Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  My first thoughts, now that we’d found temporary safe haven, were of Kila. What if Jaren’s powers failed this time? What if she’d died of blood loss before he could heal her?

  I stood from the pilot’s chair and just as quickly fell back into it. The adrenaline rush had entirely worn off, and I felt mentally and physically drained. Other than a few stolen fruits and vegetables from farmers’ fields, I hadn’t eaten since this morning, and worries over Kila’s whereabouts kept me tossing and turning throughout the previous night.

  I willed my exhausted limbs to obey my commands and stood again, locking my legs in place, then moving one foot in front of the other. The walk to the rear compartment seemed as long and unending as my march in the Guild hall between silent ranks of master assassins to receive my wrist brand. The tattoo burned my skin like fire, each needle insertion a reminder of what I’d become—a taker of lives.

  When I stepped over the threshold of the sleeping area and stared down at Kila’s slack pale face, I feared I’d taken another one. I grasped the doorframe for support, clinging to it until I saw her chest finally rise and fall. Then I blew out a breath and sagged, letting Jaren guide me by the arm to the room’s solitary chair, a slab of plastic that folded down from the bulkhead. He patted me on the shoulder, but I took no comfort from the gesture.

  Breathing or not, Kila looked terrible. Newly dried blood stained a third of her white peasant blouse. Some matted in her long hair, caking the strands together in clumps. The shadows around her eyes were dark as bruises. I had the strongest urge to rinse her hair, to change her shirt, to remove all evidence of the trauma her body had suffered at my hands.

  As if sensing my arrival, Kila moaned and shifted. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened, and she stared around the room. From the way her gaze wavered, I suspected delirium, and I took one of her hands in both of mine, pressing the chilled flesh in what I hoped was a reassuring manner.

  “I never knew it hurt so much.” Her voice was so weak I almost missed her words.

  I’d been shot many times. I knew what it felt like. It burned through skin, severed nerves, arteries, muscles, and seared bone. Every wound I’d ever received ached in sympathy. Something within me shattered. My eyes filled with tears that ran unhindered down my face. “Gods, Kila, I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Gods….” I wanted to say so much more, but my throat tightened beyond speech. I couldn’t look at her, couldn’t face what I’d done, but a tug on my hand brought my attention back.

  She smiled.

  I saw tightness around her lips, and her forehead creased with pain, but I couldn’t mistake her smile.

  “I thought you weren’t a Believer,” she said softly, fingers snaking from my grasp to wrap around mine.

  I forced a grin onto my own face. “You’re alive. What choice do I have?”

  Her smile faltered, replaced by uncertainty. “You forgive me, then?” I felt a tremor in her fingers, and her eyes closed as if she feared my response.

  I’d trusted Micah. I’d trusted her. Both betrayed me in one way or another. I wanted to speak them, but the words of forgiveness died in my throat.

  I took a deep breath. “I understand why you did what you did.”

  Her breathing deepened and evened out. Maybe it wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear, but the smile returned, and she carried it into sleep.

  Weak, all of them, weak and vulnerable, and the ephem equally incapacitated. If only there had still been two instead of one, they could have defeated Jaren the night before. They could possess the assassin now. They could destroy them all!

  But not like this.

  The entity was a mere wisp of ether, a tiny spark of energy coiled upon itself in Kila’s innards. It had come so close to complete dissipation, nonexistence. The healing force had nearly scattered its atoms for the world of death and demons to reclaim them.

  At least there, it wouldn’t be so alone. Eternally damned and tortured, yes, but no longer lonely.

  Who knew an ephem could experience loneliness?

  It thought of returning home, to He-Who-Had-Created-It, but that would have the same result.

  Instead it waited, rebuilding itself, drawing from Kila’s life force in tiny, unnoticeable amounts so as not to cause her distress and draw Jaren’s attention, one strand of power at a time.

  Somehow, it would finish this.

  Piloting a tiny shuttle through Weiss-space bored me as much as being a passenger. My duties were few. Every six hours or so, I double-checked we maintained the proper heading. The computer would alert me if any problems arose, but I found myself in the cockpit more often than necessary. I had little else to occupy my time and my thoughts.

