Killbox

I wish I didn’t feel so much sympathy for her. She didn’t set out to come between Doc and Rose, but there’s no doubt in my mind that she adores him. I suspect she even tried to keep her distance. She’s no temptress. With her plain face, she would doubtless consider the idea laughable.



“You can’t take the blame for this. Give him some time. I’m sure he’ll realize it’s not your fault. He’s too logical for it to be otherwise.”



She turns her face up toward me, younger in this golden light. Like me, she is a sole survivor, and that leaves a mark. Even now, she is searching for reasons why she’s still alive, wondering at her own purpose.



“Do you think so?”



“But you can’t push him,” I warn. “It may be hard, but I think you have to wait for him to come to you, and there’s no telling how long that will take.”



She eases to her feet. “I’m patient. I have time, and there’s a lot to do. How are you feeling, by the way?”



I shrug. “So far, so good.”



Best not to think about all the things that could go wrong, the way all that technology could run amok inside my body. Fear could paralyze me if I let it.



“Advise me of any changes. And don’t forget I need to check you out next week.”



Her swift shift amuses me. She’s too much the scientist to wallow long in her emotions, however powerful they may be. I do wonder if the same is true for Doc.



With a wave, I pass from the hangar along the path that leads to the gardens. Clansmen greet me with sharp salutes, most of them filthy, charred, and worse for the wear, but they’re still here. They’re still with us, Lachion tried and Lachion true. There’s a certain poetry in their battle-stained faces, a refusal to bow before impossible odds. I can only take heart in their resolve.



The grounds are as lovely as when Ramona held us hostage here. A manicured lawn abuts an alabaster wall, wreathed in scarlet and fuchsia blossoms. A tree with purple flowers grows beside the villa, casting twilight shadows on the balcony where I once stood, the scent of peaches wafting on a warm wind. Vel’s shadow stands with me there.



Nostalgia sweeps over me. I have my own losses to weather.



CHAPTER 54



March finds me wandering the halls inside.



I’ve already confirmed my mother’s words. She transferred everything to me before her final act. Apparently I own nearly a quarter of Venice Minor, and Mary only knows what else. I didn’t go through it all; I’m more than a little stunned.



“Jax,” he murmurs, and opens his arms.



That’s when I notice he isn’t wearing his uniform. Instead of the midnight blue with commander’s insignia, he’s clad in black from head to toe, simple garments from the wardrober. I run to him then.



He catches me close, but it doesn’t stop there. After swinging me around, he cradles me against his chest and strides toward the room I used on my last visit. Of course, he knows, though he wasn’t there. I can feel him coiling warm as sunlight through my head.



Once the door has closed behind us, he kisses me soundly. When we come up for air, I smile up at him. “Isn’t this against the rules?”



“You’re on leave,” he answers. “So am I. So let’s get you out of that uniform.”



“Shower first?”



“I’ve already had one, but I’ll help you, Lady Jax.”



“Lady?” I arch a brow as he unbuttons my jacket.



“Your inherited a title from your mother, among other things. She accepted it in lieu of payment for a debt.”



“I think I like LC better. Are you sure the title passes that way?”



“Uh-huh. I had a look at your assets.” His hands curl around my bum.



“My assets, huh?”



“You also own the mine on Dobrinya and part of a moon. Most impressive.” March works my trousers down my hips, only to find them caught on my boots.



“Are you seducing me for my credits?”



“Absolutely,” he says, deadpan. “I had no interest in your body before now, did I?”



“You make a good point.”



I hop on one foot, helping him. With equal measures of amusement and anticipation, we tug at each other’s clothing until we’re both bare. He follows me to the san-shower and helps me with lingering caresses that leave me wanting to get the hygienic portion of the entertainment over with quickly.



Afterward, he carries me to the bed. The window is open, a warm breeze blowing over my skin. He comes down to me with love shining in his eyes, sparking gold and amber. Though this is only the eye of the storm, he shows no sign of preoccupation. Every scintilla of his being focuses on me here, now. I run my hands over his shoulders, glad to have him hale and whole while others are alone and grieving.



“No,” he whispers. “Don’t think of that. Don’t think of loss. We’re together.”



His head falls back at the pleasure in my hands. I touch him until he’s shivering. The heat of him warms me, more glorious than the sun.



“I missed this. I missed you. Mary, the nights I couldn’t sleep for it.”



“Me, too, Jax.”



March lets me feel it then. The walls come down entirely, and I see he suffered as much as I did. More, perhaps, because he had the quiet pain of wondering whether there was a limit to my patience. He knows now; there isn’t. I’ll wait for him and him alone until the universe goes back to dust.



“We’ll have to go back to how things were on the ship when we leave here.” It’s not a question.



He touches his brow to mine. “Lady, you are the heart of me, but yes. It can be no other way during this war.”



