by Moira Rogers
“Zel,” Hailey supplied as Juliet popped into existence beside them. “Sora is Zel’s mother.”
Sora released Devi’s hand with a sigh. “I did give him a perfectly serviceable name, you know.”
“Oh.” His mother. “Nice to meet you.” It was too late to smooth her hair or clothes, and Devi almost kicked herself. You’re leaving tomorrow.
“My son told me you might be the answer to something that’s been troubling us for a while. Hailey and Lorenzo will look after your people. Will you sit with me?”
“Of course.” She feared no violence from the gathering crowd. They were there to watch a fight far more interesting than any they could start in the stands. “What’s the problem?”
Sora led her to a low bench with an unobstructed view of the large, sandy ring that dominated the middle of the room. Row upon row of benches rose behind them, circling the room in a stadium reminiscent of the old sports arenas from before the Fall. Most of the levels were filling quickly as people popped into the network. The hum of voices rose with every new addition, indistinguishable whispers combining into a low thrum.
“Here.” Zel’s mother sank to the bench and patted the space next to her. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this, but I need to support my son, even in his more reckless endeavors.”
Defeat wouldn’t be fatal, but Zel had never said what would happen to him, politically, if he lost. “He said this was a long time coming.”
“Tensions have been running high, but that’s not what I want to talk about.” Sora’s dark eyes, as unyielding and uncompromising as her son’s, held a hint of steel as she studied Devi. “My granddaughter needs to go to Manitoba for training. You met her. Rosalyn.”
“I did. And Zel mentioned something about my crew taking her there.”
Sora’s gaze dropped to Devi’s cheek. “I suppose things could have changed since then.”
She raised her hand self-consciously, though of course the mark wouldn’t appear in the network. “Never step into someone else’s fight.”
“It shouldn’t have happened. We have rules here. Humans need to be as safe as halfbloods.”
“I suspect they usually are,” Devi offered. “These seem to be special circumstances.”
“I suppose so.”
A hush swept over the crowd, explained when Devi glanced up to see Zel striding to the center of the circle. He’d stripped to a pair of linen pants, leaving his chest and shoulders bare.
Her body tightened, and a hot blush rose in her cheeks. She was sitting next to his mother, for Christ’s sake. Letting her gaze linger hungrily on his half-naked body wasn’t an option.
Worrying was, though. And the question still unanswered was how this challenge, win or lose, would affect his standing as the settlement’s leader.
Especially if word got out that he’d done it to defend her.
It was the only answer Devi had been able to discern. He’d been concerned about one of his men fighting with Tanner, but not this concerned. And she knew she hadn’t imagined his anger when he’d looked at her, or the careful way he’d touched her face.
He turned slowly, and his eyes caught and held hers for the briefest of moments before he continued his slow spin. His voice thundered through the arena, amplified by whatever acoustics or network magic Trip had worked to build the place. “You’re all here to stand witness to this challenge. If any other warrior thinks to question my ability to give orders, remember this.”
His opponent, the one named Drake, stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the dirt floor. He said nothing, just watched Zel as if cataloguing him, looking for any weakness and filing the information. It was the dispassionate stare of a well-trained soldier.
Devi shivered.
Tanner dropped to the bench at her side, his attention fixed on the center ring. “Cache is making friends with the local netgeek. They’re using lots of big words and waving their hands around.”
“Not surprised.” What was surprising was the way Juliet smiled at Lorenzo. It wasn’t seductive, but friendly and more open than Devi had seen her in a while. “What’s up over there?”
“She’s flirting.” Tanner rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, the same absent gesture from that afternoon. “Just like the rest of you. And you think I’m the one with my brain in my pants.”
Devi surreptitiously kicked him in the ankle. “Have you met Zel’s mother?”
“No, he hasn’t.” Sora’s smile widened as Tanner bumbled through an awkward apology. “I have grandchildren who are almost old enough to have children. It’s a little late to be surprised that my children have sex.”
