He nods. “We could create new trade routes. Establish a free market, and it would help a lot of outposts, not having to pay Corp tariffs for their supplies. But Mother Mary, in one day, such losses…” Lex closes his eyes. “The only hope either clan has now is consolidation. We become Gunnar-Dahlgren, marry up, and combine our ranks, or we get wiped by the other clans.”
“When shell freezesh over,” Keri says, slurred, sedated.
“Well, put on your overcoat, sweetheart.”
Hard to say who looks more shocked to hear that coming from March.
CHAPTER 13
The inevitable argument’s postponed when Keri passes out again.
March pulls her up against him, a wise idea—sharing body heat since this shed lacks climate control. But everyone’s regarding him speculatively, wondering what he has in mind. Being March, in the face of such avid curiosity, he leans his head back against the wall, closes his eyes, and goes to sleep. Just like that.
Hits me then—that’s a soldier’s skill, being able to turn off and on. It’s an invaluable talent, one that allows them to stand watch easier…but it takes years in the field to develop it, usually on rough assignments. I frown as I study him, trying to put the pieces together. He’s clearly a merc, and I’m willing to bet if I got a glimpse of his bare chest, he’d have some battle scars to show. Not that I want to see March without a shirt, Mary forefend. But how does a Psi-sensitive stay hidden for so long? And he’s clearly got some ability to control it, or he would be nuts by now.
There’s something about that bugging me, some thought I had that would help me figure him out, but right now I’m just too tired to get a fix on it. As I’m sitting there, rubbing my hands over my arms absently, Loras brings me one of the spare blankets. I wish it was a genuine kindness, but I can tell by his expression it’s part of the whole shinai thing. No wonder March was so glad to have it end—being served by someone who resents it with every fiber of his being, well, it kind of sucks. I mean, not the help. I’m glad of the blanket, and I wrap up in it with a murmured, “Thanks.”
But just the fact Loras feels like he has to wait on me. I hate that.
It’s cold enough in here that I can see my own breath. With all the other stuff going on, I hadn’t noticed…but I gave Doc back his coat when I fed his shirt to the Teras, and I’m freezing. Loras stands for a moment, staring down at me. He’s wearing a simple pair of trousers and pullover, so I don’t know how his teeth aren’t chattering.
Glance across the room and find Dina looking extremely pissed off, since she’s sandwiched between Doc and Gunnar. “Say ‘cream filling,’ and I kill you. Seriously.”
I muffle a laugh, but I manage not to say it. Somehow.
“You want me to…?” Loras gestures at the others, huddled up.
And I hate even more that he feels like he needs to ask permission. Mother Mary, it’s common sense. I scowl up at him. I am not personally to blame for what my race did to his, however long ago.
“Okay, you have to follow my directives, right?” At his nod, I continue, “Then you’re forbidden to do anything but what you want. And if you’d like to come down here so we can both get warm, do that. If not, do what the hell ever. Because I’m tired, and I am sick of this shit.”
At this, March’s eyes snap open, and now he looks extremely pissed. “I can’t believe I never thought of that.”
Bastard was faking, so he wouldn’t have to answer questions. He gives me a grin and closes his eyes again, while Loras stands there, looking dumbfounded. “It would be very foolish for both of us to be cold,” he says finally, and drops down beside me.
I get the feeling this is the first time anyone’s said that to him. Hope it’s easier on him, and me, too, for that matter. I’m not cut out to go around giving orders about every little thing. Too much of that, and I’d be killing him instead of watching his back.
“Good call.”
He settles in beside me, shoulder to shoulder, and we wrap up in a second blanket. Takes a little while, but I can feel myself warming up, and as my body temperature rises, I get sleepy. Gonna close my eyes for a minute…
Next thing I know, I’m feeling so good, not exactly sure where I am, and it doesn’t matter because I’m toasty warm, lying in someone’s arms. I nuzzle my nose against his throat, stretching luxuriously. I want to make love, soft and slow. My half-awake brain tells me it must be Kai, because he’s the only one I ever slept with like this, and then the other half rouses and points out that’s impossible.
My eyes snap open.
A torch-tube glows in the middle of the room, providing a little light. Enough to see that March’s face is right above mine, and he knows. The floor can open up to admit me now, thanks. At some point, he must’ve given Keri to Loras and come to huddle with me himself, though damned if I know why.
“You were whimpering in your sleep,” he whispers. “And jabbing with your elbow. Almost broke his nose.”
“And you thought you could fix it?” I pitch my voice low because the others are all still sleeping, but I’m angry over his presumption, angry that I slept better in his arms than I have since Kai died.
He shrugs. “If nothing else, I’m too big for you to hurt me.” At my look, he adds, “Okay, too big for you to hurt accidentally.”
