Storm Front: NA Fantasy/Time Travel (Tesla Time Travelers Book 3) (21 page)

“No.” I already know all those stories. I want to know what he was like as a boy. We’ve never had time for pillow talk and I want it now, want him to share all those things made him the man I love. He scoots his chair closer and curls his other hand around my forearm and draws it close, then tucks my fist tight against his chest. My eyelids flutter sleepily as the pain finds an ebb I can manage.

“My first boat was a ridiculous thing. A boy’s ship.” He smiles fondly. “But I loved her and did my best to keep her seaworthy. On this day I’d gone well beyond the boundaries and fishing vessels, needing to test both my own limits and those of my ship.”

“How old were you?” I want to imagine him as a young boy, sandy-haired, wiry and eager to take on the world. 

“Eight or nine.” He smiles broadly.

I return it and tuck my good hand beneath my cheek, settling into the story, comforted by his presence. I don’t want to fall asleep but my body is dragging me under so it can work on my wound. My lightning pulses through me, calling to me, reminding me the solution to my pain is one simple arc away into an alteration. But pain is a small price for this moment between us—his gentleness, his stories, his strong fingers curled around my arm and the swell of his chest against my skin, the security of his fingers threaded through mine. I sweep my thumb across the tip of his, rubbing it back and forth slowly, letting his nail slice across my fingerprint, changing the makeup of my identity.

“That summer had been a stormy one and another threatened on the horizon, but I knew we could handle it, my boat and me. I sailed across the chop until I could see not a single fishing vessel. I stood at the bow, wind tugging at my clothes and my hair. That is the part I love most about sailing, misleading feeling of weightlessness when the sea below and the sky above collide, lifting the boat over the swells then tipping her over the backside. I have yet to find a similar feeling.” He drops his head and brushes his lips against the back of my hand. “There are moments you make me feel way...” He looks at me. “Expecting the heady drop down the backside of a wave. It’s… curious.”

I always feel way around him but my tongue is too thick, my breathing too shallow to answer. I squeeze his fingers and he returns to the story.

“My boat and I had found a rhythm in the waves and I’d lost myself in the purity and simplicity of being a man against the sea. I sailed for hours, closer to the darkness, but within my limits. I lost sight of land, but didn’t worry I could find my way home again. Then, in the middle of a great sea, the wind quieted and the waves abated. As my mast no longer fluttered, I stood facing outward, gazing upon a sight unlike anything I’ve seen since. The dark clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight split the sky and sea, then the golden ray sliced through the middle of my boat, still waters around me. I was filled with a calm could only have come from the sea, one mirrored the desires of my sailor heart. That sight, feeling, everything about day has become the moment I recall when I seek peace and clarity—that vision, calm, oneness with my future and who I was in moment. I don’t have many of those things in my life, but in moment, the heavens gifted me with a treasure I’ve never forgotten.”

He lifts my palm to his cheek and flattens it against his skin. His stubble pricks my hand. “Having you at my side, watching you save my men, fearing now for your health… These are all moments will stand with one.”

There’s so much I want to say. So many things I want to tell him about who we’ve become to each other, how much I love him—how much I will always love him.

“I fear we have little time left. I fear once you and your sorceress have your battle… it will be the last I see of you. That thought pains me a great deal.”

I stroke his face, push a chunk of hair out of his eyes. Tears spring to mine. Pain and lightning mingle in every cell of my body but I cannot stop touching him. “It's the same for me. Being with you is my greatest joy.” My throat constricts and I can’t say more.

He kisses the inside of my hand again, then curls it, trapping the kiss inside and setting it gently on the bed. “Rest.” He sighs heavily. “Rest.”

He stands, and kisses my temple, lingering there for several heartbeats, his warm breath stirring my hair.

My eyes flutter closed and my will to stay awake succumbs to my lightning’s need to heal me.

Sleep comes in fitful stretches as the pain wakes me and my lightning knocks me back out. Finally, I wake feeling better, and groggily look around the room. Constantine's chair sits in the corner, empty, and sunlight filters through the room like it's early afternoon.