  My nights were filled with new nightmares, dreams of my return to the Guild, Yesenia lying about their forgiveness, their judgment and punishment. I’d try to reason with the new leader, whoever he or she might be, but it would work as poorly as it had with Micah. Then they’d kill me.

  Other night terrors involved a replay of shooting Kila, over and over again. I awoke in cold sweats, shivering and hyperventilating and glad I’d slept in the cockpit.

  In the middle of day two of our four-day journey, I caught Jaren by the sleeve in the central sitting area. “She’s really all right?”

  I’d washed the blood from her hair using a small bowl of warm water and some shampoo I found in a cabinet. She now wore one of Yesenia’s shirts, and I could tell from her expression when I helped her into it that putting on the clothes of a woman who threatened to kill her didn’t sit well, but it was clean and it fit. She seemed to be getting stronger, but I’d recovered much faster.

  Jaren seated himself on one of the foldout benches and indicated I should join him. “As I told you the last four times you asked, she’s going to be fine.” His voice held no reprimand. He merely stated fact. I’d never known anyone so patient.

  “I was up and around in a day.”

  “You’re stronger, Cor. You’ve had physical training, conditioning. And….” He trailed off, breaking eye contact.

  “And what?”

  Jaren covered my hand with his own. “Well, you did more damage than you intended.” I felt the blood drain from my face. He hurried to continue. “It’s all fine now, I promise. You caught her lung, and I probably made it worse when I picked her up and carried her, but I assure you, she’s healed.”

  “If you say so.”

  We spent the rest of that day in uncomfortable close quarters, nothing to say to each other, really, and nowhere but the cockpit and seating area to go if we didn’t want to disturb Kila. Just as well, since my actions put me in a terrible mood and I didn’t want to take it out on Jaren.

  Each time I dozed off, I dreamed about Kila. Sometimes we made passionate love, and I awoke frustrated and unable to satisfy my body’s increasingly demanding needs.

  Other times, in the midst of our lovemaking, she would scream in agony, and I’d watch while her flawless skin rose into blisters and burned, leaving white bone beneath. In my hands, I clutched a recently fired weapon.

  On day three, the subject of my every waking and sleeping thought appeared in the hatchway to the rear compartment. Kila did look better. The color had returned to her cheeks, and the shadows around her eyes had lightened. Her smile was no longer strained. She glanced at Jaren lounging across from me, then crooked her finger in my direction, beckoning me inside.

  “Ahem, well, I think I’ll go and have a meal, um, in the cockpit. Chairs are more comfortable.” Jaren stood and headed in that direction, without fetching any sort of bowl or eating utensil. The red in his face crept down the back of his neck.

  “Don’t touch anything!” I called after him.

  He winked and sealed the cockpit hatch.

  Chapter 20

  KILA HAD the lights dimmed in the cabin. I suspected she didn’t want me to notice how weak she still was, but I could see how she held herself, the tentative way she moved to let me enter.

  She’d made her
bunk, changed the sheets and turned the covers back. Her intention was clear. I worried she might not be up to it. “Kila, maybe this isn’t the best time—” Besides, if the Guild did elect to kill me, strengthening the bond between us would be cruel.

  The force of her body slamming mine against the bulkhead surprised me. Her hand snaked behind my head, and she brought my face down for a fierce kiss that stole my breath.

  “I’m entirely sober,” she whispered, her lips brushing mine when she spoke. I felt and heard every syllable as her mouth moved. “Do you want me? Will you stay?”

  I nodded dumbly, transfixed. The possible future was forgotten. There were no words. My arms went around her tiny waist, pulling her closer a few centimeters at a time, cautious of how much pressure I applied to her injury. With her full length pressed against me, I could feel her heat. It warmed my soul.

  She kissed me again, her tongue teasing between my lips, and my pulse raced in response. Her breath smelled sweet, like the fruit tea I’d brought her that morning. With her good hand, she tugged at the sleeve of my jacket. “Take this off,” she demanded.

