Nox wrote day and night making certain to finish on time. The sun set hours ago, and the new moon left the desert a fathomless black void. As he read the last three words, he decided to spend the rest of the night flying for a little recreation.
Until Korac burst through the double doors. “Your majesty, the underground stronghold censors detected entry.” He swept across the lush carpet to the Icarean control panel. “There.” He brought the feed up to span the room. Then he found the nearest armchair, plopped himself down, and propped his feet on an ottoman.
Nox jeered, “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m quite comfortable. Thank you, sire.”
One second passed. Two. They both broke into a hearty laugh. Nox did so appreciate the brass on this Icarus. He wished he’d lifted the formalities sooner—
Rayne crossed the screen, and Nox’s attention belonged only to her. Again, she dressed like her mentor: a blank tank top and matching cargo pants. Her hair braided back from her face. Combat ready, her boots lifted her height by three inches. Icari were so very tall.
The enticing woman swept into the entryway and approached the waterfall. Rayne stared at it a moment, glanced behind her as if someone spoke to her, then looked back. After splashing a hand in it, she stepped over to a purple flower against the gray wall next. Her movements rehearsed as if she repeated them once before. She looked up at nothing as she led the exotic petals to the backdrop of the wall.
Maddened by the random ritual, Nox clenched his fists.
She spoke in a quiet voice, “I see it, now, Xelan.”
Korac sniffed behind him. Allowing it just this once, Nox ignored it.
The tender ache in her words brought his brows down in a frown. He imagined the sudden wisp of salt on the air to accompany her tears. The ritual made sense now. Without her guardian, Nox’s match suffered in her loneliness. Her need to be understood. To understand. He could not replace that in her heart no matter how he might try. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Rayne released her captive blossom and made her way to the study. Inside, she stiffened, alert. Slowly as if apprehensive, she searched the room. No reason she should sense their observation. When she locked those fierce blue eyes onto his own through the camera, he recalled her treatment of him at Mercy’s hospital compound. She said then she could sense his presence.
Korac stood and stepped closer to the screen. “How do you think she knows?”
With his heart pounding, Nox offered, “Good instincts.”
He noticed Korac’s flitting glance as he scanned over Nox. His General knew something. Interesting.
The Progeny General glanced down as if contemplating her next move. She reached up so fast, Nox jerked involuntarily at the suddenness of the movement. With sure fingers, she languidly unplaited her hair. The black silk threading through her fingertips until it fell loose on her shoulders and lower.
Per usual, Nox wanted to wrap his fist in it. But after another moment, he thought of their dance together. How he wished she wore it down so he could fold an errant strand behind her ear. Delicate, kind, intimate. Wasted on him, but not on her.
With hesitation, Rayne reached for the bottom of her shirt.
Korac pointed. “Uhm…”
Nox commanded, “Leave us. Now.” Requiring privacy for this, he appreciated his second-in-command’s swift exit.
She lifted the shirt slow, and her armor uncoiled. A sensual reveal of her carved abs, the dip under ribs, and the black sports bra beneath. Cut low, teasing him. The shirtless combatant look worked for her; however, two flaws captivated him. Mirrored bruises below both sides of her ribs. Her nacre cured at Tritan speeds in the Complex and Iona-29. So why the ugly marks?
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The dagger emerged from nowhere. Rayne held the point to the bruise on the right side. Biting her lip, she narrowed her eyes as she did the most curious thing. She dug the blade into herself, prodding the bruise. She cried out with a sound that set him hard. Yet, she carried on. Red Progeny blood poured from the wound, and his fangs protruded. Hissing air through her teeth, she let out a heavy exhale when she slid her fingers inside. The hole healed almost faster than she moved. Peering off into nothing, she relied on her fingers to locate whatever was inside.
What Rayne removed deepened Nox’s frown. An Icarean Rite. A small weapon resembling a spinning top with blades. When inserted, it burrowed deeper with any movement. Like an arrowhead, retrieval by extraction caused significantly more damage. The wound healed within seconds. The bruise vanished. She tossed the Rite on the table beside her. In truth, he found it unfathomable she traveled all the way to Egypt with even one of those inside of her.
