Shades of Treason (19 page)

Damn it. She hadn’t even tried to blink—she’d tried to roll her eyes—but it hadn’t mattered. There’d been enough intention in the action to trigger the blackout.

“I’m sorry,” Rykus said when she focused on him. “I wanted to… Damn. I’m sorry, Ash.”

He looked almost as frustrated as she felt.

“We’ll figure it out,” he assured her. His hand touched her face. It was the lightest brush of fingertips over the curve of her jaw—it might even have been an accident—but Ash’s stomach fluttered.

It
fluttered
.

No part of her body had ever done that before. She wasn’t capable of such a soft, vulnerable feeling. But Rykus’s arms were strong. They were warm. And they held her as if she wasn’t just an anomaly but a human.

A woman.

She jerked away. The pain running through her body sharpened, and she focused on it. Damn near embraced it. Her heart beat as quickly as it had when they’d been under fire. She stared at Rykus’s expertly blank face.

His dirty, scuffed face. The grime only made him look tougher, stronger.

Sexier.

Ah, hell. Ash closed her eyes. She’d always thought Rykus was attractive, but she’d met hundreds of good-looking men. She could have her pick of any one of them, and often had, but they didn’t have Rykus’s presence. They didn’t have his moral strength.

They didn’t have the ability to make her
flutter
.

“They’ll be looking for our bodies,” she said, making sure the steel in her voice disguised how much she hurt. She wouldn’t show weakness around him. She sure as hell wouldn’t show vulnerability.

“Yes.” Rykus rose. He offered to help her up, but she bypassed his outstretched hand and climbed to her feet on her own.

“Can you run?” he asked.

She met his gaze and her raised eyebrow said,
I’m an anomaly. Of course I can run.

Two minutes later though, she was cursing that eyebrow. It was a miracle neither of them had broken a leg in the fall, but Ash’s ankle was at least sprained. She blocked out the pain and ignored her broken ribs, her cuts and bruises, and her throbbing pinky. And she ignored the sick, shaky feeling that ran through her body, the feeling that told her she was close to falling apart. They needed to put distance between them and the soldiers who had attacked, so she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rest. She could only ignore the pain and weakness and fear and continue.

It took them twenty long minutes to reach the river. Most of that time was spent jogging through the purple-leaved trees that filled the bottom of the DFC. They provided good cover, but hopping over roots and ducking beneath their low limbs drained even more of her energy. When she stopped beside the river, she meant to slowly lower herself to the ground. Instead, her legs gave out and the motion turned into a semi-controlled fall. The only reason she didn’t land face-first in the water was because she caught herself at the last moment. The rocky bottom bruised her palms, and the chilly water sloshed up to her elbows.

She didn’t care. Scooping water into her mouth, she tried to rinse out the desert that coated her tongue.

Beside her, Rykus did the same, drinking and spitting and coughing. He dunked his head into the stream and ran his hand through his short hair.

Ash’s hair was past her shoulders, dirty and tangled. A quick dunk wouldn’t work for her, so she settled for shaking out the arms and legs of her stolen uniform.

Rykus tried to shake out his clothes too. A beach was forming underneath them, but still Ash felt the rocks and grit everywhere.

Screw it
.

She stood up and stripped.

In her peripheral vision, Rykus froze. She felt his gaze as she unfastened the last button on the shirt, threw it aside, then shimmied the pants down over her hips.

Rykus didn’t say a word when she stepped into the cold stream. Neither did she, but she couldn’t keep a small grin off her lips as she moved deeper into the water. She might be black and blue and covered in blood and dirt, but she had a lean, toned figure, and Rykus was a man.

An untouchable man, she reminded herself.

The stream was only waist-deep in the middle. She crouched until the water lapped at the top of her shoulders, and then she began scrubbing.

Seconds later, she heard Rykus wade into the stream.

It was hard not to turn around to see if he’d stripped too. She’d seen him almost naked before, shirtless and wearing only a tight pair of black briefs. She was the only woman in her class of anomalies—the only woman ever to complete the training—and he was built like a Zenith Predator, all hard, defined muscles and smooth, lethal movements.

