by Joss Ware
“That’s one definition for it.” He grinned and eased her closer. With his other hand, he pulled a lock of hair away from where it clung to her cheek and then paddled gently to keep them afloat. “There are flare guns . . . and then there are guns with flare,” he said, linking his arm around her, just above the curve of her butt, and pulling her up against him. “Like the one I have right . . . here.”
Ana laughed as she felt the very hot and hard something filling the space between them, and a little shiver of desire caught her by surprise.
Her breasts were pressed against his bare chest, only the thin fabric of her bra separating them. Their legs bumped and slid sinuously beneath the surface. She smiled and shifted against him. “I’m guessing you haven’t experimented in the water,” she said with a naughty grin. “At least for a very long time.”
“It has been a long while,” he replied, allowing them to sink a bit lower into the ocean. “But I think,” he said, lifting his mouth out just enough to speak, “it’s time I changed that.”
As his warm body plastered against her torso, his chest moved and filled against hers . . . and they began to descend slowly back into the depths.
The boat rocked on gentle waves as Quent put the flare gun down. “Right, then. Now they know the danger has passed,” he said. He sounded remote and almost cool—even for him, with his formal, precise tones. “Vaughn can call off the evacuation. Sage will be relieved.”
Silent, Zoë watched him, feeling a heavy stone in her belly that had nothing to do with the scrap of life growing within.
Well, maybe the hell it did. Dammit. She groped for something to say, and for once came up empty.
That heavy stone in her belly had been expanding, erecting a solid wall between her and Quent for some time now.
In the distance several miles behind them, a shoreline rose against the evening sky with dark and jagged shapes. Behind it were the faint lights of Envy, creating a soft orange glow in the lowering light. The boat, which Quent had pulled halfway onto land when the sea got frighteningly rough, rocked rhythmically, and the only sound was the soft lick of waves against it.
“So now that that’s done with,” he said, looking out at something in the darkness, “perhaps you and I ought to attend to the other matter while we wait for them to come back.”
“What other matter?” she asked, suddenly feeling light-headed. That stone in her belly felt ass-crap heavy now, sickeningly heavy. And all at once she felt her lips moving and words coming out before she realized it. “I’ve got something to tell—”
“Too bloody late, Zoë,” Quent said, talking over her from between clenched teeth. “Did you really think that I didn’t know?”
The fact that he was still staring out into the dark night sent a chill wave over Zoë. Her heart began to beat harder, her palms growing damp. This was way fucking worse than the first time she’d come face-to-face with a zombie.
“That I couldn’t bloody tell?” he continued, still talking to . . . the damn ocean or some night bug or something. Not to her. He wasn’t even looking at her. “That I hadn’t noticed the changes in your body? Did you think I was stupid?”
Now the nausea that she’d never experienced early in the pregnancy came rushing into her. Zoë’s insides churned like the ocean had done, and for a moment she had to fight to keep from horking right there. Fuck.
“Am I the only one you didn’t tell?” Quent continued in that flat, emotionless voice. “Zoë.” On that, his voice cracked softly and he at last turned to look at her.
“Quent,” she said, swallowing hard, unable to dredge up even a hint of her normal bravado. But this wasn’t the time for bravado, was it? “I . . . wanted to tell you—”
“No, luv, I don’t think you did. In fact, I think you were bloody, buggering scared to tell me. So instead, you told everyone else—”
“No! I didn’t fucking tell everyone else. Only Elliott, because he’s a doctor, and Lou, because he was leaving—but it just slipped out with him . . . and . . . and I don’t know how everyone else found out.” To her shock and mortification, another bout of tears swelled in her eyes. Goddammit, she’d been crying more than a fucking fountain lately.
“Presumably, you’ve been taking care of yourself, at least in some ways, if you’ve talked to Elliott,” Quent said. He still sounded cold. “At least I can be grateful for that.”
Zoë couldn’t handle it anymore. Her fingers were shaking and her insides were a maelstrom of emotion. “Quent, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you, I knew it all along, but I . . . I was afraid . . . I knew you wouldn’t let me . . .”
For a moment the only sound above the lashing of waves was Quent’s breathing. It sounded rough and agitated. Then he spoke, and his words were soft . . . emotionless and dead. “You were afraid I would make you be more careful. That I would restrict your hunting expeditions. Make you stay in, and safe. So that nothing would happen to the baby. Or to its mother. Apparently,” he said, his voice getting louder and more clipped, “you aren’t concerned about the safety and health of the child. You might not even care if something—”
“No!” Zoë blazed, horror-stricken at the thought. “No! That’s not true, Quent, it’s not true! I—I admit, I was scared when I first realized it . . . having a baby is the most crazy-ass thing that could happen—in a good way—but I was scared. And I wasn’t sure that I could . . . do it. Be . . .” She swallowed hard and blinked back tears. Her hands were still shaking, her heart pounding as misery and guilt weighed her down.
Had she done it? Had she ruined everything?
Did he really think that she’d want something to happen?
“Quent . . . I . . .”
