As if sensing my unease, she focuses on the panel again. “Long story short, a war broke out several years ago between the two planets, and when the Henokans crashed the meteorite into our world, we used a biological weapon on their planet.” She looks into my eyes, and there’s pain etched in the corners, in her furrowed brow. “Most of the Henokans perished. Unknown to our government, the antidote to the virus was destroyed in the chaos, and the virus made its way back to Baltin, too.”
She takes a deep breath and stands. “Would you like more tea?”
I shake my head. “For a technological, savvy race, that’s pretty dumb, releasing a virus before ensuring there’s plenty of vaccines, or whatever.”
Her hands move over the control panel, and a plate of circular, brown cookies appear. She carries them to the table and pushes the plate toward me.
The kitchen smells like sugar, flour, and butter. My stomach growls in answer to the offering.
Relenting, I grab one, and savor the spicy sweetness.
“Yes, it was a very stupid—and arrogant—thing to do. You see, that’s the problem with Baltins. We’re so sure of our superiority, we keep focusing on the big picture. This means we miss the small things that are just as important, sometimes even more so. My daughter, Chari—Jareth’s mother—is a prime example of Baltin arrogance.” There’s a touch of sadness that pulls her brows downward. “It’s why she’s so intent on bringing him back into action. Without him, the Council can’t continue their work.”
“Why?” Her last sentence draws me in and forces the question out of my mouth.
A short nail taps against the table, then she sips. “I’m not sure that part of the story is mine to tell.”
“Then why the hell did you mention it?” I clench and unclench my fists. You’re really starting to piss me off, Eva.
She doesn’t answer, and one of her fingers swipes the loose wisps of gray from her head. The screen changes to an arena stuffed with spectators. A silver dais sits in the middle, with a lone person standing in the midst.
Eva points to the platform. “Our King was killed by the virus, and his son was forced into the role, even though he’d just lost his own wife and daughter, in addition to his father. It’s the blood—and what’s in it—that decides our fate. Averon blood is unique, and chooses the leader, whether they want it or not.”
I push the cookies away, no longer interested. On the screen, the camera zooms in and Jareth stands on the platform, stiff and motionless, while the crowd cheers. A muscle ticks near his jaw, and his eyes are dead pieces of onyx.
Dropping my head into a hand, I stare at the table. I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to understand him, I don’t want to have anything to do with him.
Grandma won’t shut up, though. “The Council already knew about Earth, and insisted it was the only way to continue our race. No one wanted to relocate to Henoka because it’s little more than a frozen snowball, and we didn’t evolve to withstand its turmoil. Earth was the next closest habitable planet that was undeveloped—relatively speaking.”
“Gee, thanks for the insult, grandma. Listen, I don’t want to hear about your maniacal politics or your fucked-up grandson. Actually, I’d like to get the hell out of here before he comes back.”
Her voice is light and airy, and she waves a hand like she’s swatting a fly. “Oh, young people. Always so confused when it comes to love.”
“Love? More like hate.” I sound like Kodiak when I growl.
She pops a cookie in her mouth, and for a few seconds, the sound of smacking lips and crunching teeth is the only sound that punctuates the silence.
Please choke.
Sipping her tea, she studies my face, as if she’s debating her next Dr. Phil sermon. “Love isn’t always a happy gift, wrapped in a pretty package with a sparkling bow. Sometimes it’s ugly, wrong, and imperfect, and you must dig underneath the mud and muck to find the flawed thing. A pearl doesn’t start out beautiful, does it?”
I don’t know if she wants me to answer, not that I would anyhow. She’s off her rocker.
After a brief pause, she continues. “No, it starts out as an invader, an irritant, but over time, the microbe morphs into a beautiful, one-of-a-kind gemstone.”
My eyes stray to the paused picture of Jareth on the screen, so cold, distant, and alone even amid thousands of people. “I don’t know what we have—” I correct myself “—what we had, but it isn’t love.”
