The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1)

by Melissa Riddell

  What am I doing? I must keep my head clear and stop this. My priority is to reach my sister. How will a romance help the end goal?

  Plus, am I willing to give myself one hundred percent? I can trust him with my life, but can I entrust him with my heart?

  Is there a difference?

  Opening my eyes, I struggle to come to terms with my senses.

  I can’t afford to get tangled in whatever this is. Nothing good will come of it. He’ll leave my heart in tatters.

  When our journey ends, I’ll have to part ways, and put him out of my mind.

  A romance isn’t something I need right now.

  “Jareth,” I whisper, breaking the spell. “I can’t.”

  He pulls back, and a small breath of air blows from his lips onto my skin.

  “I’m sorry.” Regret tinges his words. “It just feels so damned good to hold another living person, to be useful and needed again.” His arms move to my stomach, the palms of his hands hot through my shirt, branding me again.

  He leans back a bit and gives my torso wiggle room. His throat clears before he speaks again. “Would you—would you consider getting closer with me after you find your sister?” A hint of trepidation hangs on his question.

  The tables have turned, and he’s now the one unsure and nervous. Just the way he asks the question makes me want to giggle at its awkwardness.

  “Umm, are you asking me out?” My face splits in a wide grin. “Whatever happened to will you be my girlfriend? or wanna hang out sometime?”

  Jareth shifts the weight of his body in silence. He wiggles a foot and a toe peeks out of a hole in his sock.

  Unable to stop myself, I throw one more tease into the mix. “Get closer? That’s all you got? It sounds like something from a bad tv commercial.” I elbow his ribs. “For all the bluster and swaggering masculinity you throw around, I’m surprised you don’t have better pick-up lines.”

  “I have the distinct feeling you’re making fun of me.”

  “You think?” I tip my head up. “It doesn’t feel so good, does it?”

  Through the flashes of lightning that shine through the tent walls, a small smile plays about his lips. One of his curls tickles my forehead.

  I take a deep breath and become serious again. My gaze follows the outline of his jaw.

  What would it feel like to run my fingertips down his face—feel his whiskers on my neck? Would his touch block out the bad memories, and cleanse their taint in the same manner as the falling rain?

  Sighing, knowing this line of thinking isn’t doing me any favors, I refocus.

  “I don’t know what my plans are after I find Sissy. I’m not saying it’s out of the question. I mean, I could be stuck with worse.”

  Another loud crack of thunder bellows through the sky.

  The dark slashes of his brows draw together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what it implies.” I butt my shoulder into his chest. “You’re not half bad-looking.” I stop in horror at my slip and try to correct what jumped out of my dumb mouth.

  “I mean, you’re not a half-bad person.” I’m surprised the heat from my face hasn’t set the tent on fire. The skin’s hot enough to light the entire night sky. Fuck, I’m stupid and clumsy, like this is the first time I’ve ever had a crush on someone.

  Not that I’m crushing or anything, it’s the irresistible charisma. I’m sure it’s a passing phase brought on by all those months of loneliness, and never having a steady boyfriend. Yes, that’s all.

  My inner voice laughs a deep, husky chuckle. Sure, if that’s how you wanna think of it. It is, and I do. Shut up and go away.

  Jareth’s hot breath tangles itself in my hair, and his bottom lip brushes the lobe of my ear. “So, you do find me attractive?” Even though my head’s down and I can’t see his face, I hear the cocky grin in the pitch of his voice.

  For the love of everything holy, please let this sweet torture end. He’s going to drive me insane.

  I struggle to break away, my body wanting to crawl into the sleeping bag and hide with Kodiak, dog breath and all. But a need persists to be safe in his hug starts a tug-of-war of emotions.

  His arms lock me in a warm vice, the grip a steadfast circle protecting me from the world.

  Knowing I need to fix my blunder and fast; I try to elaborate. He’s already got a big enough ego, no sense in stoking it further. “No. I said you’re not a half-bad person.”

  Please ground, open and swallow me right now.