Which may never see an end while we are young enough to want.



March acknowledges that with a nod. Mary, how he burns, as if kindled from within by love of me. I remember its loss. I remember how I navigated him on Ithiss-Tor, filtering my essence through the dark spots in his mind, as though he were a series of broken beacons. I did it to repair him, fuse the damaged emotional connections, so he could remember what it was to feel and love. War killed that part of him. I brought it back. In doing so, I left some of myself behind, but I think I also took part of him with me. We are twined together inextricably now, and I wouldn’t have it otherwise.



With tender fingertips, I find each scar, and he does the same to me, hands skating along my arms. I find the marks don’t bother me anymore. Time has softened them to a purple patina, and I can view them as the Ithtorians do: mementoes of an interesting life.



His mouth finds each pleasure point, cherishing me. We kiss and touch until the slant of the sun changes. It has never been this slow between us, and the sweetness fills me like the juice of a ripe fruit. By the time he pushes my thighs wide, I’m aching for him.



In all ways, March fills me. He comes down to me, his lips warm against my throat. I hold him while he moves, wildness and adoration singing in my veins, but I can’t stay passive long. Soon, my hands dig into his back, and I rock against him, my breathing coming in hard little moans.



But he knows I like femme dominant, and so he rolls to watch me at my peak. He holds me there for endless moments, arched above him. I can’t speak or breathe. By the time he lets go, I’m starting to see starry sparks, and my limbs have gone lax.



Afterward, he cradles me against him, and I paint his skin with my fingertips. A near-forgotten thought—the way the beacons felt different the last time I jumped—tugs at my brain. It was like they answered my call—



I think my perfect relaxation helped. If I hadn’t been floating, thinking of March, I would never have made the final connection. I’ve always thought I could float free of my body in grimspace and go sailing, and that’s exactly what I did in the nav com. I navigated March, altered him from the inside out. Why can’t I do the same to the beacons?



Kai and I used to repair them when the signal wavered. In fact, the last dream I had about him, back on Ithiss-Tor, had to do with our last run, before the disastrous mission that ended in the crash of the Sargasso and his death. If a beacon was permitted to wink out, it would screw up grimspace navigation permanently. Humans don’t handle all the maintenance by themselves, of course. The other races help; we cooperate to keep the beacons operational. But if I can repair them, strengthen them, then I might be able to change them, almost like reprogramming.



If I can alter their pulse, even a little, it will be harder for the Morgut to navigate. Part of their fleet, if not all, might be lost the next time they jump. Who knows how many dreadnaughts they have? And they may be heading for New Terra soon.



Of course, once I leave my body in grimspace, I don’t know if I can come back. To my knowledge, it’s never been done before. Maker records are spotty at best; we don’t know much about the ancients who first traveled the star lanes, only what we can dig out of antediluvian ruins.



But the prospect of leaving him sends a spike of pain through my body.



He notices, of course. March levers himself up on an elbow. “You okay?”



Shit, I have to reassure him. I focus on blocking that part of my mind. Partitions, just like when we jump. He can’t see this. He can’t know.



“I’m fine.” I manage a smile. “Just a cramp.”



A grin spreads across his face. I once thought him ugly with his harsh features and broken nose. Now he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.



“Are you saying I wore you out? Maybe you’re getting old, Jax.”



Jumpers don’t die old and gray.



“Not even close. I’m just out of practice, and there’s only one way to fix that.”



I kiss him to distract him from poking around my head. Luckily, long abstinence makes him amenable to focusing on sex instead of what I’m hiding. We make love twice more, spending the whole day in bed. The last time, I weep silently when it’s done and hold him to me, breathing in his scent. He is everything.



I assume he put Hon in charge of repairs, but right now, I don’t much care if the Triumph never flies again. I would like to remember him here. I want to remember him silhouetted against the starry sky, smiling down at me. I want to remember his mouth on mine, his soul curling through every fiber of me. This is what I will carry away from this place. As he ever has, he will bolster and give me strength.



“I love you,” I whisper into his shorn hair. I miss the silky length, though I’d never tell him so. It amazes me that a man so hard could have hair so soft. It’s different from mine in all ways, but he always touched my head as though he loved the coarse feel of it.



He’s sleeping now. I touch his features, featherlight, tracing the jagged lines, hard jaw, and unexpectedly sensual mouth. My fingertips brush his ridiculous lashes, fanned across his sharp cheeks.



I never had anybody love me like you do, he said back on Ithiss-Tor.



I hope he sees this for what it is: not abandonment, but a desperate act born in love. I can’t consider what this may do to him. It’s right. Even with the promised reinforcements, it may not be enough, and we certainly don’t have time to develop weapons that can hurt the dreadnaughts. We can’t count on anyone else reacting like Ramona. She was ever a force unto herself, inexplicable as the wind.