“Humans. Such barbarians, yet such complex emotions.” The alien stops for a moment. “I do not know if I will ever understand their emotional logic.”
“Well, Einstein, you just named the problem: emotional logic. There can’t be logic with emotions, because emotions are illogical. When someone experiences love or hate, reason flies away and the emotion takes over, driving choices based on what one’s heart or feelings dictate. Some can control it better than others, but it’s what makes humanity tick. Or, well, it used to be the driving force.”
Turning away, I plod to the couch to sit alone with my thoughts.
I’m grateful the choice of letting the man live or die wasn’t in my hands. I would’ve killed him if forced, but I don’t know if it would’ve been a choice I could’ve endured without guilt.
The back of the couch, soft and inviting, offers a sliver of comfort, and I wiggle into the warmth.
Will the world ever be the same again, or will humanity forever live like animals? Just as the body is about to go in the ground, I wish I could also bury my sadness in the same manner.
My heart curses the aliens again for what they’ve unleashed, and the future they’ve taken.
Kodiak comes back from wherever he’s been lurking.
“Where’ve you been?”
He yawns then curls up on the couch, pushing his mouse to the side with his head. Licking his chops, he twists around to clean his butt.
“Seriously?” Prompted by his, a yawn forces my lungs to expand. “Keep that mouth and tongue away from me, will ya?”
Reaching over, I pat him on the head, but he ignores me—giving his full attention to the butt bath now in full swing.
“I wish that’s all I had to worry about; taking a bath and finding my next meal.”
He snorts and begins working on his back paws.
I lean in close. “Oh, so now that you’ve got a new friend, you’re going to ignore me?”
His head rolls to me, and his wet tongue scrapes my chin before I can jerk away.
“Sweet baby Jesus that’s gross.”
He shows me his happy smile and goes back to his business.
Guess that’ll teach me to disturb doggie bath time.
Footsteps sound outside. The door swings open, and Jareth—covered in sweat and dirt—enters, followed by Sparky who looks as fresh as the day he stepped out of the sphere.
Stamping his boots to loosen the dirt from the soles, Jareth’s shadow falls on the screen.
“I will stay outside to monitor the perimeter.” Sparky backs out the door.
“You sure?” Jareth wipes his face, smearing grime across his nose.
“Yes.” He stands inside the door frame. “The human body requires sleep to function. I require none.”
Jareth’s voice is quiet. “Thanks, man. Let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious.”
The screen door squeaks, breaking the awkward moment.
Jareth’s movements are careful and quiet. Long, tan fingers close the door with a gentle touch.
“It’s okay. I’m awake.”
“Yes. I see that now.” He stills for a moment in front of the screen door.
The right half of his body reflects silver moonglow from outside, the other side absorbs golden candlelight. In this moment, the contrasting images of light make the breath catch in my throat.
He’s a beautiful paradox of silver and gold, dark and light, seriousness and frivolity.
I inhale, remembering to breathe, before he catches my wandering eyes.
His hand closes the heavy wooden door, and he takes a seat in the recliner several feet away. Grasping the armrests, he stares but doesn’t speak.
So, I guess this is the part where I try to act normal, like I’m not thirsty and he’s a long, tall glass of water. “Thanks for what you did out there.” My head nods toward the door.
Light dances across his face and creates shadows on the wall. The fresh night air lingering on his clothing carries the rich, mixed scents of grass, dirt, and moisture.
His eyebrows rise and his eyes widen a fraction. “How much did you hear?”
I groan inside. Now he knows I was watching him outside like a creeper. “Not much, but enough.”
Nice, Tilly, real nice. You should go ahead and use his shovel to dig a hole to die in.
Since I’ve let the cat out of the bag with my little eavesdropping expedition, I plow ahead, even though the words are like jabbing needles in my eyes.
“I’m sorry for what I said before, about how you act. I’m one to talk.” Examining the fuzzy blanket, I roll pill balls between my fingers. “I like to think I know what I’m doing, but the past few days have shown me I’m not as prepared to deal with this new world as I thought.”
