by NAK Baldron
"No, strip." He dropped his own boxers.
Kandice hesitated, so Lance ripped her bra and panties off with a quick flick of his hands. After stuffing the clothes into a hole under a tree, he grabbed her tight against his chest and jumped into the river. It was awkward to paddle with one arm, but his kicking seemed to make up the lost speed.
"You're bleeding," she said.
There was dark—almost black—liquid pooling up every time his shoulder raised out of the water.
"You're hurt," she said. "You need help."
Lance stopped swimming. "Hold on to my neck."
She did so, and Lance took off at an even faster pace. It took less than four minutes for Lance to reach the other side of the river. The street above them had cars roaring across.
"Fuck," Lance said. "I forgot where the statue is."
"What?"
"There's a statue." Lance wobbled.
Kandice caught him as he lost his footing, and he fell to his knees. He reached up and pulled off the seal attached to his skin, almost embedded. In an instant his hair lost some of its color and his arms shrunk.
Kandice didn't know what to do, so she pressed her hand against the wound in his shoulder.
"There," Lance said, pointing behind Kandice. "Under that statue is a bag. It's under the tree roots."
Kandice didn't wait for him to finish before running over and looking under the tree. There was a small hole filled in with loose dirt. After a little digging a black bag emerged from the hole.
The bag had everything they needed, minus shoes. She wrapped his arm with the bandages and then pulled out two shirts and two jogging pants. She helped Lance with his shirt before slipping on her own pants and shirt. The clothes were loose, but the drawstring helped keep the pants up. Lance struggled with his pants but got them on without Kandice's help.
Once clothed again, the embarrassment took hold. She couldn't look at Lance's face.
"What now?" she asked.
"Money," he said. "There should be money?"
She looked in a side zipper and found a wallet.
Lance stood up with Kandice's shoulder for support. His wound hid under the bandage and shirt. It wasn't showing any visible blood yet, but it wouldn't be long. Lance told her the bullet was still inside, slowing the bleeding.
They walked up the ramp that led to the street, avoiding shards of glass from the litany of broken beer bottles on the ground. Kandice stepped on a sharp rock and yelled out, and Lance snickered at her.
"That's not funny," she said.
"It is when I have a bullet in my arm. Try to hail a cab. I can stand for a moment."
She raised her hand at a cab coming up to the street light. It stopped, and she helped Lance inside.
"Where you going?" the cab driver asked, once Kandice got in.
Lance explained where they'd left their car.
When they reached the parking lot, the fair was a little over twelve dollars.
"Give him forty," Lance whispered.
She did, and the cab driver thanked Kandice several times as Lance got out.
"Cab drivers tend to forget any passenger that tips well," Lance said as the cab drove away.
At the SUV he said, "Look under the back passenger wheel. A small box."
Kandice found what he was describing and popped the box open. There was a key to the SUV inside.
"You have to drive," he said.
"I haven't driven a car since my driving test."
"No time like the present. It's like riding a bike."
Lance leaned his chair back and rolled to his good arm while cradling the injured one. He walked her through the basics.
"Don't worry it's easy."
She bumped into a light pole backing out. Lance laughed. "It'll be fine. Don't worry."
She drove in the far-right lane the whole way, with cars passing her as if she was standing still, blaring their horns. They just had to get home and everything would be okay.
Saturday, September 10th
Around 2:00 AM, Kandice pulled into the driveway. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves—driving hadn't been easy.
Next to her, Lance sat with his head nodding as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Blood ran down his shoulder.
She ran to the front door.
Slava opened it before she knocked. "What's wrong?"
"Lance—"
But before she could finish the sentence, Slava had pushed past her to get to the SUV. He still wasn't fully healed, but that didn't stop him from opening the passenger door in an attempt to carry Lance alone. Kandice carried the weight of Lance's feet and helped Slava lay him in the living room.
Yet another person bled out on the floor of her old house—it was too much to take.
With a knife and spoon, Slava removed the bullet. Kandice remembered what to grab from the bathroom without being asked. Still, knowing what to do didn't make it any easier to watch. Somewhere between applying the vodka bandage and getting the metal sheet on his skin, Lance completely lost consciousness and stopped responding. Slava tried slapping his face, but his body went limp.
Tears poured onto her cheeks, but she refused to succumb to her emotions. She would be the support he needed. Slava looked at her, but said nothing.
Now he thinks I'm weak.
She kept focused, and they worked without saying a word to each other. Once they bandaged Lance's arm—and the bleeding slowed—they moved him to the sectional and propped him up.
"Will he be okay?" Kandice asked.
"If I lived, he'll be fine," Slava said. "In fact, he should wake up in the morning."
"What?" she asked, nearly yelling.
"Yes. Gun wounds are easy to heal. I had Aether Walker venom in me."
Kandice laughed. This whole time she had thought Lance was dying.
No wonder Lance maintained a level head and got them back to the SUV without complaint. He'd known he would be fine. Ass, could have mentioned it. Maybe he had?
"How often do you heal each other?"
"At least once a month," Slava said. "We have never been hurt so close together since we stopped shifting together."
