I raised my eyebrows, and did not answer. Luis, on the other hand, did. “If she makes another move at Cassie, I’ll find a way to kill that bitch. I mean it. I don’t care what it costs.” His grip on my hand was tight, too tight, but I understood, for the first time, his emotion. The hate and fear was a tight little ball inside him, bound with razor-edged guilt. “You saw her. You saw what it was doing to her.”
Lewis Orwell inclined his head just a little, a silent acknowledgment, but he said, “Revenge can wait. And it will. Get me?”
“I get you,” Luis said, though his tone and his expression were set hard. “What next?”
“I need her up and on her feet, and you both back in the field,” Orwell said. “Things are moving fast now. Joanne’s on her own, and she needs backup. I can’t go. I’m sending you two.”
“I can’t leave Isabel—”
“Isabel’s with me,” Orwell interrupted. “Snake Girl, too. I need them, and I’m using them. All assets get deployed. Sorry, but that’s just how it is. The kid’s a soldier now, too.”
He stood up and pushed the chair out of the way; Luis came to his feet, too, and released my hand. The stare between them looked far too confrontational for comfort, so I took a deep breath, bracing for the pain, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed on Luis’s side. He grabbed for me instinctively as I pulled myself into a wavering, teeth-gritted-against-the-pain standing position, and I held on tight to his arm. It was sufficiently distracting to break the moment, and Lewis Orwell took advantage of it. He gave me a last, assessing look, nodded, and left the room, pursued by at least a dozen Wardens all pelting him with questions.
“Bastard,” Luis said. “Son of a bitch has no feelings. I’m telling you—he’s like a walking fucking iceberg, and he causes just about as much damage.”
I allowed him to guide me back to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. It shocked me how fragile I still felt. I knew intellectually how damaged I’d been, but what still haunted me was the look on my partner’s face when he’d seen me taken from that crystal prison. “Perhaps,” I said. “But perhaps he can’t afford feelings now. He’s right. If anything is to survive, we have to risk everything. Everyone. There are no safe places left.”
He knew it, and he loathed that knowledge just as much as I did. “I need to protect her, Cass. I failed my brother. I failed his wife. I even failed you. I can’t let her down, too.” He put his arms around me. The care he took told me more about him than me; I might feel fragile, but he touched me like I was made of butterfly wings. As if I might shatter, like the crystal from which I’d emerged. “She’s ours, and we can’t let her down.”
Ours. The child was, in many ways—not of our bodies, perhaps, but of Luis’s blood, and through him, and his dead brother, mine as well. We owed her love, and safety. We’d always owed her that.
I put my hands on either side of Luis’s face and held him still as I said, “We’ve already let her down. We let her down the instant that Pearl abducted her, and every day since we’ve been struggling to find meaning for her in that. But she’s not ours. She’s her own, always. And she wants to fight. She seeks it out, as I do. Step back, and let her be herself. It’s the only way we cannot disappoint her now.”
He tried to shake his head. I didn’t allow it. We stared deep into each other’s eyes. His were haunted, and I’m sure that mine held the shadows of the torture I’d endured.
My darkness won.
He pulled me into his arms, and this time, he used his strength; I lost my breath from the force of his embrace, but it was a good pain, a just and correct ache that came as much from my soul as my flesh. We stayed that way for a very long time, minutes long, before Luis pulled back and said, “You got a few things to make up to me, you know.”
I blinked, thrown by his conversational swerve. “Why?”
“Not every guy has to take seeing his lover stripped naked and lying on top of the head of the Wardens,” he said. “Even if you were covered in glitter and blood.”
He was talking about my rebirth from the crystal coffin, when Orwell had pulled me out. Had I been naked? It surprised me, but thinking back, modesty hadn’t been the largest concern I’d had. “You seem more worried by the nakedness than the blood,” I pointed out. He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.
“Yeah, well, we all bleed a lot around here,” he said. “But the naked part, that’s supposed to be sort of private.”
“You are very odd.”
“You like that about me,” he said, and kissed me. Sweet and hot, spicy and smooth, he spiked my pulse hard, and reminded me of the delights of physical bodies. I remembered the image of him that had come to me there in the dark, in my deepest panic and pain… of his bare skin, shimmering in the peaceful light. Of his fingers trailing over mine, waking fire.
In the end, it had been him who’d kept me alive at the bottom of that dark, dark pit.
“Yes,” I agreed softly, and licked my lips to savor his taste again. “I like many things about you.”
He groaned and stepped in closer, and my knees parted until he was pressed against me in a hot, solid line from chest to crotch. Beneath the thin cotton gown, I was bare, and he knew it; I could feel the tension gathering inside him, coiling down deep, and his erection was an obvious pressure against me. “Shit,” he whispered, and brushed my lips with his. “I wasn’t exactly planning on this. There’s no privacy here, you know. And you’re not healed enough to—”
“I decide whether I’m healed enough,” I said. The minor aches and pains had fallen away, driven back by the adrenaline and sweet, anxious need that was forming inside me. “As for privacy, the door does lock. And we take our pleasures now, or risk never having them again. What would you want?”
He groaned and kissed me again, and I distinctly heard the metallic sound of the lock engaging on the door. Then the steel-framed chair that Orwell had used slid across the floor and slammed at an angle under the handle. “Just in case,” he murmured, and I felt his fingers pulling at the ties on my hospital gown. “Mmmm, easy open. Very nice.”
For answer, I used a tiny burst of Earth power to part the zipper of his jeans as I slid the leather of his belt out of the buckle. I paused then, suddenly struck by a new, odd thing: my left hand.
It was working.
I opened and closed my fist, watching the fingers bend, the hand itself curl; apart from the metallic shine to it, it felt and looked just as my right hand did. There was no sign of the damage that I’d suffered on the road from the Djinn attack.
“Did you…?” I asked.
Luis shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I’m not that good. Orwell fixed you up. Said he needed you fully functional.”
“Well,” I said, and smiled as I eased his pants down, taking my time with the job. “I assure you, I am fully functional. And that’s of benefit to you.”
He gasped aloud as that metallic hand touched, stroked, played, and then he buried his head in the hollow of my neck to kiss, nibble, bite gently at areas that made me shiver and arch against him. “Hope the brakes are good on this bed,” he said, and made me laugh. I hadn’t thought I’d ever laugh again, but the vision of the two of us madly entwined on this bed as it rolled through the hallway, Wardens stopping to gawk… “Stop laughing,” he scolded me, but I heard the tremble of it in his voice, too. “You’re screwing up my concentration.”
I made him gasp aloud, again, from what I was doing with both hands now. “Am I? Because it seems your concentration is quite… firm.”
“Oh, now you’re teasing?” His voice had turned ragged, dark around the edges, and I let him lift me up and back onto the bed. My gown drifted to the floor, and somehow the sheet joined it as he kicked off his jeans, stripped away his sleeveless shirt, and knelt in the open space between my legs. “I can tease, too. Payback.”