Tanner recovered enough to offer one of his charming smiles. “Liar. Maybe you’re a mother, but you can’t possibly be a grandmother.”
“Nine times over,” Sora replied, but her serene voice held a hitch, the remnants of grief and pain.
Devi had seen the same thing in Zel’s eyes, and she wondered what sort of tragedy had befallen them. “He didn’t mean—”
“Hush. It’s not important.” The words and tone were gentle, but there was undeniable strength in the command. “And now we need to afford my son the respect of watching him act the fool so I can yell at him in detail later.”
Instead of a bell or verbal challenge or some other official start to the fight, Drake simply charged.
The fight moved fast, too fast to follow easily. Zel whipped a knife from a sheath and spun, his body a blur. Sounds were still amplified, filling the virtual room with the minute noises of the fight. Bare feet on dirt, the whisper of Drake’s knife leaving its own sheath and a loud, metallic ring that vibrated through the crowd as he blocked Zel’s first strike.
He dropped and spun, steel glinting in the harsh light as his blade passed close to Zel’s legs. They settled into a graceful dance of blow and counter, every movement efficient, every attack deflected just in time.
Next to Devi, Tanner leaned forward. “Zel’s testing him.”
Hand-to-hand combat was Tanner’s area of expertise. To her, it looked like half a dozen martial styles blending into a haze of flailing limbs. “If he’s testing his opponent, he’s got the upper hand.”
“He’s good.”
Coming from Tanner, it was high praise. Devi glanced at him, though she didn’t dare take her gaze from the ring for too long. “How good?”
Tanner didn’t take his eyes off the brawl. “I wouldn’t want to fight him.”
It said far more than his admiration had. “Do you think—”
Her words cut off in a gasp as Zel moved, faster than before, homing in on Drake with lethal precision. His knife slashed across Drake’s bare chest, drawing blood and a murmur of noise from the surrounding crowd.
Zel didn’t hesitate. He pressed his advantage, forcing Drake back under a flurry of slices and jabs, some pricking at skin and others digging deep. Then Drake ducked, as though trying to dodge the blows, only to swing an arm under Zel’s outstretched one. His blade found its mark, and Zel hissed loudly enough to make Devi’s heart skip.
Another sharp turn and she saw the wound, a deep, vicious slash across his chest that bled steadily. His jaw set, he resumed his attacks, but this time he was a fraction slower.
“The ring is genius,” Tanner murmured next to her. “Virtual training scenarios get bogged down by the details. Exhaustion and pain—it’s all in your mind here. It shouldn’t slow you down. But they’ve got it set up so it does.”
And for good reason. It didn’t matter that none of this was happening, that their bodies were sitting safely in rooms all across the compound. There was no dirt, no blood, no voices rising in excited cacophony above the thuds and groans down in the ring.
It wasn’t real, and it didn’t matter. Devi gripped the edge of the bench and leaned forward. “Finish him,” she whispered. “Do it before he gets in another lucky shot.”
Zel might as well have heard her. Drake darted in, lightning fast, his blade angling for Zel’s
arm. Instead of dodging, he let the blow land, showing no response as the knife sliced through skin. The scent of blood bloomed in the air. Someone gasped. Noise swelled.
And Zel moved, not away from the attack but into it, letting it cut deep. The movement lifted Drake’s arm, left his side vulnerable for a split second. Realization painted the man’s features too late. He tried to pull back, but Zel planted his knife hilt deep, angling up under the rib cage hard enough to lift his opponent from his feet.
Zel pulled back his arm, caught Drake’s head in his hands and wrenched his head to one side with an audible crack. It was mercy, at this point, allowing the halfblood to drop out of the network quickly instead of lingering painfully.
Drake fell, vanishing before he hit the dirt, and the crowd rose in a thundering wave.
Devi sat, relief warring with nausea, her head pounding.
Beside her, Zel’s mother reached out and curled a hand around her wrist, weathered fingers squeezing until Devi imagined her bones grinding together. “I hate this,” Sora whispered as Zel raised his hand in the air, blood from the knife winding down his arm to mingle with his own. “Tell him I was here. That I supported him.”