She tilted her head as if listening for sounds he couldn’t hear. Nox recognized the gesture, but failed to place it. Unhappy with whatever Rayne heard, she shook her head and returned to her abdomen. More work to be done.
As she set about removing the second Rite, he contemplated their purpose. It seemed impossible anyone would attack her with those. That she would allow herself to be attacked at all. And that she would leave those inside her for so long. Unless…
The self-inflicted torture finally over, Rayne leaned on the table trying to regain control of her breathing through the pain. When she straightened she peered over her breasts to examine the former wounds. All clear. Aside from a very tempting river of Progeny blood that trailed down her muscular skin.
To Nox’s increasing desire, tears graced her cheeks as she unlaced her boots. This was intentional. She did this to herself. Again he ran through all the possibilities he suspected. Was it some kind of training? This puzzled him as her pain tolerance was curated by himself. It wasn’t self destructive; she gained no catharsis out of it. Why—
Rayne unbuttoned her pants and slipped them off. When she leaned over, her hair trailed down her shoulders, but failed to block the view into her bra. Lovely. All black lingerie. All to his liking. Long pale legs she freed from her clothes. Even her toes were cute, painted black like her fingernails.
Nox pounded a fist on his desk. He wanted Rayne too badly. His every instinct told him to fly to her and—
She twisted her foot, revealing a bruise on her calf. He recoiled. Why? Why was she doing this to herself? He enjoyed her pain. Loved it. But maybe only when he inflicted it on her and not whatever insanity she inflicted on herself. As she picked up the knife, he went to scream for her to stop—
“Load playback,” she called out.
An image displayed in front of her. Rayne focused on the recording rather than the task in her leg. Nox winced and did the same. Fighting material. The other Progeny fighting her all at once. As she growled and groaned against the prodding in her leg, they both watched the others benefit more from the exercise than she ever could. She was simply too fast and too strong. But maybe that was the point. Increase their speed and their strength. Smart.
Tameka landed a blow to Rayne’s ribs, and something about her demeanor changed.
“Pause.”
As she ripped out the Rite, her leg gave and she fell to one knee. Breathing hard, Rayne tossed it onto the table with the others. Nox tried to decipher the look on her face in the footage. It was similar to the look she had now. Like she evaluated a change from the pain. If she still carried the Rite under her ribs when Tameka struck her, it would burrow deeper into her and hurt like hell.
“Skip ahead thirty-eight seconds.” A small frown marred her face as she watched with intensity. “Back three seconds. Pause.”
Rayne stared at the image on the screen. Drew closer to it as if captivated by it. Her face fell, and a sob escaped her. The scene displayed the post-training training session. Rayne away from the others. They stared at her. They were afraid. Of her.
Her breath hitched as her heart broke. Her tears tinkered onto the carpet. So profoundly alone. And in so much pain.
She was better off in the Martyr Complex.
Rayne stirred then and looked right at Nox through a face red with sorrow. Her knees pulled to her chest, she stared at him. After a moment, she croaked, “End playback.” The image disappeared. On a breathless hitch, she whispered, “If you’re there, leave me alone.”
A sharp pain lanced through his chest. The vulnerability in her request burned him. She shared with him an intimate glimpse into her life he denied himself the right to, and when her loneliness consumed her, she asked for even further isolation. From him.
“You have no right to be here. And if I find one thing out of place, I swear to Elden I’ll cross the desert and cut your brain out.”
Nox shut his eyes. This only ended one way between them. He deduced the reason for her suffering—why she hurt herself. He wished any other fate for her. For him. He glanced at the writing on his desk. He would do what he could. Peering back at her, he promised, “Four days, Rayne.”
Nox shut out the possibilities not merited to him as he ended the feed. The cost he paid for his historical mistreatment of her. If only he took her hand when she offered it during their dance. If only he shed his resentment for Celindria. If only he brokered peace instead of invading in the first place. All those dominoes that fell and collapsed on them both. The weight too heavy. The price too high.
Only one way.