I drift in and out once it's deemed acceptable for me to sleep. Something I've been wanting to do for hours now doesn't come so easily with a naked man at my disposal. The artificial light creeps into the corner of my vision and I can't help but think about how much I miss fire.
In today's time, a fire might be catastrophic considering the smog in the air but the dancing shapes thrown by a flickering flame were something I had never appreciated in what I, now, consider my past life. It was strange, if someone had asked me what I'd miss about my life I might have laughed and said something along the lines of the travel or the people, but, faced with the reality that I'd never go back there again, what I find I truly miss is quiet.
A luxury he had taught me to appreciate when we first met, the art of silence and appreciating its novelty. A flame is alive and vibrant while being practically silent. The strange, white glow coming from the bedside lamp, the low hum of fluorescent light, this world lacks quiet.
I drape my arm over his stomach, my cheek resting against his ribs since it's been decided that I need to lie flat so as to not disturb my neck and head. Even underground, the low rumble of cars overhead is unnerving, humans weren't meant to live below the earth. I cuddle closer to him, he no longer smells of the woods but of a strange, almost lavender scent.
The bar soap offered even lacks a sense of truth. A book is propped up on his chest, and he reads to me quietly; the rolling murmur of his low voice is plenty soothing to lull me back to sleep, and yet here I lay, brought back into reality by the confirmation that we were here for a reason and every day I feel less qualified to fulfill it.
Surprisingly enough, there is a distinct lack of reading material and I've settled for a dusty romance novel that I can vaguely remember the plot of. I yawn against his side, too tired to remain asleep, I'm stuck in the wakeful limbo of consciousness that is quite useless for resting or participating. My hopes of exercising my gratitude dashed, and I've been banned from any contact below the waist.
My fingers trace up and down his stomach, "Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"
I smirk against his skin, hiding against him from the light.
"I think you are the last person to lecture me about the importance of sleep. I blame you for my current state."
"Your state of unrest or your state of pouting?"
I try not to laugh, placing a chaste kiss on his side, eyeing the faded ends of the claw marks. Sighing, I note the fresh bruising from his fight with Marisol and our pursuant.
"Don't even think about it." he knows me too well, "You'll get nothing from me until Tonya has a chance to check over that head of yours."
But, as we lie here, I find my mind drifting more towards our situation than his readily available lower region. Maybe I am growing up? I prop myself up on my elbow, pushing the book flat onto his chest to get his attention.
"How are we going to do this?"
Verando raises an eyebrow sarcastically and I wrinkle my nose, snatching the book from him and thumping him on the forehead in payment for his snarky behavior.
"These people. How're we going to help these people?"
He sighs, a question I keep asking over and over. The anxiety isn't like me. I can tell he wants to talk about something else so I flop down on him unceremoniously, tracing circles on his chest with one of my fingers.
"Do you think we would make a good romance novel?" I decided to go a different route.
He laughs a genuine chuckle that makes me roll my eyes. "Well, we make a hell of a history book. I wish I could have done something to change things."
I glance up at him. We really haven't had a chance to talk about why he killed Anuetta, unfortunately, I know why thanks to Helen, but it feels like a page unturned.
"I think it was supposed to happen this way." I allow, watching his chest rise and fall. I feel my heartbeat quicken at the thought of exposing myself to rejection. I had been avoiding this topic since his last deflection of my attempts to speak about our future in terms of expanding.
"Do you think I'm the right person to teach Tyler?" I hedge, trying to pull the tension from my body. I can feel the words on the tip of my tongue, wanting to open the conversation to why I've been so emotional, perhaps if I could forgive him so easily it would open the possibility to him seeing my side of this argument.
While he hadn't outright rejected the thought of more children, he did have a good way of sneaking around the subject.
"Of course. You're a very powerful Solomonari, if anyone can fix this, I imagine it would be you."
I make a face at him, sitting up once more, too anxious to remain still.
"That sounds convincing," I grumble, not too impressed with his noncommital attitude.
Sensing the danger of my fragile state, he backtracks, it's not often that I catch him off guard.
"I'm sure you're doing a fine job, darling. You know I don't necessarily agree with this choice but it's good that one of us is remaining hopeful. I feel that's always been your role, the optimist. I think this world desperately needs that."
The words make me flinch, while I know it's an attempt at a compliment, I'll never understand his pessimistic side. I suppose that's what made him a good leader, he was often correct in his view on what I considered our friends. This conversation wasn't going the way I wanted, I was hoping I'd get more of the man I had in the shower, willing to bare all and tell me how he felt.