Kandice collapsed into an armchair. It felt weird not sitting in her usual place on the sectional.
Slava handed her a small glass of vodka, and she gulped it down in two swallows before asking for more. Slava poured her an even larger serving. She took a small sip and placed the glass next to her on an end table.
It was becoming clear why they drank. The burn in her throat helped numb the pain in her chest.
"You look tired," Slava said. "I can watch him tonight."
There was no way she could sleep at this point. Her heart still raced, and with each glance over at Lance . . .
It was easier to focus on Slava or the new view of the living room. They each took another drink.
"Is there anything else we should do?" Kandice asked.
"No," Slava said. "His wounds will heal with time."
"He was amazing. I didn't know how strong and fast he was."
"Yes. Lance is one of the best oboroten our family has ever had."
"If he wasn't so damn determined to protect me, he wouldn't have been shot. I know you've said no, but—"
"The answer is still no," he said. "The only person who can train you is Lance. He does not want you to get hurt."
"I could've died," she said. "If he hadn't been there . . . Or reacted in time . . . I should've been the one shot."
"No. Do not think that." Their eyes met. "Trust me. You were never in danger. Lance would die before he let you get hurt."
Kandice took another sip of vodka. "How can you be so sure?"
"Simple. When we shift, time moves slower for us than it does for everyone else. He probably blocked the bullet intentionally."
"What the fuck!" She rolled her eyes. "It would've been helpful to know this, before we started stalking the mayor."
"When we shift," he spoke slowly. "Time slows do
wn to the point that we even see ourselves move in slow motion. He saw the bullet and knew the only option was to get shot rather than let you get hit. I can only speculate, but that is how I would have done it."
That settles it.
When Lance was better, he would train her—there was no way he could say no at this point. The ability to see time move slow would give her the edge needed to defeat any Aether Walker. It was more dangerous not to train her at this point.
But rather than press, Kandice dropped the subject.
They spoke at length about what it was like to move all the time. Slava told her stories about Lance as a child and his mother's love for him. He stumbled with words when he tried to describe her beauty. In turn, Kandice shared memories of her own mother watching after her and Blake.
One of Kandice's most vivid memories was when she was around nine or ten, and they took a vacation to the beach. The smell of the saltwater was still fresh in her mind. It was shocking how clear the memory of the trip was after all these years.
She could still feel how the saltwater had burned her eyes after exiting the ocean and recalled how it hadn't bothered her then. Swimming in the ocean was too much fun to care about a little saltwater burn.
Blake could swim, but the ocean was strong. Their mom told them not to go deeper than their waist. But Blake was fearless and wanted to swim further. They waded out into the water and a large wave came.
When she came up, Blake hadn't resurfaced. She screamed for their mom, who wasted no time and jumped into the water fully clothed. She pulled Blake up from the bottom and returned to shore.
He had hit his head on a rock and was bleeding—which required four stitches to heal—what Kandice remembered most was her mom's reaction. She hadn't yelled or even seemed angry. Instead she just hugged him tight and laughed.
Their mother had said, "Not even the ocean could separate her from them."
When Kandice finished telling the story, there were tears forming in her eyes.
"Those are the tears of love," Slava said. "They can heal any pain."
Kandice smiled.
He's right.
Sharing the story made her feel twenty pounds lighter. She was proud to be her mother's daughter, and the memories filled her with joy. Her mother had been an amazing woman and a great role model. The pain of missing her would never go away, but it was easing into a more manageable dull ache. They would reunite in the afterlife. Kandice was sure of it. Visualizing her mom made her feel whole.
Kandice tried to take another sip of vodka, but her glass was empty. Slava offered more, but she shook her head.
"No thanks. I think I should go to bed."
"Good night."
"Good night. Watch over him?"
"Always."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sapphire Nation, Fencura
Debts were due. Otherwise Ren would never have been following the man—a merchant fresh from the docks. The merchant carried a small suitcase, but the real prize was the discrete side bag he wore over his shoulder, tucked underneath his silk robes. The few pieces of jewelry he wore were common. They were enough to show he was a man of business, but disguised his true wealth, and status.
The man was a jewelry merchant, returned from his travels to the Ruby and Emerald Nations. At least, according to Shaya.
"Fresh eels," a stall keeper called out as Ren walked past, following the merchant.
"He'll notice you." Shaya had warned Ren back at her house. "Just pretend to be lost when he looks at you, and he'll not think twice. When you get the signal, charge him."
The merchant turned around, and Ren began looking up and around at the buildings. He was looking for the signal but hoped to the merchant it would look like he was lost in a foreign city. Just as Shaya had promised, the man ignored Ren—viewing him as not a threat—and continued on his route.
The merchant turned off the main road onto a smaller side street. The buildings drew close together, leaving enough room for one man to walk comfortably between the stone walls. Ren waited at the corner to see if the merchant would stop at a door.
A flash of light blinded Ren for a second. He blinked away the sting and looked at the roof to his left. Akio was signaling with his knives.
Ren turned the corner and took double-strides to close the distance. His foot caught on a rock, and the merchant turned around. They were the only men passing through. Young children sat on their doorsteps, avoiding the heat of mid-day.