My eyes move to the candle’s flame. I don’t want him to see the vulnerability in my face. “I don’t like these reminders of how the world is, or how fragile life can be. I’ve been alone for so long it’s a rough adjustment to find myself in the company of another person again. And having that—that robot with us all day is a constant reminder of my pain, my loss.”
The silence is thick and heavy, so I sneak a peek through my lashes, trying to read his face.
His stare pierces through the light and shadows, and he nibbles at the corner of a lip, as if in thought. The brown—sometimes black—irises reflect the dancing orange flickers.
Letting out a breath, he leans into the back of the chair. “It’s okay, Tilly. It’s how you cope. We all have our methods.” He laces his hands together and cradles the back of his neck. “And you’re right about me, too. I know sometimes I come across a little strong. But trust me, this version is much better than the earlier me, the person who reacted, instead of responding.” His head tilts back into his interlaced hands and he stares at the ceiling. “It’s easy to justify bad things when a person loses their way and has no hope. I never want to find myself in that place again. Whoever I’m becoming, I’m starting to like him. Even though I’m not entirely whole, there’s a bit of peace within my soul that wasn’t there before.” A shoulder lifts.
“Kind of like Man in the Mirror.”
Shifting in his seat, he leans forward. “What’s Man in the Mirror?”
“You know, the Michael Jackson song?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s an old song, but still good. How have you not heard it? Please don’t tell me you listen to Country.”
“You like music?”
The hair swings across my forehead when I nod. “Oh yeah, just about anything but that shit-kicking stuff.”
The mood in the room feels heavy and intimate.
“Me, too.” He wipes at a spot of dirt on his jeans. “Who knows? What if we have more in common than we think, and our two broke halves transform into something whole?”
This conversation is getting too serious. His sudden willingness to talk makes me nervous. I don’t think of myself as broken. He might be, but I’m fine, just a little worn.
I smooth my hair. “So, uh, Kodiak found a toy under the couch.”
He rests his elbows on his knees. Those strong hands form a steeple, and he taps it on his chin as if in thought. “Really? I’m trying to get to know you, letting my heart bleed out of my chest for you, and suddenly you want to talk about the dog?” The little dimple forms, and a slow grin curves his mouth, relaxing his face.
Leaning into the couch, I tuck a foot underneath my hip. I don’t know what to say. This is him peeling back one of those layers, giving you a glimpse below Lake Jareth, to dip your toes into those dark currents. Which is the very thing that frightens me.
My attention turns to a pillow on my right, and I grin. Grabbing it, I toss it towards his face.
The round projectile sails over the coffee table and hits him square on the nose.
“You didn’t—” A look of comic surprise washes across his slack mouth.
“Nah. It was Kodiak.” A chortle bursts free from my throat.
> Kodiak’s ears perk, and he thumps his tail on a cushion.
“You sure about that?”
Jareth snatches the pillow and hurls it with force.
It catches me right above an ear. “Ow, that hurt, asshole.”
“If you’re going to play with the big boys, Red, you got to learn how to take your licks.”
“Oh, it’s so on now.” I grab the extra pillows from the couch and pelt him with a savage, fast volley of fluff.
A barrage hurtles back, and I cover my head, laughing and holding my hands out for mercy.
Unrelenting, he picks the pillows up again and unleashes their fury.
Having enough of the bombardment, I jump behind the couch for cover.
When the decorated projectiles stop sailing overhead, I grab the fallen ones within reach and ready myself to pop up and begin a fresh onslaught.
When I rise, though, strong arms encircle me from behind, and I freeze.
“Aha.” His breath blows around my neck. “Not this time, Red.”
The warmth of his hands on my stomach feels like a branding iron, as if his touch is marking me for the rest of my life.
The pillows in my hands drop, and I stand, unmoving and unsure.
He loosens his grip and cups my shoulders, turning me toward his chest.
