by fox, angie
“Why?” I asked.
He softened. “I wanted to see you again.”
“It’s too dangerous.” He had to understand that. “What if she turns you into her slave boy?”
“I don’t care,” he said simply.
I sighed. The man was impossible. “Yes, well, our last group project didn’t turn out so well. How long were you down?”
“A few days,” he said, purposely making light of it.
“I thought you were dead.”
His eyes caught mine. “I’m sorry for that.”
I planted my hands on my hips. At least this time, he’d sought me out despite the consequences. He didn’t just let me go on with my life, thinking he was gone.
He paged through my notebook. “I heard about this project when I was in the hospital. They needed someone fast. I made a personal appeal to Nerthus.”
“It worked,” I said drily.
Still, forces were at work. That much was clear. I just didn’t know what it meant. “The prophecy said, Death comes with a gift.”
“I’m not dead yet,” he said, quoting a Monty Python movie we used to watch. He went back to the notes. “Besides, you can’t put too much stock in the oracles.”
He had no idea. “They’re true.”
Marc kept reading, so I stood and closed the book on him.
“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his spot.
“Listen to me.” He had to understand it. “These things have a way of happening.”
He cleared his throat. “I agree we’re involved in something big, but we’re in control, not some oracle.”
This is where I’d changed and he hadn’t—most likely couldn’t. “It’s a matter of faith,” I said.
He gave me a level look. “I’m a man of science.”
He just had to use my old argument. Fine. I was being rigid, I got it. “I probably deserved that.”
But Marc wouldn’t let it go. “I’m not putting you down. I’m just going on facts. My side is developing a weapon. Your side is developing a mercy drug.” He paused for a moment. “Let’s see if we can develop ours first. If there’s no suffering, maybe the guts and glory will lose its appeal. Maybe the gods will end this war on their own.”
I wanted to believe that. “Maybe that’s how the oracle will work,” I mused.
The lantern light played off his strong features. “Petra, you’ve got to stop hoping some oracle is going to swoop in and save us.” He cupped a hand under my chin. “We have everything we need right here.”
He always had to be in control. I should have known he’d never accept the idea that something larger—something he couldn’t control—was at work.
I shook off his touch. “Let’s just agree to disagree.”
Marc was here with me for a reason. And it wasn’t so he could rip my world apart again.
If I just kept my wits about me, we could use time together for good, for healing. And maybe, just maybe, we’d find what we needed to survive.
chapter nineteen
Marc insisted I take care of myself while he worked up a new ethanol sample and organized my notes. That was the one good thing about having Marc here: I trusted him—well, with everything but my heart.
It was so easy for him to push me, to make me want him. But that was all he could give—the physical, a tease, a reminder of what I could never have. I’d rather have nothing.
So I vowed to keep it light. Be a friend.
Take a shower for God’s sake.
He bent over my notes, engrossed, as he scribbled his own ideas in another journal. “You’d better not be a spy or something,” I said, brushing past him as I headed out for the showers.
“I think that was you,” he called as I left him in the sad, stifling little lab.
Good point.
I made my way out of the minefield, careful of the pranks. Although I wasn’t sure a pot of fish over my head would make much of a difference anymore.
I needed a thorough scrubbing, and at least a few hours’ rest. I felt guilty as hell about it. Marc was as good as me, maybe better with his research background. But we had an anesthetic to discover, a weapon to stop, and three oracles that thought death came with a gift.
Still, it felt good to let go for five minutes.
I kicked up a small cloud of dust as I zigzagged through the cemetery. My shower kit was back in the mess tent, but there was no way I was going to show up there looking like a minefield disaster. I headed for my hutch instead.
“Hey roomie,” I said, charging in the door.
Rodger wasn’t there. His stuff sure was. My bed was lined with three dozen boxes of various Jawas, Ewoks, and bounty hunters. Marius’s bunk was spread with busts of Spock and Kirk, along with plastic-wrapped T-shirts that said things like, THE DEATH STAR WAS AN INSIDE JOB, and PARTY LIKE A VULCAN. Then there were stack of Star Trek logo’ed plain red shirts on the shelf between their bunks that just said, EXPENDABLE.
Rodger’s bed was laden with every action figure known to man. Then he had Doctor Who bobble heads on my bookcase, comics on the stove (real wise move there). I laid my hand on the cast-iron surface. Okay, it was cold. But still …
The floor was crunchy under my feet. I looked down to see that Rodger had laid out his entire rock collection. What? Did he still think he was in his three-bedroom house in Topanga?
Cursing under my breath, I avoided most of the rocks and managed to reach under my cot, where I found a new bar of soap, a fresh bottle of shampoo, another towel, and about seventy-five Yoda pencil sharpeners.
It was official: I was going to kill my roommate.
In the meantime, I crawled into my bed. It was too close and too soft and I didn’t care that this was my last clean set of sheets.
Action figures fell to the floor as I curled up and closed my eyes.
I slept like the dead. It was pure bliss. And as soon as my eyes fluttered open, I knew I’d rested way too long. Sunlight streamed through the open windows of the tent. I’d blown the evening, all of the night, and if my guess was correct, a good portion of the morning. I lay on my side, blanket clutched to my chest, and felt—good.
