Burden of Solace Page 12

  “What have I ever done to make you treat me so disrespectfully?”

  They both broke down in laughter, Cassie spilling a little of her wine as she doubled over, fighting to keep it from coming out her nose. A careful sprinkling of things done poorly made him seem more relatable to women, more desirable. It was all part of the game.

  After they had caught their breath, they both leaned against the deck rail and watched as the last of the daylight sank behind the trees. He moved close and slipped an arm around her waist. Her hair filled his vision, dark fire that whispered promises of another lick of flame farther down. Did the carpet match the drapes? Or was she smooth, in the modern style? It was a little game he enjoyed – guessing what color icing adorned the cupcake. He kissed her head, breathing in her scent. Women loved it when you smelled their hair. It didn’t serve his purpose to admit aloud that hers smelled of drugstore shampoo and bargain conditioner. That would ruin the game.

  “This is nice,” she said after a long deep breath. “I needed a relaxing night. It’s been a tough week.”

  “Yeah, people pointing guns and knives at you can ruin a day. I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”

  “Mmmm. Yeah, that too.”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her softly. He liked to start with a soft touch. It made for a nice contrast with what came later. She responded, but only with the bare minimum of participation. Her lips stayed close, no invitation to receive his tongue. He took his cue from her and his lips retreated slightly. Red light.

  She was playing her part to perfection, with token resistance to his slow seduction. She wasn’t to be an easy prize, no common libertine diving for his zipper. No, she needed to be led, coaxed into his bed. He had no doubt that she wanted it, but there was the matter of winning her to be satisfied. Before she could allow herself to surrender, she needed to be conquered, absolved of blame for whatever lewd acts she would perform later with such enthusiasm.

  He imagined her as a feral cat, driven by her instincts, secretly craving to be dominated and mounted by a strong tom. In his mind, he could almost see her - on all fours, crying out with pleasure and pain as he pulled back on a fistful of her long red hair, forcing her back on to him. He doubted that she was a virgin, so he wouldn’t get the extra thrill of being first, of planting his flag in an undiscovered territory. He remembered his first - the young maid, Renata. On the other hand, Renata had cried the entire time, which was annoying.

  “Thank you so much for dinner,” Cassie said. “And for the company. I enjoyed this.”

  She straightened her body slightly, which he sensed was a prelude to disengaging from his embrace. It snapped Martin snapped back from his daydream. It was getting quite dark out now - one of the benefits of living in a protected nature preserve was the absence of light pollution.

  “I’m glad. I want you feel comfortable here. And safe. Would you like some more wine?”

  She shook her head, without much thought or reluctance he noted.

  “Thank you, no. It was superb, but I really should be going.”

  He didn’t even try to hide his disappointment. Their game had taken an abrupt turn. Surely she wasn’t locked into some prudish notion about pre-third dates. He’d played by those rules before, but he was past the point of no return now. Ah well, so much for games.

  He reached out with his mind and prepared to slip into hers and pull the proper strings. He was confident she wasn’t one of the fragile ones. His earlier manipulations, the subtle ones that started at their first encounter, had proved her psyche was durable enough not to shatter under his control.

  “Go?” he said. “It’s still early. And we haven’t had dessert. Please, I have a bottle of icewine I’ve been dying to open, a 2000 vintage Royal DeMaria Pinot Gris. You must stay and help me taste it. I insist.”

  Her eyes went wide for a moment.

  “Isn’t that... I mean, I saw an article. The DeMaria icewines are crazy expensive. Crazy even by your standards.”

  He smiled. He’s knocked her off point for the moment. Maybe he could get the game back on track after all.

  “Oh, you’re thinking of the Chardonnay. Yes, the 2000 DeMaria Ice Chard sells for a quarter-million a bottle. As you say, that’s insane even for the super-wealthy - Saudi princes and such. No, the Pinot Gris is much less expensive. I managed to get this one for only ten thousand.

