Dragonfly (30 page)

Now, the darkness thickened. I wanted to go to my room and hide under the covers, but the silence between Dragonfly and me festered like an ulcer. If I didn’t cut it out, it’d eat away at my guts forever. I retreated to his study instead, and flopped onto the puffy sofa in the glowing console’s dim light, my limbs aching. I unstrapped my boots so I could curl my bare feet under me for comfort, even though the cool air bit my toes. I huddled in my wrap, rubbing my unbruised eye with a weary hand. My gun fingers hurt. I still didn’t know how I’d done it. How I’d killed a black ops assassin who probably had cybernetic retinas and nanowires in his nerves. Maybe he’d gotten distracted at the vital moment. Maybe it was just my lucky day.

When Dragonfly came in, I almost didn’t hear. He slipped off his coat and slid onto his console stool with a deep sigh, resting his forehead on the heel of his hand. His face was drawn, his dark hair stark against pale skin.

A lump swelled my throat, and I remembered Mishka’s mother in tears the day I had to tell her he was gone. She’d hit me, her bitten fingernails tearing my cheek, and called me a whore for stealing her only son away. Her precious boy had probably killed more people than she’d had haircuts, but that hadn’t mattered to her. And Dragonfly’s dead were children, not soldiers.

“Are you okay?” I asked, then cursed myself. What a stupid question.

He glanced up, his gaze shadowed, and gave a little laugh as if he hadn’t understood. “Carla—the little girl’s mother—she couldn’t talk. I told her, and her voice just disappeared. Compared to that, I’m just fine.”

Compassion ripped my heart raw. All I could give him was understanding. If he’d never needed me before, he needed me now. I swallowed and went to him, awkwardness crawling on my skin. I touched his hand. It felt warm, tense, his tendons tight. I tried to squeeze it, to slip my fingers between his.

“It isn’t your fault—”

“Then whose fault is it?” He pulled his hand away, his hot eyes accusing.

I squirmed, but there was nothing I could say.

He eyed me darkly. “I won’t ask what he meant about you. I don’t care, okay? For all I know, you’re both lying.”

I searched for something comforting, to ease into it, but I couldn’t find a gentle way. “You’re going to blow Esperanza apart.”

“Only if I must.”

I opened my mouth ready to argue before I realized he hadn’t said what I’d expected. “If you must?” I repeated stupidly. An extortion plot then? Or a hijacking?

He shook his head, weary. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? Do you even know where we are?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

Silently, he activated his console and flicked up a dimensional navplot. A diagrammatic representation of stars, orbits and ecliptics glimmered in the air, complete with designations. Imperial space was shown crosshatched with red, the controlled spaceways in pale white strips. He zoomed in and rotated, pointing at the display so I could see. An area of unannexed space, empty but for a few small systems, one minor planet highlighted. He moved his finger and selected another, larger one in the adjacent system, only a few declension arcs away. “Look for yourself.”

I peered closer. The smaller planet was marked as uninhabited, its designation a code number that meant nothing to me. The larger’s information block spilled open as I touched it: reams of information on climate, resources, atmospherics, all headed with a different code number and the words COLONY SANTA MARIA.

Dragonfly’s little isolationist rock lay right next to the surrendering rebel colony.

Truth thudded into my guts like a fist. He wasn’t destroying Esperanza just for kicks. He didn’t even care about the billion new rubles—for all I knew, breaking the vault really was impossible. He cared that the home for which he’d sacrificed so much was about to appear smack in the middle of controlled Imperial space.

“Do you see?” His knuckles whitened. “I can’t just let this lie. I have to try. And if that bastard Shadrin won’t listen this time, then I’ll do what I must.”

His gaze dropped, avoiding me.

Suspicion prickled. How did he know Shadrin was heading the negotiation team? I’d only gotten that action message myself from Nikita a few days ago.

“You’ve met Shadrin before?” I asked.

He smiled grimly at the console. “Oh, yes. He’s the genesis of the most famous Dragonfly myth. I’m surprised you’ve not heard it. He and I disagreed over the surrender of a place called Urumki Mor.”

My guts churned. Urumki Mor. Mishka. I hadn’t known Shadrin was in charge.

I almost couldn’t bear to ask, but the need to know flared within me, burning, consuming. “What happened?”