The merchant dropped his suitcase and ran.
Damn!
Leaning forward to put his weight on the balls of his feet, Ren ran after the man. It had been days since he'd last run, and he was stiff from the lack of stretching. But the merchant was a middle-aged man—Ren was young and fast.
Before they reached the next turn of the street Ren caught hold of the merchant's robes. The man spun on one foot, slashing out with a concealed dagger, drawn in mid-turn.
The blade grazed the top of Ren's eyebrow and a thin trail of blood dripped into his right eye.
Left-handed bastard!
Ren had never learned to fight well, and lefties always got the better of him. A lunge of the dagger made Ren jump back with a yelp.
"Die, land scum." The merchant's voice had a feminine high-pitched tone.
He kept thrusting the dagger, aiming to kill. Ren did his best to slide back, keeping the dagger inches away from his—stab—heart—stab—kidney—stab—throat.
Fuck. I'm going to die in a gutter.
Ren began to laugh involuntarily as he backed away from the merchant stalking him down the alley.
A large object tripped Ren up, and he fell on his back.
Damn suitcase.
The merchant stood over Ren's helpless form, with the dark steel dagger pointed down at him. "Die, you son of a whore."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sapphire Nation, Fencura
The boy was foolish.
"Don't charge unless you're close enough to reach him in five steps," she said back in her public room. But no. The idiot had to run off and get himself knocked out.
The merchant lay on the ground unconscious along with Ren, from the fumes of the bombs. Smoke hung in the alley. Shaya approached them with weapons drawn, while Akio followed behind. Putting the bodies between her and Akio. Shaya focused on them, while Akio kept his eyes up—looking for men on the roofs or coming down the alley.
They'd been betrayed.
A fake mustache had fallen off the merchant in the explosion. A good thing she'd packed them. Planning for failure is what kept her in power these long years. Puffs of smoke lingered above the cobblestone street.
"He's a she?" Shaya said to Akio.
"I saw."
"How?"
"When she attacked." Akio kept his eyes up, looking everywhere else but the ground. "The binding of her breasts shown through the top slit of her robes."
This was why Shaya was feared. Akio was the best fighter on Shinzo, and likely the whole of Fencura.
"Ahh." The woman beside Ren let out of moan of pain but didn't move.
"She's waking," Akio warned. "I've got the bag. Leave the boy, and let's get out of here."
Shaya was trying to lift Ren. "I owe him a debt. He wouldn't be here if I hadn't sought him out in the market in the first place." Akio didn't move. "He's under our protection. Let's get him back to his room at the inn."
Akio didn't say a word. Keeping his eyes peeled, he flung Ren over his shoulder as if he were a sack of rice. Children stuck their heads out of their front doors. The smoke had cleared for the most part, and they all wanted a good look at Akio.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sapphire Nation, Fencura
The iron bars were enchanted to sting flesh when touched—Ren sat in jail waiting, while his hands burned. He pressed them against the stone floor to alleviate the pain. The cold stone only took the edge off, but it was enough pain relief to allow him to focus his thoughts. If he were back
home, Brandon would fix him right up, but stuck in the Sapphire Nation alone, hope was dead.
None of the guards or city watch had been able or willing to tell him why he was being detained. In the Pearl Nation there would have been legal proceedings. A titan of industry would have been called upon to act as judge. While Ren and his council—likely Brandon, but any educated man would be permitted—made their case as to Ren's innocence. Or, failing innocence, pleaded for leniency. Debts must be paid after all.
Instead, Ren was dragged out of the tavern room of the inn he stayed at. The innkeeper promised to keep his trunk safe. At least one person in the Sapphire Nation showed him some courtesy.
Ren cried softly into his elbow. There was no one else in the cell with him, and the three other visible cells were empty, but he didn't want to risk someone seeing him cry.
He was four floors down under the guard tower. He counted as they led him down, shackled. The cells were large enough to house twenty men. For some reason, they'd placed Ren alone. The floors above had held men, women, and children. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider. The loneliness was nearly as painful as the iron bars.
Ren was still crying dry tears when a guard banged on the bars with a wooden club. "Visitor."
It was Shaya, dressed in an ornate silk dress, the soft green of spring grass. She looked like a real woman, and a beautiful one at that. If he weren't trapped behind bars and woefully incompetent with women, he would try to gain her affections.
"Five minutes," the guard said. "Maybe ten, but don't let my captain catch you here."
"Clan Kaito owes you a debt of honor." Shaya bowed to the guard, and he bore a massive grin—clearly pleased with himself.
Once the guard turned the corner of the hallway, leaving them alone, Shaya spoke, "I'm sorry. You were never supposed to be caught up in this."
"How could you betray me to the city watch? You bitch!"
"Never." Shaya made a knife gesture with her right hand across her own throat. "Nori, formally Gin-Tanken, betrayed us all. Akio is dealing with him presently. Once we have proof that the Gin clan betrayed us to the Emperor's men, Nori's life is forfeit. We'll get you out of here. If asked for a defense, claim protection under Clan Kaito."