Before she could say anything, the woman released her and disappeared, dropping out of the network with an audible pop.
People began to drift down from the stands, and Devi rose slowly. Zel stood in the ring, his followers converging to offer congratulations, but his gaze found her. Heat burned there, the violence of a victorious predator mixed up with the need of a man.
When the first person set foot on the dirt surrounding the ring, Zel crouched and slammed his knife into the ground in front of him, burying it to the hilt. “Sit down.”
Though spoken quietly, the words echoed through the stadium. Most people stayed frozen, though one or two darted back to their seats. From the sudden, uneasy silence, Devi knew this wasn’t part of the usual ritual.
Zel straightened, his movements effortless in spite of his bleeding wounds. “Any warrior who questions my leadership can meet me in the ring anytime. But after today, any citizen who attacks someone under the protection of this town can meet me in real life. If you can’t live peacefully, you leave. Tonight.”
Even Devi knew it was a risk. Some of Rochester’s citizens would draw the same conclusions from this proclamation as they had from the fight, and they’d assume Zel was protecting her crew.
Protecting her.
They couldn’t know that she was packing up and rolling out in less than twenty-four hours. She needed to remember that every time Zel looked at her with that proprietary warmth, every time he touched her as if she was his.
She belonged to no one.
People cautiously approached the ring once more. As they overwhelmed Zel, Devi backed into the shadows and let go, falling out of the network with another disorienting jerk.
He hadn’t wanted to meet her like this.
Music throbbed around him. Bodies ground together, men and women—and sometimes men and men or women and women—rocking with the primal beat that came from everywhere and nowhere. The line between sex and dancing blurred, but no one cared. After all, nothing was real in the network. Pain or pleasure, it was all in your mind.
Zel could still feel the thrill of the fight in his blood. Real or not, he’d triumphed over his enemy, seen him brought low. Lust twisted inside him, so hot and hard no one could mistake him for human. Not tonight.
Not here.
Awareness shivered over his skin as he felt a tiny mental jolt, the alert that Devi had accepted his invitation and followed him to the club.
He turned and found her weaving through the crowd in a tiny black dress that bared more than it covered. Her hair hung, loose and wild, around her shoulders, and she stopped at the edge of the dance floor.
Then she smiled.
His lust made him hard, but need made him greedy. Two steps and he had her, pulled her tight against his body and ran his hands down her sides until he was pretty damn sure she wasn’t wearing a thing under that little scrap of a dress.
The thought of virtual fucking had never been this hot before.
She touched his face and wove her fingers through his hair. “Where? Here?”
“There’re rooms.” He gripped her ass and lifted her. “This is one of the only places in the Global where the ADS doesn’t bother me.”
“I know. The suppressive hack.”
“The suppressive hack.” Nothing in life or out of it had felt as good as her strong legs wrapped around his hips. Zel started for the back of the room, only half of his attention on maneuvering through the grinding crowd. “I would have met you in the world, if I could have.”
“It’s better this way.” Devi’s arms closed around his neck, the action pressing her breasts to his chest. “Less to worry about.”
Doors lined the back wall, along with a few couples, screwing with a total disregard for anyone who might watch the show. Part of the thrill, probably, knowing they had an audience.
Zel didn’t need one. He ducked through the first open door and kicked it shut behind them, leaving them alone in a small, dimly lit room. He couldn’t tell where the light was coming from—the walls themselves seemed to glow—but the illumination revealed a floor scattered with cushions and a low, plush couch. “Good?”
“Mmm. Zel.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, his cheek. “Dominic.”
His name on Devi’s lips was magic. Yearning rocked him as he sank to the couch with her in his lap. “Say it again.”
“Dominic.” Her hands slipped under his shirt, soft and hot on his skin. “Dominic.”
Kissing her was the only thing he could do. This time he savored it, dragging her mouth to his for a long, languid exploration. She met his kiss with a hunger that matched his own, her tongue sliding over his.