“I was running guns to a bunch of separatists, and it escalated. They needed a tactician—”

“You were a mercenary?”

“Call it that if you want. I did it for nothing. It’s hard to have talents and not use them when people are dying. You should know that.”

I swallowed. I’d never had any trouble. “Go on.”

“The Empire were arrogant, under-resourced, Shadrin had diverted half his battle group and couldn’t get it back in time. We were winning, they couldn’t infiltrate our command and control. Shadrin lost his head and shattered half the city from orbit so no one would find out how he’d screwed up. Must have wiped out hundreds of his own people. He put it out that they’d been on the brink of victory and I’d done it so I could escape.”

Sickness welled in my stomach, and I nearly choked on bile. I didn’t doubt him for a millisecond.

They’d lied to me. Axis. Director Renko. Everyone. Let me think some faceless criminal had murdered my friends when all the time they’d done it themselves. And Dragonfly would be hunted for the rest of his life for something he hadn’t done.

I’d known Axis couldn’t be trusted. I knew their methods—our methods—too well. But Shadrin was different. He was decent, incorruptible. He was the reason making it all worthwhile. And now he’d betrayed me too. He’d sacrificed his own people to save face, covered up mass murder by publicly destroying an innocent man. Shadrin was Imperial to the core, and that core stank rotten.

And it made me as bad as the rest.

My nerves twisted, and I wanted to scream. I felt brainwashed. I burned to confront Shadrin, to ask him to his face why he’d lied to me, to watch him stammer and flinch. To put a bullet in his cold, scheming heart. But I wouldn’t get the chance, not if Dragonfly had his way.

“There must be another option,” I said.

“There isn’t. I’ve talked to Luis Alvarado. There’s nothing he can do.”

But there was. I remembered Nikita’s words—
in it up to their greedy eyeballs
—and my blood boiled. Dragonfly’s mistake was to think everyone was as good-hearted as he was. But I couldn’t tell him that this Alvarado guy was corrupt. He’d ask how I knew, and then he’d hate me forever.

“So, what—you’ll blow them all to hell?”

The despair shadowing his eyes clawed at my soul. “The people here die for me. Their children die because of me. What if everything you’d ever promised the people who rely on you was about to be swept away for small change? What would you do?”

I swallowed. My promises were to the Empire, and I’d always taken Imperial word on what was corrupt and what wasn’t. I’d been itching to destroy Dragonfly, the way he planned to destroy Shadrin and Esperanza. But it was all a dirty lie.

Sourness stung my throat. Including Nikita, this was the second time I’d let them deceive me utterly. I needed to start thinking for myself.

“I think I’d blow them all to hell,” I said finally.

“Could you? Really?”

He stared at me, fierce, and I realized this was a test. I owed him nothing less than abject honesty.

“Yes,” I said steadily, though my throat ached, “if it meant someone I cared about didn’t have to.”

My heart clenched. I’d told myself this so many times—that I did it all to protect the innocent—but it didn’t make the killing any easier. It didn’t make the guilt go away. I’d always imagined that to be the difference between me and a terrorist. Until I’d met this one, whose sense of proportion shamed me to my heart even as it drew me inexorably to him.

I wanted to know him so badly it hurt, but how could he ever want me? He could never know who I really was, because I was pretending to be someone else. I was lying to him, exactly the same way Nikita and the Empire lied to me.

Tears misted, and I dropped my head, my face burning.

“Don’t. Look at me.” He lifted my chin, caressing my cheek, and the intimacy tingled warmth over my body. “You understand so much,” he whispered. “Who are these people you’re destroying yourself for? Don’t they care about you? Why are you so alone?”

“Because I deserve to be.”

I pressed my cheek into his hot palm, closing my eyes. Tears trickled, stinging my flashburned skin, and I squirmed. I never cried.

His cheek brushed mine, his scent on my lips making me quiver. “I can’t believe that. Why won’t you let me trust you? At least pretend you’re not hiding anything from me, just for a moment. Please.”

I inhaled, tasting him, and imagined I’d told him everything—Axis, the mission, Nikita, Mishka, that not only was Lazuli a fabrication but Aragon was too. And I imagined he didn’t care, because he’d seen through it all and still wanted me. Me. Carrie.