Her fingers grip my wrist, and brown eyes bore into mine. “The true beauty of loving someone hides in the layers of scars, painful stories, and hardships. Love is persevering, despite—or in spite—of those wounds. Love is pain, but it’s also forgiveness and acceptance. Love doesn’t care who you are, where you come from, or what you want—it just is. Only a bitter fool would throw it away.”
The air in the room is filled with electricity, and I wrangle my wrist from her grasp. Damn, Granny’s got a mean grip. “Well, it sounds like love sucks, then, and I don’t want any part of it.”
Eva stretches her neck and scratches. “It does suck sometime, but I want to tell you something. Jareth doesn’t give his love to just anyone. His upbringing was harsh, with his mother confusing love for power, and a father always away. When he chooses to love someone, he devotes himself to them completely, without mercy. Which means when they break his heart, it breaks him. Did he tell you what happened after his wife and daughter died?”
Not trusting myself to speak, I nod and trace my finger across the cold metal tabletop. So, I guess that was one thing he was telling the truth about.
“His marriage was political, and he loved Jalinda, but his daughter—my great granddaughter, Ani—was the light of his world. When she died, a part of him perished, too. It broke his soul. He pulled himself back together, but it left him jaded and bitter.”
Her soft face transforms with flattened lips and narrowed eyes “Don’t break his soul again, Tilly.”
The meme of Bilbo Baggins’ face morphing from kind to demonic comes to mind when he gave Gandalf the ring. She just went from a sweet old lady to a haggard, scary crone.
Damn.
“I love that boy more than anything, and I want the best for him. He deserves happiness. Right now, he’s caught between two worlds. Duty to his people or surrender to his heart. I pity the side that loses.”
My words spill between my clenched teeth. “Happiness? How does he deserve happiness? He helped to wipe out humankind, including my parents. Why should such evil be rewarded with a happy every after?”
The sound of the doors opening makes me jump and my heart patter. Oh God, please tell me it’s not him.
I’m hidden by the wall, but Eva’s still visible from the hallway.
She looks away. “Well, hello, dear. Was it a productive meeting?”
Jareth walks into the sitting room, but doesn’t investigate the kitchen. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Kill me now. Is it possible to sneak out before he realizes I’m here?
Kodiak, the traitor, runs to him for a head scratch.
His shoulders shrug off the long overcoat, and he folds it in half and sets it on one of the chairs. Neat freak to a fault.
He answers her in that strange language, and his voice slips inside my heart like a sensuous caress, the words strange and seductive.
No, no, no, heart. Do not even think about it.
She nods her head. “Oh, do speak English, Jareth. I quite enjoy it.”
He sighs and reaches inside the wooden cabinet. He’s wearing a dark shirt, and charcoal gray pants that hug his ass in all the right places. A small, silver belt encircles his waist, and tiny, metal bands line the ends of his sleeves.
Jackass Jareth. Remember? He helped to kill your parents. Stop checking out his ass.
“I usually speak English with Tilly, Grandma, but I’ll humor you. As for your question, no, the meeting didn’t go well. Trying to talk sense into the Council is like trying to convince a rock it’s a bird.”
Her
little mouth grins in my direction. “How’s Tilly?”
Okay, I’m reassessing grandma. She’s as nutty as a fruitcake, and it’s a good thing I didn’t try to kick her ass. She’s evil.
He pulls a couple of glasses from the cabinet, and pours a dark, honey-colored liquid. “She still hates me.”
“Why don’t you bring her here, show her how much she means to you? It must be miserable being cooped up in that little room.”
Shut the hell up, grandma, or I really will kick your ass. A part of me is interested in his answer, though.
“I would, but I’m afraid she’d tear half the ship apart, or hurt herself before I can reign her in. She’s safer down there—and so is everyone else—until she can get the rage under control.” He takes a sip from one of the glasses, then leans his hands on the wooden edges of the cabinet.
Oh buddy, you haven’t seen my true rage yet. Just wait until I can get my hands on you. So, I’m on a spaceship. Why am I not surprised? This is going to make breaking out difficult.