Slowly, she began to rock against him, her knees digging into the sofa cushions. This time when he slid his hands up her legs there was nothing but smooth, warm skin, no pants, no fabric, nothing to stop him from touching her.
Her head fell back, her lips parted and glistening. “Fast,” she whispered. “The way you would have taken me earlier, in my room.”
“No.” He traced across her leg, to the inside of her thigh and higher. “First I want to watch you.”
Devi jerked on his lap and wrapped her hand around his wrist with a moan. “Then slow. Tease—tease me.”
“You’re one damn bossy lady.” And even wetter than he’d imagined. His fingers slipped against her and he groaned, his cock aching at the thought of being clenched in slick, perfect heat. “Christ, Devi.”
Another moan melted into a sharp gasp of pleasure. “I’ll throw myself at your mercy, if that’s what you want,” she offered quietly, her eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused.
“Later,” he murmured, and as he teased a finger inside her he almost forgot there wouldn’t be a later. He had to watch her now—writhing above him, lost in a haze of sexual need—and know her body was his. “I’m going to fuck you just right, sweetheart. Hard and hot and deep until you can’t take it being so damn good.”
Her hand tightened on his wrist, and her hips moved erratically. “Tell me how.”
“Maybe over the arm of this couch. Long, slow thrusts…” He eased a second finger in and let her set the rhythm, let her ride his hand as she rocked over him. “Take off your dress.”
Devi faltered, then resumed a faster pace. “Is that a request, or an order?”
“It was a request.” He lifted a hand and fisted it in her hair, coaxing her mouth to his for another long, tongue-tangling kiss. “But maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe I should open my pants and we can do it like this. Fully clothed and never having to know what we’re missing.”
She didn’t answer, but she let go of him and skimmed the clingy black fabric up her body and over her head.
It was heaven and hell, having her naked astride him. Her body was sleek and muscled, strong but curvy enough to make his mo
uth water. No frail, fragile woman—even out in the world, Devi would be a match for him.
Or better. Details could never be programmed accurately. Bodies changed. So did their virtual representations, but not always in the same ways. Later, he’d try to comfort himself, eye her clothed body and tell himself he’d had the best of all worlds.
He knew it for a lie as he skated both hands up her body. She could be perfect here, more perfect than life, but it would never be the best of any world. The heat under his hands wasn’t real. The scent of her arousal, the press of her hips as he cupped her breasts—none of it was real.
But her moan was. He remembered the noise from their brief encounter in her room, the throaty, full sound of her, and that was real enough to drive him crazy. He plied her nipples with his thumbs, just to hear that desperate sound again, and whispered a command. “Open my pants.”
Her hands shook, and she fumbled with the buttons and again with the zipper. “I’m not usually so clumsy.” The back of her hand grazed his cock.
His capacity for higher reasoning died. With his hands on her hips, he could drag her into place and close his teeth on the firm swell of her breast, and it made him crazier. “Just like this,” he whispered as soon as she’d gotten his pants open. “Hot and fast. Now.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t any more patient as she tore at his shirt. “I need more, to feel you—” He didn’t move fast enough, and she ripped the fabric, baring his chest. “Yes.”
One hard jerk, and she sank onto him. She was slick and ready, so damn ready he groaned as he slid deep. He’d thought of a dozen ways to take her, each dirtier than the last, but nothing beat having her sweat-slicked body rubbing against his, her breasts pressed to his chest and her throat bared and vulnerable as she tossed back her head.
Devi moved, taking control as she gripped the back of the sofa on either side of his head and rode him. She was strong, lithe, and her hips tilted to take him deeper with every rolling thrust. Her moans gave way to noises almost like whimpers, low and needy, but she didn’t speak.
She didn’t have to.
Neither did he. He touched her instead, her shoulders and arms, the damn near perfect breasts. Mind over matter was easier in the network, but the clench of her body around his cock still forced him toward the edge of sanity, until the only thing to do was work a hand between them and stroke her clit in a desperate attempt to get her off before he exploded.