I rotate my shoulder slowly, tensed and prepared for the spike of torture as my nerves wake, but it's lessened this morning, like the lightning had a chance to repair my body as best it could without arcing. I ease upright, careful, to move as little as possible. No angry slashes of pain cross my body though the lightning inside still knits me together, repairing muscle fiber, tendons, and nerves.  

I'm sore but will last a few days at most. I’ll take it. It’s far better than if I had to rely on his ancient medicine. Other than the chair, table, and bed, there’s nothing in the room save a few linen scraps. My T-shirt is gone, cut away by whoever stitched me up last night. I glimpse at the bed and run my hand across the sheet. It's not exactly fighting apparel, but it will work to go find Constantine, or to at least make it back to his place.

I ease upright, taking the sheet with me. The blood rushes to my head and I have to grab the wall to steady myself. I’m under control after a couple breaths and the pain hasn’t spiked at all. I risk a glance at my back and twist to check it out, but it’s still bandaged. There’s no seepage, making me eager to see how skilled my lighting was at surgery.

But not yet. First I want to find Constantine. I wrap the long cloth over my good shoulder, cradling my injured arm against my ribs. Tying a knot one-handed is out of the question, so I settle for tucking the end beside my left breast and pinning my arms to my side to keep it from coming unraveled. The linen is scratchy against my skin, but it’s better than running out there naked.

The cold floor is brisk against my feet, but I don't care and hurry out to the training field, eager to find him and his men.

He and Janus are alone on the training field. I pause to catch my breath, overexerted from the short walk. My shoulder is sore but apparently when my lightning has to heal my body this way instead of in an arc, it takes a serious toll on the rest of me. I lean against the building at the edge of the training ground and watch them spar.  

Both men are bare to their waists, wearing nothing more than their short training skirts. Janus is not a small man, but beside Constantine he looks like a teenager. Their bodies glisten in the afternoon sun, muscles sweaty and pumped from the exercise. Constantine lifts his sword over his head and attacks. Janus parries, making their swords clash in a loud ring echoes across the nearby buildings.  

He's angry today, attacking with a fierceness he usually reserves for the battlefield. Angry at what, I wonder? I could certainly blow off some steam and if he's been thinking about the same things I have, then it's a pressurized mixture of my leaving, Penya’s arrival, and the losses we took last night. If our future alteration still stands, then Viriato's attack is all boiling over now, on the field. They work each other hard, swords clashing, bodies pushing against each other, all punctuated in grunts and yells.  

Beneath the raw fighting, there's also a poetry to their motion, a beauty in both their footwork and their swordplay. The sharp noises blend and I’m mesmerized by the movement of his body, the roundness of his muscles as they flex, the warmth of the sun, and the tickle of the grass beneath my feet. This is a stolen moment and one only afforded me because of my injury, but I take full advantage of watching him as long as I can, hoping he won't notice me until they're done.

 Janus stumbles and Constantine steps back, lifting his sword into the air and spinning hard to the right.

“Apologies,” Janus says, getting his feet under himself. “Go again.”

“No.” Constantine holds up his hand. “It's no use. My brain is thick with thoughts. I had hoped sparring with you would exorcise them.” He claps Janus on the shoulder. “Good fighting today.”  

“And last night.”

Constantine sighs. “Yes. Last night could have been far, far worse.”

Janus glances over at me and drops to a knee in supplication. I laugh and shake my head, then walk over to meet them. “Get up,” I say softly, drawing out the words. He rises and I grab his hand. “None of that, Janus. None of that. We
all
fought bravely.”

“How's your shoulder?”

“What are you doing out of bed?”

The men ask at the same time and I answer Janus's questions first. “I’m feeling better, thank you.”

“I could use some clothes,” I tease them both.

Janus inclines his head. “I will see to it.”

“Thank you.” I smile sweetly, then turn to Constantine as Janus leaves. “I woke alone and came to find you.”

He steps closer and I inhale the scent of him, musky and all man. “You should be in bed.”

“I’m feeling much better, thank you for asking. Where are the rest of your men?”

“Away. Into town for a day of rest.” He scowls, a deep line forming between his brows. “How are you upright? That wound would have kept most men abed for weeks.”

