slowly until they reached a broad trail along a dry river bed at the bottom of the ravine.

  “Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble,” Taven warned. After a long, still pause where Taven watched Wingman’s behavior in the air, his whole posture seemed to ease. “Do you have any experience at hunting?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Rexa confessed. “I’m a bit of a city girl. I didn’t even have any pets.” In truth, she had been ignored most of the time she had been growing up. One of the political neophytes had always been assigned to watch her, because her parents had been too busy with their campaigns to pay her any attention. She had learned to occupy her time by hacking the tech around her, because it was there, and the only thing she really had to play with. Now that she thought about it, the stark loneliness of her childhood had been crushing. Even her brother had always seen her as a spying nuisance bent on getting him into trouble. Maybe he had had something there.

  Taven seemed to have a lot of experience trudging around through brambles. They didn’t have luck with any of the snares he’d set, but he carefully checked and concealed each of them before moving on again. They were able to catch some mud toads. These amphibians were immune to kivers, and Taven used them to make antivenom.

  “How long have you been here?” Rexa asked, stuffing a toad in the pac
k.

  He shielded his eyes from the sun with his palm, and seemed to consider the question for a moment. “It’s been about fourteen season cycles for this world, but I don’t know how many standard years that translates to.”

  Twenty-one. Damn.

  “How old were you when you were branded?” Her throat closed up with shock as she said it. He didn’t look old enough to have been a convict for over twenty years.

  “Sixteen.”

  Dear God, he’d been a child. What had happened to him? Whatever it was, he had only been a boy. His whole life had been taken away. It didn’t seem fair. But whoever he had murdered was dead. Was that fair? It was all so twisted. No matter what, she had to remember – the man who stood before her had lived most of his life in the wastelands. This place had honed him. She couldn’t let herself forget it.

  “Rexa, look,” he said in a hushed whisper. As he turned to her, his dark eyes lit with excitement. She pushed all other thoughts from her mind and focused on the weedy patch of ground where he pointed. She stepped closer, bringing her body close enough to him that he wrapped his arm over her shoulder and directed her gaze toward an enormous, fat, muddy-brown bird resting beneath the bush.

  “I haven’t caught a brushrunner in years,” he whispered against her ear. A shiver tickled down her neck and pooled deep in her belly.

  “Do they taste good roasted?” she whispered back, as warmth spread through her limbs.

  “It’s the closest thing to etherium you can get around here.” He pulled out a sharpened blade. “Hold still. They’re strong, and it looks like the snare only caught his leg. If he breaks loose . . .”

  “I’m on it.”

  Excitement coursed through her as he stalked around to the back of the bird. It was an ugly thing with a wrinkly bald head and a long, flappy blue comb. At the moment, its eyes were closed. Perhaps it had exhausted itself. Taven crept up behind it. Rexa took a step to the side to hide herself behind a scraggly tree.

  Just then she heard a familiar rattle. A kiver hissed at her from the trunk of the tree and she screamed and leapt forward.

  The bird woke with a loud “Gwark! gwark!” It flailed against the snare. Taven swore as he lunged for the thing. The tie snapped and the bird, easily the size of a small dog, barreled straight toward Rexa in an awkward, hopping run.

  “Grab it!” Taven shouted, hot on the bird’s tail feathers.

  Rexa fought the urge to run and, instead, squatted in the middle of the bird’s path with her hands outstretched as if she were catching a ball.

  The ugly bird launched at her face, beating his enormous black wings. All Rexa could do was duck and cover her head with her hands.

  Another sharp oath erupted from Taven as he crashed into her. They both tumbled along the ground. Fire lanced through her side from her sore rib, and the rest of her was a tangle of arms and legs. She came to a stop with her back on the warm sand and Taven pressing down on top of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried, as she wriggled beneath him. “Hurry, we can . . .”

  But he didn’t move. His body shook with odd jerking motions. At first she was concerned he was having some sort of seizure, but then she heard it. Low at first, as if he were trying desperately to hold it in, but couldn’t.

  He laughed, and the sound was far better than a roasted bird ever could be.

  Rexa found herself laughing with him as they lay there in the heat and just gave in to the moment. Taven’s face was transformed. Warm and bright, he seemed to glow with mirth. She wondered how long it had been since he’d laughed. He’d been alone for so long.

  She reached up and touched his unbranded cheek and his gaze met hers. Tilting her chin up slightly, she smiled at him, and then let her eyes drift closed.

  Her heart hammered as she waited for him to bring his lips to hers. She ached for his touch, for his kiss.

  Finally, soft lips brushed hers, and his cheek scratched her warmly. Rexa had only ever heard of the effects of etherium, and the wild, free-floating ecstasy it induced in its users, but she couldn’t imagine anything more mind-blowing than this kiss.

  Taven pulled away. She fought to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” His voice had turned husky and taken on a tone she’d never heard before. Her rib still ached, but at the moment she didn’t care a whit. She nodded, unable to speak.