Almost-naked wasn’t the same as naked though, and she wouldn’t mind seeing him again.

But it would be a bad idea. An epically bad idea.

Sucking in a deep breath, she dunked herself.

Underwater, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out twigs and grass and a surprisingly large rock. She rubbed her face and neck, then she stayed there, submerged and unmoving, letting the shallow river rinse the sweat and grime from her body. She hadn’t had a shower in weeks, not since she was first taken into custody, and despite the exhaustion in her limbs and the chilly water, it felt good to be clean again.

She rose when her lungs first began to feel the strain of holding her breath. She heard Rykus behind her, felt him move closer. Once again, she had to fight not to turn.

Her hair moved. He lifted it to find the small braid that rested underneath it all. His breath was warm on her shoulder. He let the braid slide lightly through his fingers.

“Why do you wear this?” he asked. He was close. If she leaned back just a fraction, she’d press against him. She’d feel him. She’d learn whether the cold water affected a certain part of his anatomy or whether she did.

And he’d probably tear into her, going off about her insolence and recklessness in a combat situation.

Probably.

“You ordered me to,” she said, keeping her tone light and flirtatious to hide just how much she wanted him to move closer. It was a ridiculous need. She was under his control, and he had a code of ethics. Even if he wanted her—and she acknowledged that her emotions and thoughts were so screwed up that he might not—he wouldn’t cross that line with her.

He didn’t respond to that, not even with a noncommittal grunt. Instead, he turned and splashed out of the stream.

Ash couldn’t help it. She glanced over her shoulder and took in his perfectly sculpted back and ass. He had strong, wide shoulders. His left shoulder was scarred from the injury that had almost taken his life a decade ago, and bruises and scrapes decorated his skin.

Bruises and scrapes and a bullet wound she couldn’t see from this angle.

Bruises and scrapes and a wound that was her fault.

A strong, almost debilitating wave of guilt moved through her. He was her fail-safe. The programming that made her obey him also urged her to protect him, and even though she told herself the feelings—the worship, the want—were the results of the loyalty training, it didn’t make them go away. It didn’t make them any less potent.

Rykus shook out his clothes and dressed with his back to her. She waded out of the water and did the same. The stolen uniform was still stained and dirty, but she didn’t have time to rinse it out and let it dry. Even if the soldiers who’d killed Hagan didn’t come searching for their bodies, Ash didn’t know how much longer she’d last. She’d never felt so weak before, not even as a starved and beaten child on the streets of Glory.

Rykus waited while she dressed, his back to her.

“I’m ready,” she said, fastening the last button.

He nodded once, then led the way east without even a glance in her direction. She ignored the stab of disappointment, told herself it was a good thing he hadn’t looked at her. If he had, he would have seen how much her hands were shaking. He would have seen how hard Ephron’s gravity pressed on her shoulders.

Drawing in a breath, she gave herself a few seconds to get her body and mind into a combat state, then she soldiered after him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE SOUND OF falling rock echoed off the walls of the DFC. Rykus stopped in the thin forest at the bottom of the canyon and glanced behind him. Ash had stopped moving as well. He motioned her to stay where she was; then he eased to the edge of the tree line.

The cliff—and Ash was right, this was a canyon, not a valley—stretched toward the smoke-smeared sky. It wasn’t as steep as it had been before, but it was still a rocky, sharp incline. Since he and Ash had started walking, they’d heard a dozen small avalanches. If the soldiers decided to pursue them, they would have a warning.

And if he and Ash decided to scale the DFC back to the top, the soldiers would have that warning.

He leaned his shoulder against a tree and slowly scanned the cliff. No movement. At least none that he could see.

“I wonder if they think you’re dead,” Ash mused behind him.

It was a nice, almost believable fiction. The Coalition’s resources were stretched thin, millions of people were hurt and homeless. The pursuit force could have been reassigned to search-and-rescue operations.

“It would be ironic, wouldn’t it?” Ash continued. “The pursuit force declares you dead. You show up again later, maybe at your second funeral.”