  “Mm hmm, and before you tried to correct yourself? I’m sure I heard something about me looking good. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve mentioned something about me being a pretty boy several times.”

  This feels good, and it worries me. I need to stop teasing and put my foot down, but another part of me wants this, wants him. “No, I said you’re not half bad-looking.”

  It’s like we’ve always been together. The comfort of his arms shields me from every danger in the world, a wall of protection.

  “Yes, which means the other half looks good.” There’s a smugness to his words.

  Me and my stupid, big mouth. I put a hand on his and push, but his voice stops the movement.

  The teasing, flirty tone takes a sober turn. “Tilly, I need to tell you something.”

  Picking up on the somber mood shift, I still and tilt my head. There’s an unusual cadence to his words. “Okay.” My breath sighs out.

  The serious tone makes me nervous, and I place a hand on my thigh to steady myself.

  His chest moves to take in a lungful of air.

  A twig outside snaps.

  “Shh.” His breath blows next to my ear.

  As quiet as a field mouse, I scoot free of his legs.

  The tent’s zipper slides, and the flap falls away.

  “Wood now acquired.” Sparky appears at the entrance. He kneels with a buttload of firewood in his arms.

  The torrential rain splashes inside and threatens to flood the interior of the cozy little sanctuary.

  “What’re you doing?” Crawling on all four, I scramble to the inside zipper.

  His helmet continues to poke inside, flap still open to the deluge above.

  “Delivering supplies as requested.” He dumps a pile of wood into the tent, on top of the sleeping bags.

  Kodiak yelps and scrambles out of the bedding. Even in the dark, I catch the disapproving look he flashes at the robot.

  “Sparky.” My voice constricts and I picture my hands wrapping around his neck and choking the life out of him.

  “No.” Jareth rolls to his knees. “Not in here, man.”

  This alien is an imbecile. “If we get wiped out by these guys, we’re not as smart as the scientists think.”

  “Then where do I deposit the supplies?” Sparky does a double take of the camping gear and other goods in the corner.

  “Where the hell do you think, moron?” I shove several logs against his chest. “Outside.”

  “You requested dry wood.” His head tilts like a confused puppy, which makes me wonder if the water fried his circuits. “The torrential rain will soak the logs.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “Do what she says”—Jareth stacks a few more limbs on the pile Sparky’s holding, but the weight has little impact—“or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Sparky takes off, arms full. He paces to the right, then goes left. Several seconds pass. He backtracks and places the logs inside a hollowed-out trunk, then covers them with leafy limbs.

  Shuffling everything around to clean the wet mess of bark, twigs, leaves, and mud, I grumble under my breath. “Stupid oversized vacuum.”

  “He’s trying. Give him a chance.” Jareth takes off his worn sock with holes and rings water out of it. “He’s learning. It’s a chance to program one of them the way we want him to think.”

  “Sure, until he plugs into the hub then decides to turn you and me into sparklers.”

  The robot returns. “What
are sparklers?” Miniature waterfalls cascade on each side of his head where ears should be.

  “Nothing you need to worry about.” Jareth shoots me a warning glance then backs up, giving Sparky room to enter.

  The wind changes direction and rainwater pelts the opening of the tent.

  I motion to the clueless robot. “Well, get inside. You’ll flood the tent and everything in it if you keep standing there gawking like an idiot.”

  “Very well.” With an agile grace that belies his usual movement, Sparky steps into the tent.

  He squishes himself at the end of the sleeping bags and watches Jareth and me clean. The silver threads on his clothing flicker in the darkness from the streaks of lightning.

  My thoughts flit back to Jareth’s last words, and I wonder what he was about to say. Should I remind him?

  Leave it alone. If it’s that important, he’ll bring it up again. He already told you he did things to survive. He needs to unburden himself, but let him come to you, don’t push it.

  As if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, Sparky stands, crouched inside the tent. “Was the wood dry enough? It required felling a small tree.”

  I stare at him in wonder. “Didn’t I say to get wood that had already fallen?” I close my eyes and groan in frustration. “Now, not only is it half-soaked, but green, too. It won’t burn, you asshat.”