I turn and give him my back. “It healed well last night.”

“Let me see.” He steps closer and his breath warms my skin. I bite my lip, only mildly embarrassed I’m standing out on the field in nothing more than a sheet and he’s about to touch me. This has looked so different in the past, but I’m not about to tell him no. His fingers graze my shoulders and he removes my bandage.
 

“That’s not possible,” he whispers.

I crane my neck to get a peek, but he pushes on my cheek and makes me face forward. I turn enough to watch him rub his temple. “You were badly injured.” He scowls. “I don’t…”

I turn and press close. “Goddess, remember?”

“Difficult to forget.” He brushes my hair off my forehead.

“My lightning did it while I slept.”

He frowns, not as happy about as I though he’d be. “Had I known, I would have worried less.”

My fingers curl into his waistband out of habit. His eyebrows lift, but I forge ahead and don’t pull them back. “You were worried? About me?”

“Yes,” he says with finality, like the discussion’s closed.

“Why?”

He stiffens and looks away. The motion pulls his clothes tight, binding my fingers. Neither one of us points out the fact I could wiggle them and graze something important. I didn’t mean to do it, but I wanted to comfort him… I want to when he’s stressed like this. Touching him is as natural to me as breathing.

“I care about you.” He looks down at me and slides his hands slowly along my neck, letting his fingertips come to rest against my spine. “You’ve come to mean a great deal to me in your short time here. I don’t want anything to happen.”

“And you blame yourself for last night, don’t you?” I should have known… He’s always so quick to blame himself when things go wrong. He protects the ones he loves, always has. It was his guilt fueling his anger on the field, not his disappointment about me leaving—but he failed to save me…
 

I hurry to soothe him. “I tend to be reckless in my actions. There was nothing you could have done to prevent my injury.” I tug my hands free and hold them in the air, unsure where to put them. He solves my dilemma and presses them against his heart. It beats strong beneath my fingertips… like always. I bite my lip and force my eyes not to swoon closed. My breathing quickens. This is a bad, bad idea. “I’m almost healed, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”

His intense gaze roams my face, heating my skin. I shouldn’t be standing so close to him naked, let alone touching him. I keep thinking Janus is going to show up any second with my clothes and I only have seconds left in this sacred, stolen space. He rubs my lower lip with his thumb. “Would you stay? If our circumstances permitted it?”

I smile. “But they don’t, so answering doesn’t help us, does it?”

“Tell me,” he whispers.

“I would.” My fingers tense. “Every night.” I brush my thumb lazily across his skin. “But I’m going to have to leave soon.”

“I broke my engagement.”

“What!” I step away, dropping my hands. “Why? What the hell were you thinking?” I’m shocked and can barely catch my breath.

He scowls and crosses his arms. “You treat it the same as marriage, and I don’t want it between us while you’re here.”

Wow. Just… Wow. I run a hand through my hair, making the sheet slip. I yank it back up and secure it tighter. My heart is pounding and I’m wrestling with what he’s admitted. “When?”

“Last night after I left you. I sent a messenger.” He frowns and spreads his feet, taking a sullen posture. “I thought this would please you.”

“No. I mean, yeah… kind of. But you
have
to marry her.” I shake my head and pace, struggling with how to undo this. I’ve seriously gone and fucked up history-slash-our future now. We didn’t have sex and it still screwed things up. “The future depends on your daughter—” My breath catches at the mere thought of him having a daughter with someone else, but about Camaria and Nikola and how critical she is to giving his work the breath and attention it deserves. “Your daughter is so, so vital. Her offspring becomes one of the most important scientists in history—the future.” I move away. I didn’t expect him to go to to extremes like so we could hook up. He’s such a
man
sometimes.

He huffs. “Thank you would have sufficed.”

I sigh and return to him, but I don’t touch him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” I wet my lips. “Don’t think I don’t want to let you haul me back to your place and…” I stop because I already don’t have any willpower, there’s no point in egging him on. I curl my hands into fists, really wishing I was fully dressed. His frown is dark and I’m not sure how to put us back to rights. “It was a wonderful gesture.” I swallow. “Thank you.”