  I complied, shrugging out of it and letting it fall to the deck plates. The fasteners jingled against the metal. While I watched, her fingers went to the tear in my black shirt. She pulled the fabric aside, then sucked in a breath at the scar beneath.

  “Jaren told me you’d been hurt protecting him. I didn’t know it was so bad.”

  I raised and lowered one shoulder. “It’s healed.”

  “It’s terrible.” She ran one fingertip from the top end of the scar to the bottom, just above the waistband of my trousers. Part of me wished the wound extended farther.

  I shivered at her touch but felt no chill. On the contrary, a warmth was building, beginning in my abdomen but heading lower fast. I massaged her back through her shirt—Yesenia’s shirt—and tried not to dwell on its owner.

  The scar didn’t hold her attention for long, and her hand slipped up my rib cage, then beneath my breast. Except for around the rip, the material of my top fit snugly. I didn’t normally notice or care about such things, but I’d always liked the attention men gave me when I wore this particular shirt, turning average cleavage into something to be appreciated.

  Judging from the way Kila’s finger now traced around first one breast and then the other, certain women could appreciate my choice of attire as well. She paid special attention to the undersides, something I never knew I liked so much, but my response was immediate and obvious. I’d just discovered another advantage to the shirt’s material. Close-fitting meant close-feeling.

  Kila giggled against my lips, and I broke our kiss to draw back and look in her face. Her beatific expression made my breath hitch. “What?” I asked when I could speak.

  “I love watching your reactions. It makes me feel powerful.”

  “You are powerful,” I assured her, stroking her hair. She smelled of flowers. I wondered where she’d gotten the scent. Yesenia didn’t strike me as the flowery type, but who was I to judge? I felt like a walking contradiction, a controller completely out of control of the current situation.

  “I’m not as powerful as Jaren. I couldn’t have saved you.” She leaned her head on my arm.

  I cupped her chin in my hand, tilting her head up and forcing her eyes to meet mine. “That’s not the kind of power I was talking about. And you’ve already saved me.”

  Kila blushed and then focused. “I’d like to see more of you, but I’m a little incapacitated at the moment.” She inclined her head toward her shoulder wound.

  I nodded, surprised and pleased her discomfort with nudity had vanished, and she stepped away so I could reach behind me. The snap of the catch on my back holster echoed in the small space. I eased it to the deck, afraid of jolting the weapon within. I pulled my shirt up and off. It joined my jacket on the floor.

  At first Kila’s expression remained completely serious, but as she seated herself on the edge of the bunk and watched me, her heavy-lidded eyes and the parting of her lips suggested she enjoyed seeing me reveal myself to her one piece at a time. I smirked, suspecting she’d used her injury as a mere excuse to get me to put on this little show for her.

  Slowing, I decided to tease her as punishment. Off came one boot, then the other. I tucked my socks and knife inside one. It felt a little ridiculous, unfastening my belt and drawing it through the loops instead of just yanking the trousers down to step out of them. With Micah and definitely with Vargas, sex had been hard and fast without preamble. It was pleasurable, with Micah at least, and I’d held true affection for him and thought he’d had the same for me. But initially it had been born out of desperation and a need to assert our continued existence among the living. This felt completely different.

  I glanced at Kila, worried I might be embarrassing myself. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her eyes sparked like struck flint.

  I kept going.

  When I stood in nothing but undergarments, I stopped. The heat in her eyes pleaded, but this would not be rushed. “Now you.” With one finger, I beckoned her to me.

  She came without hesitation, delivering herself like a gift for unwrapping. I pulled her shirt from the waistband of her skirt, removing it from one arm, then over her head before drawing it gently off the injured shoulder. I tossed it on the opposite bunk and studied her wound.

