The Key (26 page)

Even when she closed herself off, she pulsed with life and energy. Chained she radiated angry defiance. Would she someday shuffle around a table like these women, with sad, dead eyes?

He had a moment of repulsion and he almost relented, but even as his will faltered, his desire to have her rose to swamp him. She was different from the others. He would not tire of
her
. She might be a mongrel, and not one of them, but she was the descendent of Miri.

Her gaze followed both women until the door closed them from her sight. Her lashes lowered, covering her eyes, hiding her expression. Something about the set of her mouth reminded him of her throw down. Was she plotting, planning her next move? Surely she must realize there was no move for her to make except to come to terms with him?

“I hope you are hungry. It smells excellent, does it not? This is a rare delicacy on our home world.”

She looked down at her plate, an odd stillness about her that made him suddenly uneasy. “Sara—”

Before he could finish, she swept all of it to the floor between them. He stared down at the mess of food, struggling to keep himself under control.

His voice was cold. “You should not have done that.”

“Probably not.” Her voice sounded flat and strange. “
They
must have worked hard to prepare it.”

He looked at her then. Her expression was hard to read. She took a long, slow breath, but she looked straight ahead, not at him.

“How about we have a throw down? Winner gets what they want?” Now she looked at him, her eyes daring him to take her on.

He was tempted to promise her anything that would get her into that bed and…willing. What if he told her she could go in the morning? Eventually she would learn her future was here, that her past was just that, her past. What could she do if he did not let her go? How would she retreat, once she had given in to him?

Her gaze chilled to deadly again and he found he was again grateful for the restraints holding her in place. Somehow she knew what he had been thinking.

“Yeah, you’re a real hero, aren’t you?” Her gaze swept over him with such contempt, he almost hit her again.

How dare she judge him?

“Whatever it is you think you’ll get from me, you won’t.”

The quiet resolve in her voice…impressed him.

She sat quietly, her body…gathered in. No more tapping fingers on the table top. No more clink of chains. Just that implacable tone to her voice and steely resolve in her eyes.

“You said it yourself in that song. People change.” For a minute he saw her the way she had looked singing it. It had a special meaning for her, he realized now.

“The point of that song pretty much sailed right by your pointy little head, didn’t it?”

He leaned toward her, smoothing back a lock of her hair that had fallen forward, wondering what her life had been like before this. It surprised him. He had never felt this curiosity before.

She jerked her head away from his touch, her body taut with frustration. He could see and feel her rejection of her new life, of him, but he had seen other women sit where she now sat. They had all…adapted. Some took longer than others, but in the end, they adjusted. She would, too. She had no other choice.

“If you will promise not to leave, I will give you time to get used to me…to this. I will help you…adjust.”

“
You’ll
help me? That’s almost funny, you creepy, sad little man.”

“Do not try my patience too far, Sara. There are limits.”

“Or what? You’ll beat me?” She shook her head. “Go ahead. Kill me. I’d rather that than climb between the sheets with you.”

Her eyes convicted him, but of what? Wanting to share his passion with a beautiful woman? Then he was guilty.

“You rant against what you do not know.” Now he believed she had not been with a man. It surprised him that he had not seen it before. Her people’s ways had confused him. “There are many delights to be found between the sheets, as you put it.”

He saw her eyes brighten, either with rage or tears, but if it was tears, they did not spill down her face. Something in her expression made him feel an odd need to comfort her.

“You will get used to this, to me, in time. You do not believe me, but there will come a time when you will beg to stay with me a little longer. They all do…in the end.” In his mind, he heard her begging. For her, he might just give in.

Her voice, her face lost all…animation and he felt her retreat to some place deep inside.

“The end…I don’t have enough life left to get to
that
end.”

It almost seemed like she was not talking to him, but to herself. Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh.

“You make it sound so dreary. I am quite skilled, my other companions—”

Her jaw clenched once. There was a pause, then it clenched again, as if she were biting back a comment. Finally, her jaw relaxed into a smile, but it was one without charm or warmth.

“I’m sure you get honest critiques on your prowess from women who will be turned over to your men if they don’t please you.” She looked at him. “Or even if they do.”

He almost hit her again, but managed to stop himself. It was what she wanted. He would not give it to her. He would lure her out of hiding. He would seduce her into submitting to him. Before he was through, she would hold nothing back from him. Not her body or the key.

Her lashes lowered, hiding her thoughts from him. She would learn not to do that either.

“You will be surprised by what I will give you, Sara. And by what you will give me.”

She hesitated, as if gathering strength, and then her lashes lifted again. He could see that she had found her way to a neutral place, but it had cost her. The strain showed on her face, cutting deep lines around her eyes and mouth, making her face more sharply beautiful.

“There is a story, my people tell, about a holy man, a Jewish zealot.”

He found he was…intrigued. A story? Had a woman ever told him a story before? What did she hope to accomplish? She was up to something. He may not know that much about her, but he knew this.

“He lived a long time ago. His name was Elazar ben Ya’ir.”

The name sounded like a sad song, the way she said it and it softened her mouth again.

“His country was over run by invaders. He and his followers…objected to becoming slaves, to losing their right to choose.”

Her mouth curved up for a moment and she paused, looking at him with a hint of challenge, as if she expected him to speak, to object.

Now they were getting to the point of her story, but did she really think that would change his mind? She did not know him.

But she would.

“And what did they do about it?” Did she realize that by speaking to him, she was already adapting to his presence, to being with him?

“They had prepared for war, gathered arms and stores, and retreated to a fortress called
Masada
.”

The way she said the name, sent a shiver down his back.

She stopped to lick her lips. He thought about offering her something to drink, but had a feeling she would reject that, too. Or throw it in his face, he thought with a slight smile.