  Taven rose and helped her to her feet, though he wouldn’t look her in the eye and seemed uncomfortable. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

  Rexa nodded again, feeling both dizzy and drunk from the after-effects of his kiss. “I guess it’s tubers again for dinner. It’s better than eating the toads.”

  He chuckled and led her back to the cave.

  Four

  Another few weeks passed, and Rexa was sure they were far more agonizing than the last ones. She had her freedom, but now her mind was in a constant state of chaos. Taven remained his usual elusive self, and to her endless torment, he refused to acknowledge that he had kissed her.

  Rexa had no idea where she stood with him. Half of her felt she was completely out of her mind for thinking about it at all. It wasn’t as if they could be married and live happily ever after. But he looked at her with such longing it nearly broke her heart.

  If that weren’t enough, sometimes they sat at the mouth of the cave in companionable silence listening to the soft sounds of the desert as daylight faded. In those moments, she really felt at peace. When they stared out over the ravine, all her thoughts and worries fell away. She could live in the present and it felt good.

  She caught Taven watching her. It wasn’t the first time. Usually he’d turn away, but this time, he met her gaze.

  “What would you do if you could escape this place?” he asked, before tossing a kiver tail to Wingman.

  “That’s easy. I’d expose my brother and watch him get tossed into this hellhole.” She crossed her arms and rested them on her knees.

  “You really think he’d be convicted?” Taven asked.

  She shrugged. “He broke the law.” It was as simple as that.

  Taven seemed to consider this as he picked up a knot of wires and slowly worked to untangle them. “The question is, do the people really care?”

  She looked back out over the ravine. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just wondering what the point of exposing a politician is if the people are too fat, content and lazy to stage a revolution anyhow. Even if you get him, the next guy will be just as bad.” He managed to work a length of red wire out and laid it in the sand.

  “It’s the principle of the thing.” Her brother needed to pay for what he did.

  Taven nodded. “I bet it’s nice to have the luxury to stand on principle.”

  Rexa opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again when she realized this was one argument she had no hope of winning.

  “What about you?” She tilted her head, curious as to how he would answer.

  “I’d jump back to the old garbage portal that used to serve the penal colonies before they decided to throw away people.” He set his lips in a thoughtful line, and then tossed a pebble into the ravine.

  Rexa huffed in disbelief. “You want to go to a penal colony?”

  “From what I understand, they’re abandoned now. No one would notice strange activity at the portal, and from there I could head out into the wilderness. No one would ever find me again.” He turned a second pebble over and over between his fingers before throwing it as well.

  “That sounds lonely.” The words came out before Rexa thought about them at all. He stared at her, his deep eyes sad and mysterious.

  “It would be.” He hung his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell across his scarred cheek. “I have to go somewhere tonight. Remain here. Stay vigilant until I return.” Taven pushed himself off the ground and brushed off his hands.

  “What? Where are you going?” Rexa jumped to her feet and followed him as he gathered some things in his pack.

  “I�
��m heading to the junkyards. The headhunters like to patrol there, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before dawn. Stay safe.” He brushed a hasty kiss on her cheek, and then turned for the entrance to the cave.

  Rexa grabbed him and hauled him back. Her lips met his, and she hungrily took his mouth in a searing kiss. He caught her, holding her around the ribs. She let her fingertips slide over his neck. His mouth opened to her, and she took full advantage, slipping inside him, coaxing him to meet with her completely.

  She broke the kiss, breathless. She stared into his eyes, which were alight with shock and a deep burning fire. “You come back,” she demanded.

  She let go.

  He pushed forward and met her for a second blistering kiss, brief and fierce. When he pulled away he nodded, then disappeared into the night.

  Rexa tried to catch her breath, but her heart was pounding, and nothing seemed to quiet it. Wingman lazily flipped his wings and picked at the leather ties on his feet. The bells jangled and he fluffed his feathers as if Taven had gone to the junkyard a million times and the bird didn’t have a care in the world.

  Looking around the cave at all his stuff, he probably had done this a million times. She settled down on her hard bed and tried not to worry. It was no use.

  She didn’t sleep at all. After a few hours, she reasoned he couldn’t possibly be back so soon. In another few hours, she fought to keep her eyes open and furiously tried to find anything that could tell her the hour. When she gave up on her search for a clock, she had to admit she was worried. When dawn finally broke, fear – deep ugly fear – gripped her.

  Where was he?

  By mid-morning she knew there was no mistake. Something was terribly wrong. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to find the junkyard. The wasteland outside of the cave was endless. What if he was out there somewhere and needed help, but she couldn’t reach him? She had to do something.

  “Wingman, get up!” She undid the bird’s ties and pushed him on the rump, but he hunched down over his perch and hissed at her. “Damn it, bird. Taven’s in trouble.” She smacked him on the tail and the hawk flew out the cave opening. Taven had used the bird as a spotter. Maybe she could as well.