“I miss her, Grandma. So damn much. Mother has no idea what she’s done, or she doesn’t care. Tilly’s the one good thing in my life I found over the past several years, and I’m losing her just as fast as I found her.”
He drains the glass, then fills it again, before turning and walking toward the kitchen. When he sees me, he stops, and his jaw opens.
I break eye contact and sniff.
Grandma Eva chuckles and stands. “Well, I’ve got to head back home, so I’ll leave you two alone.” She turns and gives me a wink, then bows at the waist when she faces Jareth.
The doors close with a soft click.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Jareth take a deep breath before walking to the table. He sets the two small tumblers of liquid down. His hands grab the back of the chair across from me then he throws himself into it, shoulders sagging. He rubs his chin, not meeting my gaze.
I’m certain whatever’s in the glass is liquor. The dark concoction smells spicy and sweet. Swiping the nearest tumbler, I put the container to my lips and down it in one gulp. When it’s empty, I slam it onto the tabletop, and the noise causes Jareth to jump.
My throat’s on fire, and tears spring to my eyes, but I refuse to cough. I’ve never had alcohol before. “That tastes like shit.” What’s all the fuss?
Jareth watches me like he thinks I’m going to spring up and smash him over the head with the glass.
Hmmm. Not a bad idea.
“Just so you know, I’m never bowing and doing stupid shit like that when you enter a room.” I point at his head. “Also, your hair looks dumb, and without your beard, you look like a baby monkey.”
He runs a finger through his hair, while his other hand rubs at his smooth face.
My fingers pluck the drink from his grip and I swallow it, too. Damn, the fire, but a delightful tingle begins to rush through my legs. This stuff works fast.
“Uh, that’s Baltin rum, and a lot stronger than human alcohol.” His black brows scrunch together. “Have you ever had liquor before?”
Kodiak rests his head on my thigh again and I stroke the silky fur.
I thump the fingers of my other hand to one of the empty glasses and send it flying across the table into Jareth’s lap. The sound of the glass scraping across the metal is satisfying. “Nope, but I think this is an excellent time to start.”
His voice is a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
The other empty tumbler still sits in front of me. I grip the top of it and slam it onto the table. “Sorry? Sorry’s something you say when you break a plate.” Slam. “Sorry’s something you say when you forget to pick up a loaf of bread at the store.” Slam. “Sorry’s something you say when you fart in public.” Slam. “Sorry’s not something you say when you murder someone’s parents.” My tone’s even, but loud.
The alcohol courses through my veins, and I feel the simmering anger at his betrayal, his deception, and his cruelty begin to rise.
Jareth’s face blurs. He tries to grab my hand across the table, but I snatch it away.
“Don’t you dare touch me.”
Those large hands raise in a halting motion. The sound of the chair legs scooting across the floor pierces the quiet. He stands, walks to my side, and kneels to face me.
Kodiak wanders over to the sitting area, jumps into one of the chairs, and begins a butt bath.
The sweet scent of cookies dissipates with Jareth’s nearness. “I love you, Red. I’ll do anything to prove it. Just give me a chance.” His high cheekbones have pinkish-red splotches of color.
I twist in the chair to face him. “Fine. Bring my fucking parents back.”
He bows his head.
“You said you’d do anything, then you should be able to do that with all your fancy technology.”
That proud face meets mine again. “You know I can’t, but I would if I could, promise.”
My anger erupts, and I clench my fists. “I hate you. You should’ve died when you pulled that trigger.”
Fury causes burning tears to spring to my eyes, and I’m a bomb one second from detonation. The rage inside my heart is like a festering wound, spreading its black fingers within, twisted and hideous, demanding release.
I swing my fist and it connects with the bridge of his nose. The force of the punch turns his head sideways. Bright red blood spurts from a nostril and drips onto his upper lip.
The violence pouring from me is shocking and shameful. I’ve never punched anyone before, much less drawn blood. What kind of person have I become?
He pauses for a moment, head twisted to the side.