  Kila’s injury hadn’t had much time to heal. With Jaren’s help, it had closed, and a scar covered it, but it looked raw and painful. I couldn’t resist bringing my lips to the upper end and pressing them gently to the damaged skin. I traced the length of the scar with soft kisses while Kila trembled at my touch. I continued to her breasts. A bit of wrangling with her bra ensued, and she giggled at my ineptness. Taking off my own was one thing. I’d never had to remove someone else’s before, and I finally understood all the trouble men had with mine. At last the damn hooks popped and I got the restrictive garment out of my way, leaving her exposed to my lips, tongue, and hands. My explorations were tentative at first, but I gained confidence with each soft gasp and sigh.

  “Not… fair,” Kila panted.

  “Are you complaining?” I mumbled, teasing her nipple with my teeth.

  “Noooo… ooooh….”

  I smiled against her skin. My hands went to the elastic at her waist. I eased the fabric over her hips and down past her thighs, where it stopped clinging and dropped to pool on the floor. She kicked off her own shoes, turned me, and edged me toward the bed.

  When the backs of my knees touched the cold metal of the foot of the bunk, I sat. The single-width cot creaked and squeaked, and Kila gave a throaty laugh. “Romantic,” I said, lips quirking upward.

  “Very.” She was utterly serious. With her legs, she pushed my knees apart and stood between them. Leaning forward, she bent me back until my heated skin reclined against the cool sheets. I inhaled, and the scent of her wrapped itself around me. I closed my eyes and reached, but my hands found empty air. Then I felt a tug on one of my last two articles of clothing, and I raised my hips to accommodate her. “Lights out!” she called, plunging the cabin into absolute darkness.

  “Kila….” Not entirely sure I liked this, I waited. My innate paranoia kicked in, and the vulnerability of my position rang alarms in my brain, but I willed myself to remain still.

  Gentle hands rested on my knees. Her voice carried from the foot of the bed. “Do you trust me?”

  I’d never trusted Vargas. Not completely. Not enough to go weaponless into his quarters. Not enough to let him turn the lights off while we had sex. Micah, I’d trusted, but he was Guild. And even he lied to me in the end, using the Guild rules as an excuse to go be with someone less demanding on his emotions. I didn’t answer Kila’s question, but I didn’t pull away.

  I felt warm breath, then pressure, then teasing pleasure wherever her lips and tongue touched me. Desire for completion warred with never wanting it to end. My hands gripped the sides of the cot, wrapping themselves around the metal
bars beneath it. I moaned, and the sound of my own voice heightened the intensity. When she stopped, I almost screamed. Instead I waited in the heavy silence, biting my lower lip while I willed my heart rate to slow.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I understood now. She needed me to trust her. She’d lied to me, and though she’d asked for forgiveness, I hadn’t said I’d forgiven her. And still, I couldn’t speak the exact words she wanted to hear. Her soft sigh brushed my inner thigh, and I shivered in the darkness.

  Fingers replaced lips, and I writhed on the bunk, making it creak and groan beneath me. Her touch ranged from featherlight to driving hard. I gasped for breath, my hips lifting off the damp sheets, but I couldn’t quite reach where I needed to be so desperately.

  “I’ll never lie to you again,” Kila whispered. I almost didn’t hear her over my own low growls and moans. “Trust me, Cor.” Her fingers slid from me, and I felt her slip her hands under to raise my body to a better angle.

  “Gods, Kila, please….” No one had ever driven me to such heights before. I couldn’t believe I was begging, but there it was.

  “Trust me, Cor.” Her lips closed over me again. This time she hummed that simple little tune, the vibrations carrying through to the center of my pleasure.

  My brain shorted out. My ears roared with white noise. Flashes of lightning went off behind my scrunched-shut eyelids. I bucked and heaved, but Kila never lost contact, and finally she eroded my resistance, collapsing my mental and physical barriers so I gave all I had and everything I was to her.

  I sensed her waiting in the darkness and knew what she waited for.

  Leap of faith, Cor. Leap of faith.

  “I… trust… you,” I panted as she crawled up beside my limp form, and I struggled to refill my expired lungs with oxygen. And I did trust her, with my life and my heart, gods help me. The painful shadows of Micah faded into a muted background, hidden by the afterglow of new romance.