I don’t resist. Up close, the dimple in his right cheek deepens with his smile. The cozy light of the candle softens the hard planes of his nose and cheeks. He looks like an angel, but not one from Heaven—more like an angel of Hell. Beautiful, sinful, and full of pride.
A tremor runs through my body and my mouth dries. I can’t pull my gaze away from that dark stare.
He leans in, lips a few inches apart from mine. His eyelids drop a fraction, and he stares at my mouth.
The uncertainty in his gaze draws me closer. For all his talk and sexual innuendoes, I think he’s as nervous as I am.
My breathing becomes ragged, and I fight against an urge to run. The streak of dirt on his nose and the light scent of sweat mingling with forest remind me how very male he is. “You’re filthy,” I breathe.
His eyes twinkle with humor. “You should lick me clean.”
Blood rushes to my face, then to the rest of my body. The image his words invoke makes my temperature rise a hundred degrees. Is this how people spontaneously combust?
I want to fight this feeling—to jump away and not look back. He’s been nothing but trouble since I met him, but then he surprises me with his rescue and little thoughtful gestures. To top it off, when I see glimpses of the man—the real man hiding underneath—I can’t fight the pull.
Tired of analyzing everything, I close my eyes. Thinking’s overrated.
Warm, spicy breath caresses my face, flows over my cheeks.
Our lips brush one another, hesitant and soft, like the fluttering wings of a butterfly. The brush of his soft skin next to mine ignites a shock that shoots straight to my core. A small moan slides from my mouth before I stifle it and angle my head to keep our noses from bumping.
Just one kiss. That’s all I want. I open my mouth—
The front door crashes against the wall with a boom.
I jump and smack my forehead on Jareth’s skull. With haste, I scuttle away as if guilty of some transgression.
A stiff, humanoid form stands in the doorway, the porch and yard behind him lit with moonglow. His helmet soaks in the candle’s illumination. Anger at his intrusion and guilt over letting my emotions override my judgment makes me snap. “Damn it, Sparky.”
Jareth lets out a long breath and scratches his head. “Yeah, man. What’s up? I locked the door for a reason.”
There’s silence for a moment, broken by the sputtering of the flaming candle wick.
The robot shifts his shoulders in Jareth’s direction, head tilting at a slight angle.
If I didn’t know him better, I’d say he’s hesitating. “Well, spit it out, idiot. Did you knock a wire lose or something?” My voice, harsh and a bit raspy, conveys my anger. “Ya know what, Sparky? I wish you’d stayed in your pod; I wish you were the one buried six-foot under; but most of all, I wish your kind had never come to Earth.”
The walking spare computer parts stands motionless. Makes me wonder if gears like a time piece’s cogs rotate in his head to form a mechanical brain.
I rub the back of my head. “I’m going to grab something from my pack to eat then turn in for the night.” My eyes lock with Jareth’s, before I shift away, still feeling exposed and uncomfortable. “Tomorrow, when it’s daylight, let’s raid this place and get the hell out of here. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover and plenty of questions to ask.”
I glance in Sparky’s direction again, but he’s heading out the front door.
My anger deflates, and I think back to the moment before he barged in. Jareth’s lips felt warm and alive when they brushed mine.
Cheeks burning, I rub my temples and try to think of something, anything, for a distraction besides the wreck he’s causing inside my brain.
“Have you, um”—I toe the thick, brown carpet underneath my boots—“checked the bedrooms upstairs?”
“Yeah, they’re clear. No boogie bears.” Somehow, he knows what I was asking.
Needing to get him off my mind, I decide this is a good segue for bed. “Great, I’m turning in, then. Night.”
I scooch my ass up the stairs without waiting for a response.
Kodiak follows behind. His nails make a tip-tap sound on the hardwood.
Halfway up the stairwell, I risk a quick peek over a shoulder.
Jareth stands motionless, fathomless eyes unblinking, face narrowed while he stares my way.
Damn, get a grip, girl.
“Night, Red. Don’t let the bedbugs bite—or anything else.”