My jaw slackens, and it feels like this scene is unfolding somewhere outside of my body.
With control, he turns back to face me but doesn’t make any move to wipe the blood or defend himself. It’s like he’s giving me another open shot or surrendering.
Those deep, penetrating eyes search my face, but there’s no malice, only pity or sorrow.
How dare he pity me.
The lack of fight in his face pisses me off even more, and I control the urge to slap him.
Instead, my fingers grab the collar of his shirt, and I shake it back and forth. “Why? Why you? Why did I have to fall for you and your lies? You destroyed my life, and now you’re destroying the few pieces I’ve managed to hobble together.”
A river of tears floods my cheeks, and I keep holding his shirt in my hands, shaking and pulling. “I hate you, Jareth, and every Baltin ever born.”
His lips stay closed, but he places his hands around my neck, thumbs rubbing my jaw, while his nose continues to bleed.
My head feels weird, and the room spins, but I clutch his shirt in my desperate fingers.
He moves a hand to cup my jaw. “Do you love me?”
I hiccup through hitching sobs. “I already told you I hate your guts.”
He smooths the hair from my face. “That’s not the same thing. You tell me you have no love in your heart for me and I’ll believe you.”
Damn you, Jackass Jareth. I want to scream I don’t love you, but the words won’t form. I watch the carmine blood slide around the outside of his lips, then down the side of his chin.
Those deep yellow flecks in his irises look like tiny suns burning in darkness. The hate inside my heart competes with another emotion that tries to override the loathing.
Not love, please God don’t let it be love.
Pain distorts his face in the downturn of his mouth, to the sadness emanating from his dark eyes. He’s so beautiful in his agony, his sorrow, and my heart clenches. I see my own misery reflected in that strong face. We’re two halves of a soul meant to be one, regardless of the tragedies that brought us to this point.
I crush my mouth to his in punishment, but wonder who I’m trying to punish—me, him, or both of us?
His copper blood mixes with my salty tears, and it’s a kiss that tastes as ugly as what we’ve become—twisted, wrong, and painful.
The floor catches
our fall. He’s on his back and I’m on top, still holding his shirt in my hands.
He wraps his arms around me and cradles my head while our lips stay locked.
My hands slide to the back of his head to grip his too-short hair. I want to slam his skull into the floor, over and over. Instead, I pull him into me, hating and loving the way he fits to my body, how he tastes in my mouth.
The kiss becomes less punishing and more controlled. I can’t breathe—can’t live—without him. This is the man who’s destroyed everything in my life, everything on Earth, and yet I can’t tell him I don’t love him. All I can do is try to lose myself in his arms.
He strokes my neck and flips me onto my back.
Kodiak’s dog breath hits my nose.
I open my eyes and see his worried gaze on me. He licks my temple, then moves to bathe Jareth’s face.
The moment of weakness breaks, and I tear my mouth from Jareth’s. When I wipe my lips, his dark blood smears onto the back of my hand. “No more, unless you want me to puke. I’m a fucking idiot.” My words sound slurred.
His lies, my parents’ death, and crushing loneliness consume me while the world spins. Great, loud sobs erupt from my chest when I can’t hold in the shame and pain any longer.
He wraps me into his chest and rocks me like I mean something. “Shh, I’m here. We’ll fix this.” Those long fingers stroke my hair and spine.
Who knows how long we lie on the kitchen floor, but eventually he lifts me in his arms and carries me to a bed—his bed. I know it’s his by the smell. There’s nothing sexual in the gesture. He climbs in next to me, coils his body around mine, and lets me grieve myself into a drunken coma.
Chapter Twenty-One
Wetness falls onto my eyelids and runs down my cheek. Groaning, I lift a hand to my face.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
When I try to open my eyes, they’re glued shut. I reach out and dog fur greets me. Now I know the source of the liquid. Gross.
“Oh, my God, Kodiak. Stop that.” My voice is way too loud, and I cringe from the pain that shoots through my skull.
The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1) Page 33