  Cassie rocked back. Yes, he could tell she was intrigued, possibly enough to even be grateful for this rare tasting opportunity. She’d better be. Ten G’s would make her the most expensive piece of ass he’d ever had.

  “That sounds amazing. How about we save it for next time. Assuming you’re interested in a next time.”

  Well, so much for the game. Good thing he had a cheat code.

  Martin smiled and reached out with his mind and into hers. To him, the beauty of his power was that his puppets never realized he was controlling their bodies. Sometimes, if he was subtle, they passed it off as an impulsive act. He’d done that with Cassie at the club, raising her hand to volunteer. It was a small thing, one of several probes to ensure that her mind was durable enough for his needs. He enjoyed those probes as a kind of foreplay, an appetizer. But he was tired of waiting. He wanted his dessert now.

  Put down your glass and take off your dress, his mind commanded. Don’t speak.

  Cassie set her glass down on the table and smiled at him. He hadn’t commanded the smile, so that was all her. Maybe she wouldn’t require total control after all. She was accepting the program happily. Of course, she’d require a firmer hand when they got to the rough stuff. Most women did. Then he was shocked to hear her speak.

  “I hope you’re not disappointed. I really did enjoy tonight.”

  She was talking. She wasn’t allowed to talk. It wasn’t part of the program. He concentrated, reinforcing his will.

  Silence. You will not speak. Disrobe immediately.

  “Oh no, I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to, I just... I like you, I really do. But I’ve been in a relationship that moved too quickly once before, and it ended really badly. I don’t want that to happen with us. Can you understand that? I don’t want to screw things up that way.”

  All that registered with him was that she was talking. This had never happened before, not since that night when his mother had found him taking his pleasure with their maid. When the little tease told them Martin had forced her, his parents had actually taken her side. It was an outrage – people like Renata were there to serve people like them. Besides, she had wanted it, he could tell. His parent’s decision to disown him and turn him over to the police had set off a storm of rage and indignation in his mind and brought on the Emergence of his powers.

  Now, incredibly, his ability to rightfully dominate those beneath him wasn’t working on this woman. Anger and frustration flared up in him. Even as a little boy, he’d always gotten his way. Why wasn’t she doing what he wanted? It wasn’t fair.

  “Shut up. Why aren’t you taking your clothes off? You’re supposed to be taking your clothes off.”

  A crease appeared between her brows. Unattractive. She let out a laugh that he might normally see as nervous, but at that moment it struck him as mocking.

  “Uh, okay. I know you meant that as a joke, but--”

  “Shut. Up. What is wrong with you?”

  Cassie backed away, into the railing. Her hands came up between them, defensive.

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think I should go.”

  In a flash, Martin grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. One hand reached down between her legs. She bucked once and tried to twist away from him. With speed and strength that surprised even him, he lifted her up and flipped her over the rail, sending her plunging down into darkness and the rocky rapids below.

  “I agree. You should go.”

  CHAPTER 17

  It had all happened so fast. One minute Cassie was relaxed and enjoying their date. She had to admit that the sensati
ons of arousal she’d picked up from him had been flattering. Cassie hadn’t really come ‘dressed to thrill,’ so she appreciated the compliment. She was still getting used to her new ability to sense emotions in others - and to separate her own feelings from theirs. She could tell Martin was hoping to move their relationship to a more intimate level. She wasn’t sure she wanted that, at least not yet. Rather than hurt his feelings with an outright rejection, she’d tried to make an excuse, to cut the evening short.

  The next thing she knew, he was furious with her. It came from nowhere, and the intensity had shocked her.

  Now she was floating, and the weird thing was that she wasn’t wet.