My eyes were no longer gritty. My head had cleared. My body felt rested and awake. I reached down for my soap and shower goodies, noticing that Rodger had carefully laid out his figurines on his bed for once.
Served him right.
Maybe that’s what the men in my life needed—a swift kick in the pants. Maybe Rodger wouldn’t take over my space if I didn’t let him. Maybe Marc would think twice about trying to kiss me silly if he had some of his own emotion at stake.
Soap and towel in hand, I banged out the door. I should make Marc weak, push him, drive him to that spot where he had to stop compartmentalizing and start feeling what I felt.
Then again, that could kill me. I’d better stick with action figures.
There weren’t many people out this morning, which meant it was late. Everyone was probably at work already or holed up until lunch.
Good. No distractions. I’d get clean and go straight back to the lab.
I’d almost made it to the showers when a goddess stepped into the path in front of me.
She held a silver flame in her open palm, her arm bent, like a waitress holds a tray. An emerald barely-there dress clung to her every curve. An array of tiny diamonds on invisible strings ornamented her neck and chest like a carpet of stars. They sparkled in the light of the silver flame.
I glanced behind me, hoping, praying she was here for someone else, but we were alone.
Silky blond curls cascaded down her back and curled over her shoulders. Her skin itself seemed to glow.
“Finally,” she huffed. “I was beginning to think I couldn’t detect your presence in camp.”
That wasn’t creepy or anything.
“My apologies,” I said, trying to recall the formal language the goddesses preferred, wondering what in Hades she wanted with me, and frankly—wishing I’d been five minutes fa
ster to the shower.
She flipped her hair back. “So what was the little bitch wearing?”
Seven hells. “Who?” My mind raced. “Your goddess … ness?”
“Nerthus,” she said, if I’d hit my head on a rock. “My son said you met her.”
So this was Eris, goddess of chaos.
Lucky me.
I wished with everything I had I could start walking again. Or that someone, anyone, would interrupt us. I didn’t want to get involved in a supernatural episode of Fashion Police. I was so close to a good dousing and a shampoo. But there was no way I was going to risk the goddess smiting me.
She rolled her eyes. “Argus has four eyes and he can’t even tell me what Nerthus was wearing.”
“Well…” Maybe we could make this quick. “It was this whitish, almost see-through dress, with these little webby things…”
“Um-hum,” she said, waving her hand to hurry me along. “What was it made of, mortal?”
Come on. Really?
“Er…” My fashion statement most days consisted of scrubs.
“Did it sparkle?” she demanded.
“Maybe.” When you got right down to it, all goddesses tended to glow, and I’d frankly had my mind on other things. “It looked almost wet.” And painted on.
“Evening dew,” she said as if it were obvious. “How unoriginal. She’s just got to play off the whole desert motif with a water theme.”
“Right. Well, if you’ll excuse me,” I said, bowing, praying this freak would let me go.
“No!”
My heart leapt as she thrust out a hand.
She glared daggers at something behind me. “Those idiots tried to get too close.”
I looked back and saw a group of nurses giving her a wide berth. I wished I could do the same.
Eris leaned in close enough for me to smell the sweet honeysuckle of her breath. “So who’s the secret transfer?”
My temples began to pound and I fought the urge to take a step back. Marc? “I’m not sure it’s a secret, necessarily.”
“Cut the crap. Who’s Nerthus after?”
I’d make a horrible diplomat. “I’m not sure she’s after him exactly,” I said, trying to walk the line.
Eris brushed me off. “That whore would do anything.” She frowned, then brightened in about one second flat. “So what does he look like?”
This woman was going to get emotional whiplash.
And had she looked in the mirror lately? She was a goddess. She didn’t need to be hot after some mortal captain just because some other goddess might think he was cute. Besides, “Aren’t you involved with someone?”
She waved me off. “I’m always involved with someone.” She drew a few fingers along her collarbone. “So what’s he like?”
Mine.
I shifted my towel and shower supplies to the other arm. “I just met him. I don’t really know.”
“I’m not even allowed up there,” she said, pouting in the general direction of the lab. She sneered, her voice going startlingly cold. “Argus forbid it.”
The air between us iced over. I could see my breath. I clutched my soap and towel between us, as if that would help.
Just like that, the chill was gone. She tilted her head. “Can you get me into the lab for a peek?”
What, was she flirting? I could see her dress getting shorter, tighter; it hugged her breasts so that her nipples were outlined by the thin, supple fabric.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to work on me.
“I’ll have to ask my superiors,” I said, wishing I could buy her a clue.
She didn’t need to be acting this way. She didn’t need to dress like a slut for attention. It was ridiculous. She was the kind of girl who could be with the hottest guy at a party and still feel the need to flirt with every man in the room.
She lowered her chin. “Get me a picture of the hot doc.”
“Who?” I asked, just to be difficult.
Eris was a goddess. Her skin glowed. She could probably go three years without a shower and still look perfect. She had the god of thunder and fertility for a boyfriend.