  “The tree parts are green, not brown?”

  “Semantics, buddy.” Jareth clamps a hand on Sparky’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We have enough for now.”

  “Well, fuck, it looks like supper’s gonna be cold tonight—that’s if we manage to survive the fury of the raging storm and Sparky’s ignorance.”

  With the clueless tin can back inside, the mood in the tent isn’t as companionable as earlier. I sit beside Kodiak and stroke his fur while I wait out the storm. He props a paw on my stomach and settles his head in the crook of hip and waist.

  The wind finally slacks off, and the rain dies to a soft drone. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and light breaks through the clouds.

  Supper is a can of pinto beans, bread, and dried fruit. The food offers nourishment but nothing else. Thoughts of bacon flutter in my brain, and my stomach grumbles.

  “Too bad we don’t have dry wood to eat a hot meal.” I throw a glare at the robot. “I hate cold beans—they’re disgusting.” My hand slides the tent zipper down, and I throw the empty metal container outside.

  Jareth grins while he scrapes the inside of his supper.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Can held in one hand, his fork pauses halfway in his mouth. He takes great care when he pulls it out, licking each individual tine.

  The sight transfixes me, and my breathing becomes rapid when I imagine that tongue tracing a path over skin.

  “You’re too adorable when you’re angry.” As if he knows what I’m thinking, he continues to clean the fork while his eyes smile at me.

  I die a little. Get a grip, woman. Put your eyes back inside your head and look away.

  Kodiak, nose in a bowl, snorts with each bite of dog food.

  “Yeah. Rub it in”—dog food can now in hand, the first ingredient to jump off the page, pork—“Bacon thief.”

  After the cold, lackluster meal, I slide into my sleeping bag and snuggle next to Kodiak again.

  Sparky seats himself at the end of the sleeping bag and lurks.

  I point my index finger in his direction but direct my words to Jareth. “He’s creeping me out. How am I going to get any sleep? Can’t you make him look away, or something?”

  Jareth’s head lifts from the ground. “What if he’s into voyeurism?”

  “You’re sick. Besides, it’s not voyeurism without sex, and I can guarantee that’s not happening.”

  His voice is low and seductive. “You can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”

  Those butterflies tickle my stomach. I throw a corner of my sleeping bag off and sit up. “Sparky, get the hell out of here. Go patrol or something. You can’t sit there and stare all night. It’s weird.”

  I may be crazy, but I swear there’s petulance in his electronic voice. “Am I not contributing to the group effort by remaining nearby to assist with tasks?”

  A growl comes from my throat. “Jareth, if you don’t take care of him—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll explode or something.” He shifts his legs inside his bag. “Go outside and keep watch. Red here can barely wait to be alone with me.”

  My body shifts so I can strike his shoulder. “Ass.”

  The zipper breaks the silence, and Sparky steps out.

  “What?” He reaches an arm over and pushes a lock of hair away from my cheek.

  “You’re impossible.” I grab his finger and deposit his arm back onto his sleeping bag. “Keep your damn hands to yourself tonight. I’m not kidding.”

  “I will.” He moves to his side and leans his head onto a propped elbow. “As much as I like to tease you, I’d never force you into something you didn’t want. You know that, right? I’m not like that other guy. No means no, period.” That barely there, unknown accent stiffens some of his words, but his voice comforts me.

  “Yeah, I know you’re different.”

  He lets out a small sigh. “Okay, night, Red.”

  Lying this close to Jareth, I’m self-conscious, again. Knowing I can reach a hand to lace my fingers with his makes my pulse race.

  “Night.” On my side, I stare into the dark, dissecting the conversations from the past few days.

  He wants to get closer. Sure, he’s always implying the physical part, but deep down, he may be sincere in wanting a real relationship. This thought torments me. What do I want, deep down inside? An easy answer doesn’t appear.

  I flop onto my side, opposite his direction. There’s no way I’m going to get any sleep if I think he might be watching me or knowing I can watch him.