The shields are up, the walls locked down, and he's done sharing for the evening. "What's all this about? I know you're feeling overwhelmed but the war isn't over, much as everyone likes to keep calling it anything but. Keep fighting your fight, you're stubborn as hell, it won't beat you too easily."
My lips part; I want just to say it, just blurt out that I want to make time to talk about this, even if it's not today. I can admit there would be better times than this, but it wasn't too often that we were alone. I felt like this entire place was on a microphone.
"Randy-" he holds his hand up and I notice his eyes look distant. "What? What do you hear?"
Slowly, he sits up, and I can tell he wishes he could remove his implants, but with the buzzing, it would render him useless.
"I don't know. There's so much noise it's hard to tell. I heard a metallic sound like someone was on the stairwell. It's too early for it to be Marisol and Tonic."
I swallow, sitting up as he slides out from under me. "I told you I thought they were trouble."
I hear the low growl in his throat as he strides soundlessly over to the closet and raids it for the lycra bodysuits. "Get dressed. It's not as subtle as I was hoping for, but we need to get out of here."
"Randy, it could be nothing," I tell him lowly, but, regardless, I obediently stand and climb into the suit. "You know that Tonya told you your lungs wouldn't be healed for a few more weeks. We've already pushed it far enough."
I can tell by his expression my words fall on deaf ears. "I'll be fine, lycans heal much faster than people, and frankly, Tonya doesn't know shit about lycans."
I have to admit, I find that to be very true. It's as if someone has been feeding her horrendously false information, and that someone could only be Gary. Between the talk of imprinting her and her overly submissive nature, she believes they are uncontrollable acts of nature when the reality is much more complex than that.
Gary didn't even strike me as an Alpha, more so a slimy manipulator with mommy issues. So what was she so afraid of? As I zip the front and fasten the clasp, I note that he's cursing as he pats himself down. "What?"
"All my weapons are on the bloody street. These damned suits, useless, utterly fucking useless. I think Marisol left a gun in the main room."
"We don't even know if anyone is in here, you are quite paranoid, you know."
"Humor me."
The plea makes me pull my lips into a thin line, and I nod as he fits me into a vest, tightening the straps almost impossibly tight as if that would somehow protect me more. The look on his face says it all; the concern is clear as day.
We were horrendously unprepared for an attack and he is trying to find a way to blame himself. I tilt my head to catch his gaze. "It's going to be alright. Optimist, remember?" I know him too well; we are connected, if he dies, then I die, and it's odds that he has never liked gambling with.
Sending me away to safety was always his preferred method, now, he would have to protect us both.
His eyebrows pull down heavily, and he doesn't look at all convinced. "No matter what, do not use. You are much too drained. We will go to the front room, get the gun, and then head out of the front entrance onto the main street. They will be expecting us to use the lower exit where the vehicles are, I'm sure."
This all feels ridiculous, leaving the shelter of a known place for the uncertainty of the streets. They have proven that they don't care to chase us on the roads. We haven't even proven that they are in the building. The place is old, and the metal is temperamental; it creaks and groans for the sake of complaint.
Placing a finger to his lips, he walks to the door and carefully cracks it, listening as we hesitate in the entryway. I hear the distant metallic clang, singular and echoing as if it could have originated anywhere in the vast hallways. I wrap my arms tightly around him as the lights shut off. It takes everything in me not to scream. I squeeze my eyes shut, and he waits patiently for me to relax.
As I peek through my lashes, I note the emergency lights have flicked on, dim and low at floor level, just enough to line the hallways. "Can you see?" I breathe.
"Of course."
I pray that he's not lying. I have a desperate urge to be in front of him, yet I don't want to be the first to see any atrocity. Yet, the thought of my back to the darkness sends a cold chill up my spine, and I want to lock the door and hide away under the covers.
In the dark of the woods, surrounded by rabid lycans that rotted and stank of decay, you would think things could not be much more frightening. This, however, advanced darkness gave me pause. This adversary, if they exist, was not rabid. It was just as dangerous as a lycan, if not more so, and it was clever.
"Come on."
His voice is gentle, a low murmur. Carefully he unwedges himself from my grasp, and I twist my fingers into his belt, which he seems to settle on. The hallway is much like walking into the abyss, black in front and behind, save for the flickering floor lights that barely give enough light to reach our knees.
I want to ask him how he knows where he's going, how he can be so sure we're heading in the right direction, but I dare not speak for fear of the echo that is all around us. The floor clangs again, and I hear him whispering numbers as if he were counting.