“The mortal,” she said, twirling a finger around a golden curl. “What does he like?”
I couldn’t resist the urge. “Fruit Stripe gum.” I was running low. “And Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.” That one just came out. “Ooh … and Oreos,” I said, trying not to get too excited. “The kind with the double stuff.”
Be careful.
I’d said I didn’t know him well.
What the hell. “He told me he’d kill for a Mo’s Pizza, extra large with pepperoni and onion,” I said quickly before I lost my nerve.
The goddess tilted her head. “Mo’s?”
I adopted my clinical persona. “I think it’s some place in New Orleans. Topside. Nerthus doesn’t know anything about it,” I added, almost as an afterthought. But I knew.
I knew.
Her lips curled into a smile. “Go, mortal. Learn all you can about this captain.”
“Anything you wish,” I said. But the goddess had already stalked away.
Okie dokie. I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that. I couldn’t believe I’d just used Marc to get a pizza.
My stomach growled at the thought of piping-hot cheese, crispy crust.
I was still thinking about it when I ducked into the shower tent.
“It’s Petra,” a young nurse called, securing her pink towel under her arms. “What were you doing talking to a goddess?” she asked as she ducked out of the stall at the end.
“Well, you know goddesses…,” I said, praying it would drop.
It did.
“You look like you’ve been busy,” a supply clerk said, making it sound like I’d been having sex for three days.
I twisted the shower nozzle. Crisp, refreshing water cascaded over my head, my shoulders. “I’ve been working,” I said.
“On that new doc in camp?” Her voice echoed against the water.
“I heard he was a dragon,” the nurse said.
“Um … I didn’t ask.” I hadn’t.
Technically.
“Did you see him walking through camp? He’s so sexy.”
I closed my eyes. Could I just have a minute of peace?
“I know. I love the broody type,” the woman next to me said. “I shot him eyes and he didn’t even react.”
Another one giggled. “You know he saw you.”
I was sure he did. Marc didn’t miss anything. It’s what made him such a good doctor, and an incredible lover.
“So what’s he like, Petra? You looked kind of smug when you walked in here.”
I’d been thinking about pizza.
“Did you just have sex with him?”
Holy fuck. Yes. “No.”
What was I supposed to tell her? He was my first love? That I was trying to convert him back into a friend?
If anyone found out we’d been together, he could be yanked from my project, smited, chained to a rock. The goddesses did not share very well.
The nurse next to me giggled. “I hear you’ve been getting around. You have to tag that and tell us what he’s like.”
“I can tell you with confidence that I will never have sex with him.”
Again.
And I wouldn’t be telling anyone what Marc was like.
All I wanted was a long, hot shower. Hell, I’d take a lukewarm one. I wanted to wash my hair five times and wallow under the water.
Instead, I washed quickly and reached for my towel. I had to get out of here.
chapter twenty
It was high noon by the time I dropped my shower stuff off at the hutch. Rodger was there, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he was unpacking more Star Wars figures.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, dropping my shower kit on a pile of Jawas.
“Petra!” Rodger leapt the Millennium Falcon, as well as a good portion of the Rebel fleet, in order to rescue all the stuff he’d stashed�
�yet again—on my bed. At least he’d changed the sheets.
I sat on a pile of T-shirts. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is my bed. My pillow.” I resisted the urge to toss it at his head. I might have spoiled Rodger with all those nights I’d spent in the lab, but, “If you think you’re going to make me sleep with Marc, you’re nuts.”
He perked up at that. “Oh yeah?” He plopped down on the T-shirts next to me, Jawas forgotten.
I buried my head in the pillow. “That came out wrong.” Maybe I could just smother myself.
Rodger’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “I thought he was dead.”
I gave him a sideways glance. “Marc is in my lab.”
“I love this,” he said, gold-rimmed eyes twinkling.
“No, there will be no loving in the lab. He’s leaving soon and even if he wasn’t, he’s the worst possible man for me to get involved with.”
Rodger shrugged. “Sounds like you’re already involved.”
“You’re not being logical,” I told him.
“Sure. That’s the problem,” he said, too amused for my taste.
He didn’t get it. Marc wasn’t the same person I’d known in New Orleans. “He’s changed.” It wasn’t just the scar on his neck; he was harder, not as trusting. He couldn’t open up.
Rodger rested his elbows on his knees, considering it. “Are you saying this war hasn’t changed you?”
I stood, grabbing for my jacket. “Shut up, Rodger.”
“I’m just saying, you should give the guy a chance.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, dragging a comb through my hair before I left. “What do you know about relationships?”
“I’m in one.”
“But it’s not a futile one.”
Rodger sat, silent.
Damn it.
I wanted to say something to make it better, but I didn’t know how. Sorry wouldn’t cut it.
“I’m out of here.” I left the hutch and headed for the lab. I hadn’t done the best job combing, so I just ran my fingers through my hair as I walked.
I felt awful for Rodger and his wife. They’d had a strong marriage, a true partnership. He was a homebody who loved his kids. Now he was reduced to writing letters. He’d never see them grow up, never get to kiss his wife good night or hear about her day … not until the mail arrived a month later.