After one last scan of the wall, he moved back into the deeper shadows of the forest. “They don’t think we’re dead.”

“This funeral might be even more spectacular than the first,” she continued. “The mourning would last for weeks. They’d name a capsule after you. Or a planet, that would be—”

“Ash.”

She stopped, eyebrows raised as if asking an innocent question. When his expression didn’t change, her shoulders slouched. “How long until the ambush?”

He wanted to say something that would bring back her light, teasing tone, but Ash knew the reality of their situation, and she’d never needed to have the truth coated with lies.

“I don’t know.”

She turned her head to the right, the direction they’d been heading. “We should separate.”

The suggestion felt like a punch to the chest.

“That won’t accomplish anything,” he said.

“I’ll throw the pursuit force off your trail.”

“We’re staying together.”

“It would be better—”

“No.” He took a step toward her. “We’ll keep a look out for the ambush. If a stone or a blade of grass is out of place, we’ll retreat and reroute. We’ll stay together, and we’ll keep moving until we reach the city.”

“I won’t make it to—” She snapped her mouth shut.

He kept a grimace from his face, but inside his heart flinched. She wouldn’t make it to Ephron City. That’s what he feared.

He reached for her, but she turned and walked away.

Rykus’s hand fell to his side. Ash’s armor was cracking. She was doubting her abilities, doubting herself. If she kept doing that, she wouldn’t make it.

He jogged to catch up with her. “A new sentient-class ship.”

She threw a frown his way.

“That’s what I want dedicated to me at my next funeral.”

A smile shattered her grim expression. Something loosened in his chest. With a hand on her lower back, he kept her moving forward. He’d do whatever it took to keep her morale up, her thoughts focused on their goals, not on their obstacles.

“That would be one hell of a ship,” she said. Then, after a long pause, she added, “I think I’d like to study it.”

That was the type of ambiguous, almost innocent comment that had gotten Ash into trouble so often during her training. He put on a tough, unamused glower now.

Her smile grew, just as he’d known it would.

He took his hand off her back but stayed close. Whenever her steps slowed or faltered, he spoke to her quietly. They exchanged memories of Caruth, of their time in the Fighting Corps, of random missions that had nothing to do with telepaths, teammates, or treason.

Another hour passed. Twenty more until the lockout code on his comm-cuff expired. Maybe they could find a place to hide and wait. Ash was looking better. She might have more time left than they thought. It had only been a little over three weeks since her last booster. Most anomalies didn’t experience severe withdrawal symptoms until four or five weeks had passed. They might be worrying about nothing.

Or they might be worrying about something.

He peered through the trees at the cliff again. It was less than a hundred meters high here. Still a long, loud climb. Hard to tell if that would be more risky than walking into an ambush. If he had a choice, he’d…

He squinted at the cliff. A narrow, dark shadow stretched from top to bottom.

Ash was watching him. He motioned her to follow, then stopped before they reached the edge of the thin forest. A few paces away, the tall shadow became a crevice.

“Can you climb?” he asked.

She stared at the fissure. It was damp from a recent rain. No guarantee it would be scalable all the way up, and no guarantee Ash could handle it.

Her eyes went to the top, scanning the brim of the DFC. Jaw set, she nodded in a way that told him yes, she was choosing this option.

Together they sprinted from the trees to the shadow at the base of the wall. They both fit inside the crevice with room to spare for a third person. Rykus spotted a number of possible handholds, and several meters above their heads, the crevice narrowed. They’d each be able to brace their feet and back against the two walls and shimmy up. It wouldn’t be easy though.

The barrier he’d erected between his mind and his bruised and battered body cracked. His shoulder ached, his back and ribs. Ash was in worse shape than he was. This might not be the best idea.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She found a small crack in the wall above her head, then pulled herself up.

Or tried to. Her hand slipped, and she fell back to the ground with a curse.

He watched her hands shake. The left one was swollen from her pinky to her still raw and injured wrist. Damn it, she wasn’t going to be able to do this.

“We’ll keep going,” he told her.

She shot him a cutting glare. “Until we hit the ambush? No. I’ve got this.”