“Masada was formidable place, looming high above the Dead Sea. It had both natural and man-made defenses. They were determined not—to
adjust
.”

She paused again, her look pointed. He smiled at her. She did not smile back. When she continued, her voice was slower, almost dreamy.

“From Masada, the Zealots launched raids on the Roman oppressors, hoping to drive them out. But his group was small. All they managed to do was annoy the governor, Lucius Flavius Silva. He gathered a legion of his men and marched against Masada, determined to subdue them. He laid siege for two, long months, but Masada didn’t fall.”

Another look, her brows slightly arched. Adin smiled. He was enjoying the story, but even more he enjoyed the way she looked as she told the story. Did she realize her face had warmed and softened? Each word brought her closer to submitting to him.

“Silva was a stubborn man and refused to concede defeat.”

The look she gave him told him she thought he was like the Roman. Adin was happy to have it so.

“Silva came up with a plan to breach the fortress by building a rampart up to the high wall, so that his men could storm in.”

“And these people just watched?”

She shrugged.

“It was a long time ago. No one knows for sure, but it’s possible that the Romans used Jewish slaves and they didn’t want to kill their own people. For whatever reason, the rampart was eventually finished.”

She stopped and Adin leaned forward, interested in spite of himself.

“Did they go in? Did they storm the fortress?”

He could identify with this Roman as he looked at the lovely fortress he was most ready to storm.

She nodded almost tiredly, her lashes half covering her eyes. “Josephus, who wrote the story down, says of that day,
the Romans…put on their armor…to make an assault upon the fortress, which they did,
but when they got inside there was only,” she paused, “…
a terrible solitude on every side…
”

Adin smiled. “So the people escaped?”

Did she think he would not see the point of the story? Her lashes lifted briefly, her eyes telling him he still did not understand.

“Now I will tell you what happened
inside
Masada on that day.”

Her gaze turned distant, as if she were there, with the zealots.

“
The husbands tenderly embraced their wives, and took their children into their arms, and gave the longest parting kisses to them
…” She paused, as if the story gave her pain. “They were hardly able to bear the grief of what they were about to do.
They then chose ten men by lot out of them…
and the rest of the men
laid…down by…wife and children…and threw…arms about them, and they offered their necks to the stroke.”

Sara lifted her chin, as if she were also offering her neck to a zealot sword.

Adin sat up straight. “They
killed
them?”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, speaking even more slowly. “They cast lots again, for one out of the ten to finish the other nine…
then when…they were all slain...with the great force of his hands
…he…
ran his sword entirely through himself, and fell down dead…
”

“But…why?”

Her head turned in his direction. Her brows arched, as if he should have known the answer.

“They preferred death to…adjusting.”

She sagged back against the high back of the chair, as if she needed the support, as if the effort of telling the story had exhausted her. Her lids drooped low across her eyes and her lips were parted.

“I won’t stay with you.”

The soft murmur of her voice made his insides twist with longing.

“I won’t…adjust…for you.”

So sad, so beautiful. She would learn to smile again. She would forget everything but him, learn to live only for him.

“I will not let you go.” He could not let her go. “Your life is mine. For always.”

A slight smile curved the edges of her mouth, one side still slightly puffy from the slap.

Her head turned toward him, her lashes lifting again. “I’m already gone.”

Now, when it was too late, he realized how strange it was for her to sit so still. He looked at her, a sudden, sharp fear almost choking him as passion was stripped from his gaze. Now he saw the beads of sweat on her upper lip. Her struggle to draw breath. Her struggle to stay conscious.

He saw death in her eyes.

“What have you done?”

He jumped to his feet as she lifted one of her arms above the level of the table for a moment. Blood dripped off her hand in thick crimson rivulets from a gaping gash at her wrist.

“You want my life? Scrape it up off the floor.”

She laughed, but a gasp cut it off. She began to slump sideways and he jumped to catch her. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, in a mockery of the submission he had hoped for. The chains kept him from holding her completely.

He smoothed her hair back from her face. “How did you do this?”

“Like this…”

Her arm bunched suddenly, his only warning before she tried to drive her knife into his heart. She was so weak, it was nothing to stop her. He removed the knife from her fingers and tossed it on the table, his hands sticky with her blood.

…a terrible solitude on every side…

Her lips moved and he leaned closer, his ear near to her mouth.

“…unlock…”

“Unlock…what…” he began when the outpost came to life. He could feel it. “Then you did have—”

A siren began to pulse.

“…oops…”

In between the pulses he heard a voice, a warning voice.

Her lashes lifted for a moment. Her mouth twisted slightly in what tried to be smile. She exhaled slowly and didn’t inhale again.

Gower rushed in. “My leader, we must leave now!”

He eased her back into her chair.

She had found a way to leave him after all.

Maybe later he would be angry, but right now, all he could feel was regret that something so lovely, so vital was gone, and a reluctant respect for her resolve.

It felt wrong to leave her like that, but it would only be for a short time and all of this would be gone. For just a moment he could see her, not like this, but the way she looked when she was dancing that night, the way she looked when she sang, her face lit from within.

He was glad he got to see her dance and hear her sing.

“My leader…”

“Let us leave then.”

* * * *

Fyn stepped out first, doing a quick clearing sweep, then signaled for the others to follow him. They were about halfway down a long corridor. Unlike the lower levels they’d worked their way through, there was light on this level, though not a lot.

“Sir?” One of the Marines held up a cap. “This is one of ours.”

“Then she is here somewhere,” Carey said. He looked down. “No helpful light path to show us the way.”

“We could split up and search—” Fyn said.

Before he could finish, the ground under their feet…hummed and lights flickered all around them, then steadied to a new level of brightness. It was as if the outpost…woke up.