Longing struck me so hard, my flesh ached. I couldn’t help staring at his lips, so close, so perfect. My mouth dried. I wanted to taste him again, feel his tongue on mine, swallow on him, bring him into me. His eyes gleamed in the console’s soft light, so beautiful, his lashes dark and curling. I could feel myself sinking into their warm depths, my insides melting, and I didn’t want to struggle.

It’s true, what they say about drowning. Once you give in, it’s beautiful.

I slid my wrists around his neck, leaning into him. His body felt tight and lean against me, his hands trembling on my face as he brought his lips to mine.

For a heartbeat, our kiss was gentle, sweet, hesitant with sorrow. Then he clenched his fingers in my hair and dragged my head back to devour me. His lips demanded my surrender and I’d never given it more willingly. His scent filled my head like the first sweet rush of oblivion, my every nerve ending awakening in a delicious shiver that sparkled over my skin like starshine.

Our tongues searched and entwined, burning. He tasted of the salt and blood of his bitter sorrow, and I swallowed, drawing his essence into me. He gripped my hips with strong, insistent hands and lifted me onto the console so I could wrap my legs around him. My thighs ached at the contact, and I pressed tighter, sucking on his tongue to taste more of him. Damn, he felt good there. I wanted him naked so I could pin him down on the sofa and climb on top. But I wanted more than the thrill of feeling him inside me. I wanted to sob with pleasure in his embrace, own him, let him own me, wake up the next morning and find him still there, our limbs still entangled.

He groaned and buried his face in my shoulder, his breath ragged. “I can’t,” he whispered, though he clearly could, and hungered to, from the hardness burning against me and the tension in his hands grinding my hips against him. “It’s all or nothing, Carrie. This doesn’t finish here.”

I didn’t want it to finish here either. I wanted to keep him forever, to forget the mess I’d made of my life and start again.

I trailed my lips through his fragrant hair, longing for his mouth again, desperate not to break this spell between us. “Don’t hold back. Not now. Let me have it all.”

He was still for a moment but for his rapid breathing. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

He pushed away, that sweet smile turning his lips, but now his eyes smoldered with desire, dark with sensual intent. Slowly he untucked the corners of my wrap, pulling it from around me.

“All right. You asked for it. I’m in awe of you. You’re the most maddening woman I’ve ever met. You make me rethink myself at every turn. You’re the only person who sees through me like glass. I can’t hide anything from you.”

He’d already found my sweater’s ziplocks and parted the soft fabric swiftly. Cool air washed my burning skin, raising tantalizing bumps and making my nipples ache and harden.

I gasped a laugh. “You’re kidding, right? I could have said the same about you.”

“Carrie, I have a hard time seeing anything except how beautiful you are.” He brushed his knuckles along the curve of my waist, where he’d kissed me that night on
Ladrona
, and I sucked back a gasp. My breasts hurt, I wanted so much for him to touch me. “Every trick you’ve tried on me has worked, you know that? I wanted you from the moment you called my gambit at Esperanza. I had a hard-on for five tarocchi hands just from thinking about your legs, and the thrashing you gave me only made it worse.”

“Go on.” I laughed, breathless, and it turned into a moan as he caressed me through the broad skintight strap that encased my breasts, grazing my swollen nipples with his palms. Sensation fired deep into me, shooting straight between my legs.

“Shall I? Let’s see. After you kissed me in the docking ring, I couldn’t sleep with you on my ship—”

“You could so,” I teased, arching my back to press into his hands. “I watched you.”

“I know. I wasn’t asleep. I was fantasizing about the things you could do to me with that wicked mouth of yours, and beating myself up for wanting to corrupt an innocent young woman.” He kissed me, hungry, biting my bottom lip softly, and I cried out into his mouth, helpless. “When you solved that factor construct in your head, I nearly bent you over that console and took you right there.”

The memory inflamed me, how he’d teased me into competing with him. “I wanted you to.”

“I know. That’s what scared me.”

He lifted me down so he could slide my pants and underwear from my hips, and I wriggled them off swiftly so I could get back up there and pull him to me again. But he caressed my bare ankle, a shock shivering all the way up to my thigh, and pushed me down against the warm plastic. A diode flashed violet near my elbow and I fumbled to turn the console off before I broke something, but he brushed my hand away. “Leave it.”