My fingers beg for circulation, but all I can think of is what those yellow teeth will feel like in my flesh; the death that awaits us feels so much slower than death by lycans. I never much cared for cats, the way they played with their food and marveled at the screams of their victims. He hesitates, and I note the doorway; I must release him.
My hands cling to the railing of the walls, and the low hum overhead provokes a sharp sound boil to my throat, yet his hand stops me. "It's the air conditioning." He murmurs.
I shudder at the rattle; when have I ever been so jumpy? Is it the darkness? Not knowing what faces us?
Carefully, he opens the door and steps through, motioning with his hand to follow. I quickly reach to shut the door, but he stops me. "I want to see them coming." He sounds so sure that they exist. The vibration of cars passing outside makes me feel like a horde is running straight for us.
I swallow, my throat overly dry, as we walk down the wooden staircase. He looks around for the gun. Making my way into the bar area, I slide open the drawers and look for knives. I hear the distant squeeze of metal under load coming from the top of the stairs, the blackness of the hallway ominous in my vision, and my mind playing tricks on the shapes in the opening.
I don't see Verando; my fingers tighten around the knife in my hand. I think of my training, the heart, the lungs, the neck, the inner thigh, all things I could cut to subdue my attacker. I lower myself to a kneeling position, resisting the urge to look up as the wrenching metallic noise gets louder.
Footsteps echo, and I hold the weapon close to my chest, my chest heaving with the vision of coming face-to-face with the felines again. I hear the press of weight on the countertop, and when I glance up, I see the glimmer of eyes looking down on me.
Leaping to my feet, I swing my knife wildly, narrowly missing, only to have someone grab my wrist. I quickly attempted to switch hands when I heard Verando tell me to stop. My eyes begin to adjust, and I see it's my warlord who is looking at me. "You scared the hell out of me!" I seeth at him.
"I scared you?!" He retorts, annoyed. "You almost cut my damned nose off!"
"Yes! Your eyes! What the fuck?!"
"They reflect light so I can see in the dark! I told you-" My face pales, and he tenses, his fingers uncurl and slide up my hand to secure the knife from me. "Get down." he mouths; I quickly slip away from him as the feline's roar fills the room, and he spins around to stab at one of the bright yellow eyes.
The creature swats, claws glinting in the dim light as he opts to deliver a sharp kick to the opposing side and runs to the staircase. At first, I thought he was leaving me here, but I only noticed he paused at the banister.
The feline rushes after him, and he hesitates, observing how it slips and slides on the tile floor. Finding purchase, it surges forward, and at the last moment, he jumps over the banister, hanging off the other side as the beast mauls the wooden railing.
The wood splinters and snaps, cracking in half under the massive jaws. He swings himself back over, landing his foot solidly in the cat's head, kicking it back onto the stairs. It snarls, lunging for him, and I rush for the stairs, desperate to help, only to see the limp beast with the banister rail plunged through its jaws.
"Of all the stupid things to do!" I snap at him, only to be answered by the distant snarl and clang of approaching cats.
"We need to move." He grabs my hand and drags me behind him as we run down the hallway. Over the pounding of our feet on the metal, it's hard to tell what is us and what is them. I hear the shrieking cries, and my blood runs cold; it almost sounds like a woman screaming in some aspects.
"Well, at least they're pissed off now." He curses under his breath as we run. Claws snatch up through the grated floor, and I slip and stumble over the brute force. He pulls out the gun, aiming for the glinting eyes, and I cover my ears at the deafening blow of the bullet leaving the chamber.
The darkness begins to move behind us, and I swallow hard, wishing I had thought to grab my respirator as my breathing and heart go into overdrive. He shoves the door open, and I'm slammed into his back as he's lifted off the ground. A hand clutches his throat, and I see the glinting, pointed teeth as I land flat on my back on the unforgiving metal.
"Oh, it is a puppy dog. How cute." The man growls, his voice rolling as if he was purring. "I thought I smelled a doggie. I figured you were extinct."
Verando kicks him sharply in the stomach, but it doesn't move the mountain, his hands gripping the man's wrist as he tries to wrench himself free. He reaches up to stroke the gray hair, admiring my warlord like a toy.
"So soft. Like a stuffed animal." I hear the strangled gasp as the man's fist tightens. "Hmm... I wonder what your stuffing looks like.."
I crawl forward, grasping the dropped gun and pointing up; I aim at the only place I can think of and shoot the man in the groin.