I sprint up the rest of the landing, feeling the hungry stare caressing my skin and invading my head.
Taking the first room on the right, I usher Kodiak in and lock the door. My body sags against the barrier, and I let out a long breath. “This day needs to be over already.”
Kodiak and I eat a quick bite, swig some water, and flop onto a twin-size bed, complete with dinosaurs and cars—every little boy’s dream.
I stare around the room, unsure where to look first. Car and truck cartoons occupy the walls. A jumble of plastic dinosaurs lies scattered in the corner.
Laying an arm around Kodiak’s warm body, I pull the T-Rex meets human vehicle sheets to my chin.
A faceless man enters my dreams. He chases me down long, narrow hallways with a five-inch knife. Faster than a blink, the dream changes, and I find myself in a chair.
Jareth, unsmiling, stands next to me. Anger clouds his gaze.
“It’s time to end this, Red.” He cocks his head and stares at something on the wall behind the chair.
His gloved hand grabs an old, iron handle and pulls down.
Purple electricity shoots from the ceiling and tears through my head. My flesh smokes, and the pain is enormous; a giant, twisted snake uncoiling and burning every cell in my body.
I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.
He leans toward me, his face twisting with hate and fury. “This is the price of my love. Are you still willing to pay?”
Chapter Eleven
I wake with a jolt—my feet and legs tangled in the covers. Hugging Kodiak’s sleeping form to my chest, I calm my racing heart and wipe the sweat from my forehead. That nightmare was as bad as the ones where my parents die over and over.
A familiar scent permeates the air, and my eyes widen.
I grab Kodiak’s face. “What is that delicious smell?”
Kodiak’s bright eyes, full of energy, smile back.
“Why does it smell like bacon in here, boy?” Nose in the air, I sniff. “Am I still dreaming?”
He lets out a low woof and leaps out of bed. Running to the door, he turns around as if to say, well, you coming?
I throw the comforter back and swing out
of the small bed, glad for my short stature. A small chuckle breaks the silence at the thought of Jareth trying to cram his long frame into such a small space.
“Better believe I am. This is a mystery we’re about to solve, Scooby-Doo.”
Wrenching the doorknob, I pull with so much force it bounces off the wall with a loud crack.
Kodiak and I race down the stairs and skid to a halt.
In the cozy kitchen, a surreal scene greets me. My mouth hangs open in disbelief.
Jareth holds a gray spatula in one hand and a white apron covers his chest that declares everyone must kiss the cook.
My not so silent arrival causes him to turn and stare. He looks fresh, hair slicked back behind his ears again. Several soft, springy curls rub the collar of his shirt.
I want to slip my hands around his neck and see if they feel as silky as they look.
He doesn’t miss my stare, and the return of his simmering grin sends a rush of heat to my face.
“Hungry, Red?” He bites down on the inside of his lip.
Oh yeah, I’m hungry, all right. I’m doomed—never stood a chance.
He stands in front of a stove. A cast-iron frying pan sizzles and pops.
The contents of the skillet calls to me, and I’m sure my ears and nose are deceiving me.
He moves back a step when I’m in danger of plowing him over to look inside the pan. I drink in the sight. Sure enough, somehow, there’s fucking bacon cooking in there.
I look up, knowing I have a stupid grin on my face. “How—where—is that bacon?” Stupidity drips from my mouth as the answer sits right in front of my face and nose.
He elbows my ribs before moving in front of the pan again. Using the spatula, he flips the sizzling pork. “Yep. Genuine, farm-raised swine.”
“But where’d it come from?” My brain still tries to figure out how someone could keep bacon cold and safe from bacteria without electricity.
Saliva fills my mouth, and my stomach lets out a loud growl.
I know it’s not fit for consumption, but I don’t care. One bite of that tainted, delicious meat will have me puking my guts for days, but I’m unable to tear my eyes from the hot, sizzling slices.
“How do you know it’s not crawling with food poisoning?”
The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1) Page 18