  When Martin threw her over the rail, her first thought had been that she was about to die. Then she remembered her ability to heal, and braced herself for a lot of pain, even if it didn’t kill her. She wondered how her power would deal with lungs filled with water. Only after she’d had a second to speculate on that had she realized she still hadn’t hit the rocks and water below. It hadn’t really even felt like she was falling; no wind rushed by her. It was dark, and her eyes had trouble adjusting. She saw stars in one direction, the direction that felt like ‘up.’ Unfortunately, that direction was to her right and slightly ‘below’ her body. Even as she had processed that thought, the stars - and ‘up’ - shifted slowly until they were directly in front of her body.

  She’d decided she was either dead, lost in some weird limbo land, or she was floating in the air, adrift and tumbling somewhere in the night.

  It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, except for the tumbling. She seemed to have no control over her orientation. She’d tried waving her arms and kicking her legs, but the only thing she’d accomplished was losing a shoe. At least she wasn’t puking her guts out.

  Maybe when the sun came up, she’d be spotted by a traffic helicopter or a passing airliner. There was no way to gauge how high up she was. The air would get pretty thin after she passed ten thousand feet. Would she suffocate if she rose too high, or was that something her body could heal?

  The whole thing was so incredibly frustrating. Was this how exohumans learned to fly? Was there some trick to it she wasn’t in on? She tried concentrating on mental commands, like Fly! and Stop! but nothing seemed to work. On one rotation, she noticed that she could see the city lights shining slightly above the tree line.

  Okay, at least I’m not very high up. Yet.

  That consoled her. Since she didn’t know what had made her float in the first place there was no way of knowing if or when it would stop. If she were to find herself suddenly plummeting to the ground, then it was reassuring to believe that although it would probably hurt like hell, the fall probably wouldn’t kill her.

  Martin tried to kill me.

  She pushed that thought away. She was alive and he wasn’t here right now. She’d deal with it later.

  Another rotation toward the downtown lights told her she was gradually gaining altitude. So, yeah, suffocation was still a possibility.

  After a few hours, the fear and anxiety gave way to fatigue and she fell into short, fitful moments of sleep. Snippets of dreams came, filled with an infinite number of lustful hands pawing at her body while she fell, endlessly, down a black tunnel. Many times she awoke, flailing in the empty blackness, only to succumb once again to exhaustion.

  *

  “Well, this is new.”

  The voice jerked Cassie awake. She thrashed for a moment, trying to grab something, anything. Then she remembered where she was. The sky was starting to lighten, a soft purple pre-dawn glow. She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. She was pretty high up now, and over the city itself.

  She remembered the voice. It had seemed to come from nearby - or was it another dream? She caught a flash of silver out of the corner of her eye as she rotated in that direction.

  Nate.

  The exo floated a few yards away, arms crossed. From her point of view, he was upside down. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to push her tangled mane into something presentable.

  “Before you say anything, this isn’t what it looks like.”

  The inverted helmet cocked to one side and he held a hand up in front of his visor, as if shielding his eyes from a bright light.

  “Okay, but before you launch into a long explanation you might want to pull your skirt down. It’s kinda hard for me to concentrate with you flashing all that.”

  Her cheeks flushed red, probably all of them, and she tried to push her skirt down. The problem was that ‘down’ was really ‘up’ and the fabric kept slipping back around her waist. Finally, she managed to trap it between her thighs and could turn her attention back to the Guardian.

  “I don’t suppose you could, I don’t know, help me?”

  He nodded. She was starting to drift towards a sideways position and farther off to the right, but he moved around to stay in front of her. Even though his features were concealed, she could feel his amusement and it was starting to piss her off.

  “Sure, I could do that. You just looked so peaceful sleeping there, and I was afraid if I touched you it would, I dunno, break the spell or something. You’d start falling, then I’d have to grab you. You’d wake up all startled and stuff and start hitting me. It would have been a whole thing. It seemed easier to wake you up first.”

  “Mhmph. Whatever. I’m awake now. Do you think you can DO SOMETHING?”

  “Jeez. You’re really not a morning person, are you?”