And he doesn’t need to say that I settled down as soon as he pulled me close. I know I did; I can almost remember the dreams that made me restless, and I can almost see his resigned expression as he pulled me against his chest, wrapped his arms about me, can almost hear my own small sound as I relaxed like it’s somewhere I’m supposed to be. I really am insane. I remember Dina mentioning that he lost someone in the crash, and I want to know more. Does he blame me? Should he?
I don’t even know the answer to that.
“Why do you hate me so much?” For a moment, I can’t believe I asked. It’s got to be the false intimacy, sound of other people breathing, lying in his arms in the dark.
“I don’t…hate you.” His voice sounds gruff.
I gaze up at his face, trying to read his expression, defeated by shadows’ fall. “Dislike me profoundly and intensely, before we ever met.”
“Look, I’m not having this conversation right now. Go to sleep, Jax.”
“Go to hell, March.” But I’m smiling as I say it.
As I doze off again, I’m pretty sure he says, “Been there, done that, and I’m keeping a spot warm for you, babe.”
The next time I wake up, it’s to hear:
“No. How can you ask me to do this, March? It’s monstrous and barbaric.”
Great. I guess they’re making wedding plans. My eyelids feel like they’ve got paste under them, and I am, mercifully, by myself. Maybe I dreamed that whole weird interlude during the night. Please let me have dreamed it.
Because I don’t want to carry the awareness that I fit nicely against March’s chest and that his heartbeat is a comforting way to fall asleep. I especially don’t want to remember rubbing my face against his throat and liking it. I think I need to kill him. For a moment, I try to imagine a giant rock landing on him, but I can’t—
Mother Mary, I am deranged. Because I can’t bring myself to picture any real harm coming to him. In fact, it alarms me to think of losing him. When nothing else makes sense, he’s rock solid. Inexplicably, I feel like I can count on him.
I’m defanged where he’s concerned. Or something. It hurts when I press, a wound I didn’t even know I had. I don’t want to rely on him in any capacity. Mary knows, I’ve learned the hard way that nothing lasts forever.
“If you would stop thinking like a stupid kid for a minute,” the Gunnar says, “you’d realize this is the only way to save both our clans.”
Oh smooth, Lex. That’s the way to get the girl.
“I’m not a stupid kid…I just hate you! Which seems to be the best proof of my intellect that I could offer.”
Wonder if that’s how March and I sound. If so, that’d be why people think we want to shag each other. And maybe they’re not entirely wrong, since I can’t deny he has a certain raw charisma. Regardless, I’m now convinced that Keri’s going to wind up a Gunnar. It’s a foregone conclusion.
I climb out of my warm nest and start folding up the blankets. Someone’s already been outside to empty the buckets, so I guess that means it’s safe. Everyone seems to be here. Dina, Doc, and Loras are sucking on packets of paste, looking no more pleased than I’d be if I were eating one. All three are riveted on the funny little love triangle, funny because I don’t think March realized until now that all his protectiveness had created one gi-enormous crush.
Which makes me wonder how he missed it, being Psi and all. He can’t seem to help rummaging around my head like it’s a jumble sale, but he has no clue what’s going on with Keri? Interesting.
Case in point, he turns to glare at me.
CHAPTER 14
It’s sputtering snow when we finally emerge from the storage shed, from what felt like an endless night, into a white-gray morning. There’s a lesson in that, I think. No matter how interminable something feels, there is always, always an ending. Sometimes that’s good, and sometimes it’s bad; sometimes it’s a matter of indifference, and sometimes it’s heartbreaking, and your life is never the same thereafter.
March surprises me by holding up a hand as the others set off. I wait without protest, but not because of what happened last night. That’s not it. Is it? He goes back into the building and brings me a blanket, wraps me up in it poncho style. I give him a half smile, not understanding the shift.
But I murmur, “Thank you,” and we go along behind the others, him matching his strides to my shorter ones. The silence is oddly companionable.
Fried and fallen Teras bodies lie strewn all along the perimeter. They died in the night, trying to return to the caves, and in death they lose their camouflage. Dark and ugly, like something from a child’s stories—it is difficult to believe something like this evolved naturally. The stench is dreadful, and more than once I swallow down bile that wants to become vomit, but I don’t have anything to upchuck. The paste metabolizes quickly so your body receives the nutrients right away. And I chose not to eat it this morning; I’m hoping there will be something better at the main house.
“I haven’t been fair to you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t catch it.
But he said it. I know he did. I actually stop walking. Pause and gape up at him. “You—”
“You heard me.” March scowls down at me, and I know he doesn’t like saying it any more than I would. “I’m going to do better.”
Our eyes meet, and I notice for the first time that his eyes aren’t simply dark; they possess gold flecks as well, an amber ring around the iris. He also has the most ridiculous lashes I’ve ever seen on a man, a sharp contrast to his hard-hewn face. He’s almost too rough-featured in fact, unless you focus on those long lashes. After that look, mustering a smart-ass response takes some doing.