“I’ve known for two months, Zoë. Have I done anything to make you feel restricted or smothered or controlled? Have I done anything to keep you from doing what you wanted? No. I haven’t. I’ve looked the other way, kept an eye on you, gritted my teeth, bloody waited for you to tell me . . . but you didn’t. But . . . you’re getting further along now, and it’s even more important that you . . . take care. Because I don’t want anything to happen to my baby. Our baby.”
Zoë looked over through a film of tears. He was looking in her direction, but not at her. Down, off to the side, out into the darkness where a tree hovered over them. His chest rose and fell in agitation, his hands tightly fisted in his lap.
She knew, suddenly, that if she didn’t swallow her pride, her fear, and make a definitive move, they might never get beyond this. He might never forgive her.
“Quent,” she said, launching herself toward him without a hint of the reserve she still often harbored. As the boat rocked with her sudden movement, Zoë knelt on the floor, taking his hands in hers, looking up at him, trying to get him to look at her. “I’ve been fighting the damned guilt for weeks. I know I should have told you, but I was beyond afraid. And scared. Really scared. I don’t know if I can be a good mother—look at how I fucked this all up. But I know that you’re going to be an amazing parent. Good enough for both of us.”
His fingers loosened slightly, and she was able to curl hers more tightly around them. “Will you forgive me?” she asked . . . and couldn’t ever remember saying those words to him, or to anyone else.
“I love you, Zoë,” he said at last. “I’m hurt, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I still love you more than anyone I’ve ever known . . . and I couldn’t be happier that we’re going to have a baby. But understand this: I don’t want anything to happen to either of you. And you’re going to have to take that into account from now on . . . that you’re not just living for yourself anymore.”
“I know. I have been careful,” she said, and tried to tone down the hint of annoyance in her voice. She had been. “I haven’t gone out zombie hunting for weeks.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said. “Which is why I haven’t said anything before now.”
“So you knew all along,” she said, feeling a flutter of relief begin to unfu
rl.
“Right,” he said. “I was just waiting for you to tell me.”
“Quent,” she said, lifting his hands wrapped in hers, so she could kiss them. “You’re going to be a father.”
“Thank you.” In the dim light, she saw his lips move in a faint smile. It wasn’t all that she wanted, but it was enough. For now.
Fence kept Ana close to him as they sank back down beneath the depths, twined together, but in the back of his mind was the knowledge that no matter how delicious the feel of her body against his, they had business to attend to first.
And he didn’t want any distractions when he stripped her long, golden body and buried his face between her legs in the bottom of the ocean.
The literal version of muff-diving.
He snickered to himself, and Ana noticed, pulling her face away with a questioning look. There was no way to explain now, of course—although he would later, because he had a feeling she’d appreciate the sentiment—so he just slid his fingers down the front of her jean shorts and found a hot, slick patch of Ana, right in the midst of this cold, dark sea.
She shivered against him, and her eyes sank closed as he held her around the waist with one hand and eased his two fingers in and around, over and over, watching in aroused fascination as her crystals surged brighter and softer, brighter and softer, with each of her breaths. And when she came, a little jolt and then the great throbbing shudders, the crystals blazed bright as candles.
Hot damn, there was nothing like getting his freak on in sleek, sexy water with a crazy hot woman. It was a damn shame he’d wasted so much of his life not doing this.
Of course . . . there was no one he could be doing this with besides Ana.
No one he wanted to be doing this with.
Then Fence grinned. He wondered if she’d get it if he asked, What’s long and hard and filled with seamen?
He snorted a chuckle in the water, which sent a strange array of bubbles shooting in all directions, causing her to look at him again with that raised eyebrow expression.
He shrugged and managed to look innocent, but when she looked up at him in that bluish glow and he saw the understanding affection in her eyes, he got all shivery and warm. And it didn’t have anything to do with the submarine raging between them.
Careful of the mast there, sugar.
Heh.
When their feet brushed the top of a Dumpster wedged into the ground, Fence withdrew his hand from her shorts. He noticed that some of the gray glop that had clung to his body from the Goleth stone had rubbed off on her, and she sparkled in several places on her arms, legs, and especially breasts.
It made her look like a sea goddess now, silvery-glittery in the cool hues of the ocean, her hair even cast with bluish-gray as it wafted around her like a great fan. What a lucky man he was: he had a sun goddess and a mermaid.
But . . . time to get back to business. They needed to find something to destroy that crystal with, and he had an idea where to look.
Leading the way, he swam back along the shimmery barrier to the safe passage they’d used. He didn’t deny that he felt a little more relaxed now that they were on the “safe” or Envy side of it, and considered the fact that they might even have time for a bit more slap and tickle.
Or, in this case, motion in the ocean.
Heh. He really did crack himself up.
It didn’t take long to find their way back to the old shopping center he remembered swimming over, and Fence headed right for REI.
As were many things he’d done since emerging from the Ballbusting Bitch, this was an utterly surreal experience. But swimming down into the old store from a hole in its caved-in roof, and finding themselves inside the place, had to rank up there as one of the most bizarre things he’d done.
It brought a whole new meaning to the concept of diving for treasure, and he found it amazing how some of the shelves still held their wares even after half a century.