  She glared at him, which was hard to do with her almost-sideways face glaring back at her from his mirrored visor. He drifted closer, holding out his arms to cradle her from underneath. There was no sudden drop, but she felt her weight gently return as she settled into his grasp. She wrapped her arms around his neck, relieved that the spinning had finally stopped. He felt warm, like a sweatshirt fresh from the dryer on a cold winter morning.

  “Huh,” he said.

  “Huh, what?”

  “You’re heavier than I expected. Such a tiny thing, but you’ve got some heft to you.”

  She pulled her head away, her eyes burning holes into his faceplate.

  “Nate Gorman, has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?”

  She felt him stiffen ever so subtly. His feeling of surprise came to her in a jolt. Yeah, take that, Mr. Mystery. I know who you are. But his shock shifted into something else – amusement and something like… Was it relief?

  “Not in a very long time,” he said.

  They floated there for a long moment, her trying to maintain her annoyed stare while she sifted through his emotions. Beneath the amusement there was honest concern for her, a kind of worry tinged with something like affection. She released him from her glare and buried her face against his shoulder.

  “You’re freezing cold,” he said softly. “How long have you been up here?”

  “All night,” her muffled voice said from his shoulder. “The stars were pretty,”

  She hadn’t noticed the cold before - probably a side effect of her healing power - but now that she was touching him, she craved his warmth. She curled up against him, like a cat in front of a glowing hearth. She wished she had a blanket tucked it up under her chin. Her eyes refused to stay open. She felt the wind pick up as he started moving toward the city.

  “I’m going to take you someplace to rest, someplace safe.”

  “Mmm kay. Maybe br’fast later.”

  The next thing she became aware of was being lowered onto a bed. Weary eyes opened a mere crack and she saw gray and silver leaning over her. Gentle hands rearranged her limbs, adjusted the pillow under her head, and then brushed a lock of stray hair from her face. She drifted off again. Unlike the uneasy slumber she had fallen into before, this time she slept soundly, dreaming of warmth and strong arms cradling her.

  *

  When she woke, the lights were dimmed. Sunlight seeped between the slats of lowered window blinds. The room was plain, the walls painted that creamy beige color that house builders
used in an attempt to please everyone, while actually pleasing few. There were no adornments or bric-a-brac, no paintings or decorations of any kind. The bed was likewise simple and functional. It was the kind of room a bachelor slept in - alone.

  She made out the silhouette of a form sitting in a chair by the window, slumped to one side with his head propped on a fist. The gray and silver helmet rested on a windowsill.

  “Shouldn’t you be out saving somebody? A kitten stuck in a tree or something?” Her voice came out deep, thick with sleep.

  “Slow day,” he said. “Besides, I didn’t want to come home and find that you’d floated out the window.”

  He stirred, reaching for his helmet.

  “No,” she said. “Leave it off. You don’t need to hide from me, Nate.”

  He froze, debating her request. She felt his apprehension, tinged with hope. Hope won out. He pulled the chair closer and leaned in, but kept his scarred left side turned away from her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. Hungry. You up for breakfast? I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

  He smiled. It was a good smile, gentle and a little hesitant.

  “Well, it’s mid-afternoon but I can whip you up some eggs or something. The bread’s a little old, but maybe okay to make toast. Not sure about butter or jelly. Coffee I’ve definitely got. And Pop-Tarts. And those cup-of-noodles things.”

  She tried not to laugh, but the idea that the city’s mighty Guardian lived and ate like a college student was kind of funny.

  “Scrambled eggs sound great. Whatever you’ve got. Actually, you know what? How about I take you out? My treat.”

  She sat up and flipped the blanket back and swung her legs to the side of the bed. That’s when she discovered she was still wearing the dress from the night before. And one shoe. She stared down at it.

  “You put me to bed still dressed, with one shoe?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think I... took liberties.”

  “So, you left my shoe on. Shoe. Singular.”