  Sparky’s footsteps move around the tent. He’s another problem. How can we use the robot to fight the aliens? He’s not much help so far. Other than giving me the history of his planet, he acts like someone—something, Tilly, not someone, never forget that—disconnected from the world.

  How do I get information that isn’t there? This is something better left until Florida. Did Jareth and I tell him his hub-thingy is in Florida? What happens when he realizes the trip excludes a visit to the all-knowing hub?

  An image of blackened skin causes me to shudder. My head whirls.

  Another thing—how have we gotten so lucky in avoiding another pod encounter? Jareth says everything’s fine, but I’m nervous every minute out in the open. It’s like we’re ticking timebombs every moment we walk the roads.

  Go to sleep, Tilly, figure it out tomorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sound of running feet and raised voices pierce through my dreams, and I jerk awake with heart pounding in my ears. I’m alone in the tent.

  Another yell disturbs the silence, and I dive for the pistol in my boot.

  “Go get it, Kodiak.” Jareth’s voice isn’t urgent, but playful.

  Relief causes my muscles to relax, and I lower my gun and stumble out of the opening into fresh morning air.

  The rain from the night before has left a wet sheen on the grass and leaves, and the ground squishes under my tread, threatening to suck the shoes off my feet.

  Jareth and Sparky stand about thirty feet apart, and take turns throwing a small stick toward Kodiak. The dog tears off after the limb, pounces on it, then scoops it in his mouth and sprints to drop it at their feet.

  “Think ya’ll are loud enough?” I rub sleep from my eyes and yawn.

  On hearing my voice, Kodiak drops the toy and runs straight at me.

  “Whoa, hang on”—

  He knocks me to the ground with muddy paws and jumps on my chest and legs, covering me in muck.

  “Damn it, dog.” I push him off and inspect my clothing. The mud’s caked all over my once white t-shirt, and
dog prints dot the jeans over my thighs. “Mother—” I flap the shirt, trying to loosen the larger spots. Giving up, I hold my hands out. “Kodiak, what in the hell?” The smell wafting up isn’t pleasant. In fact, it smells like rotted leaves and dog piss.

  Kodiak backs up, tail still wagging.

  Jareth laughs until I glower in his direction. “He’s excited to see you, just like the rest of us.”

  “Woof. Woof.” He dips his head, wedges the limb between his jaws, and holds it up, a look of excitement on his face.

  My anger disappears at his cuteness, and I take the damn thing from his mouth. “Fine. I’ll throw the stupid stick.” I chuck it out, missing Jareth by a few inches.

  “Hey, you did that on purpose.”

  “You laughed, asshole. It’s not funny.” I point down to my shirt and jeans. “I don’t have any other clothes because my pack ’s overflowing with food. Now, I look like a heavy metal singer and smell like a trashcan from hell.”

  He moves closer. Behind his shoulder, Sparky throws the stick and Kodiak gives chase.

  “You look good to me.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I can help with the cleanup, though, if you want.”

  Backing away, I hold a hand to ward him off. “You just stay where you are, pretty boy. I’m good.”

  A devilish gleam shoots from his eyes, but he holds his tongue.

  I sigh in disgust and pick at the globs of dirt before they dry. Needing coffee like the caffeine junkie I am, my hands get a small fire going in the center of the camp and pour water into the small tin pitcher.

  Jareth, hair damp but combed, looks good enough to eat.

  There’s something wrong about looking so put together first thing in the morning without any effort.

  “Yum. Coffee?”

  “Yeah.” Sitting on a log, I pick at mud. My drying shirt begins to stiffen. “Stupid dog.”

  “I’ll look at the map and see if I can find a stream or something so you can wash up.”

  I scrunch my shoulders closer to the fire. “Oh, yay. Can’t wait to plunge into freezing water on such a fine, autumn day. If I get bronchitis and die, I hope you remember your laughter.”

  His big hand grasps my jaw in a loose grip, pulling it in his direction. “Hey, I’ll never let you die.” He rubs a thumb over my bottom lip before releasing it to stand.