Of course, many of the aisles were no longer distinct, and inventory was scattered on the ground, rusted away, or had otherwise been destroyed by decades of saltwater and sea creatures . . . but as he’d had cause to note many times before, even Mother Nature had to admit defeat in the face of man’s evil concoction: plastic.
The glow of Ana’s crystals was barely enough light for them to find their way through the collapsed store, and that also gave him an idea.
He could sense her curiosity and interest as they swam and he led the way up and down as many aisles as he could. He hoped the section he needed wasn’t under the caved-in roof.
But then there they were: rows of flashlights, encased in clamshell plastic. Even the paper inserts were intact, which wasn’t surprising, given how impossible the things were to open.
He pulled Ana along, needing her light to see what he was looking for . . . then suddenly
Ah. Yes!
He plucked up the package containing not only a waterproof flashlight, but one that used manually generated power—through a hand crank.
Ana watched in fascination as he struggled to get the package open, then offered him her knife. Moments later he had the light in his hand and was cranking the handle rapidly.
When he turned it on and a bright glow filled the area, Ana’s eyes went wide with surprise and delight. He grinned and showed her how to work the crank, how to turn it on and off . . . and then grabbed a second one.
Moments later they were cruising along with two bright lights, scanning through the remains of the store for something heavy like a sledgehammer. Fish scattered in the wake of the unusual illumination, and glowing eyes watched them from dark aisles. The contents of the store seemed even more eerie in full light: greenish and worn, every detail of the texture of sea growth more evident.
He paused at the section with the self-inflating air mattresses, pleasantly distracted by the thought of using one for a round of slip-the-sub . . . but practicality prevailed and he swam reluctantly past, privately promising himself that they’d return as soon as possible.
When they’d surveyed as much of the store as they could and didn’t find what he was looking for, Fence had to admit defeat and decided that they could make a stop at Home Depot.
Another very odd thought.
They swam out of REI and he started toward the remnants of Home Depot . . . but then Ana stopped up short and grabbed for him. Fence saw it too: a faint bluish glow just beyond the jut of some block of sea stone.
He flipped off his light and reached for Ana’s as well, his instincts going sharp.
Their lights went dim and the world returned to a darker one, tinged with Ana’s pale blue glow, as they hovered for a minute. Waiting.
When the figure came into view, Ana froze and reached for Fence’s arm. Her fingers curled tightly over him as a man approached.
Her heart was pounding, for she recognized him.
Darian.
It was impossible to hide, for he’d already spotted them—either due to the flashlights or the natural illumination from Ana’s crystals, and he was swimming toward them.
Fence tried to hold her back, but Ana shook her head and quickly spelled Darian, contact, on his palm. She felt his hesitance and the tension riding up along his arm, but there was no other opportunity for communication.
Found the stones, Ana signed to Darian as he approached.
Expected you would. But not so quickly. Surprised me.
She frowned, watching him closely. His expression was difficult to read, and she saw his eyes shift to Fence, then back to her . . . and then behind them. She whipped around to look, but saw nothing in the darkness.
Yet something in Darian’s demeanor tripped concern deep inside her, and she eased her knife from its sheath, holding it out of sight. Fence must have felt her movement and comprehended, for he eased a bit closer, as if to help hide the blade. She could feel his tension and realized he would have no idea what they were talking about through their sign language.
Think that I would rea
lly go back to Atlantis? she signed to Darian.
Yes. Hoped you would. Better than this.
Again she didn’t understand what he was getting at, but he did nothing . . . just hovered there, looking at her.
Needed to lure you away, he told her. Looked for you for years.
Something lodged in the pit of her stomach, and that was when she realized that he’d never been honest with her. Even when he professed to love her, he’d never been honest.
Fence seemed to recognize the change in her, and drifted even closer. She could feel his muscles gathering up, ready, and she shot him a warning glance she hoped he could interpret in the faulty light.
I stopped the tidal wave, she told Darian.
He didn’t look pleased. Knew you would try. You were not supposed to get here in time. Too quick. Should not have waited for you when you said you would meet me.
And that was when the other piece fell into place. A violent shiver caught her by surprise. He’d told her about the Goleths in order to trick her into trying to stop them.
In order to trick her into coming far enough away from safety—from land—so he could . . . what?
Convince her to go back to Atlantis?
Until that moment, she still believed he didn’t truly mean her any harm. That he truly wanted her help to save their race. But now she saw the truth in his eyes.
This whole thing, she gestured in the direction of the Goleths, to get me here?
He shrugged, and she saw his gaze flicker to the right. Fence spun to look, the surge of water thrusting her away. Still holding her knife, she looked in the other direction.
Nothing. She turned back to Darian as Fence continued to hover, surveying the area around them. He might not exactly comprehend the conversation, but he obviously understood the basics.
The Atlanteans would have destroyed a whole city just to get me back? Ana signed with hands that had suddenly turned cold and stiff.
Do anything to survive.
A chill zipped down her spine, and she and Fence looked up at the same time.
Something dark whipped through the water, a big, heavy net weighted with stones.
