Part 23 (2/2)

”Quiet,” he snapped, and the dog sank to its belly, tail dragging between its legs.

Perrin frowned, patted it more gently on the head, and said, ”You could get hurt.”

”And what do you know about fighting?”

He gave her a long look. Jenny settled back on her heels, holding his gaze. Watching him with that measuring thoughtfulness that made him feel so naked.

”Sorry,” she said quietly. ”I guess you probably know enough.”

”I guess I do,” he said tersely. ”Stop looking at me like that.”

”Like what?”

He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his muscles. ”Like I'm not . . .” Human, he almost said. Which was ridiculous, because he wasn't human. He had never thought of himself as such. Always other. Always outsider.

He didn't want to be an outsider to her.

”Like my humanity is in question,” he found himself saying, instead. Which wasn't much better. The air was too hot, hard to breathe. It was getting to him. So was she. Losing his mind, after eight years of learning how to hold it together.

Jenny was frowning. ”I would never question your heart.”

His heart. Perrin found his feet but didn't stand. Just crouched, tense. ”You look at my scars all the time. I understand that. I would look, too. But each one of them was a lesson learned. How to move faster, see things sharper, hit harder.” He stopped, biting his tongue, and slid away from her through the undergrowth. Needing distance.

The dog followed. Perrin tore his feet a little more, slipping down the hill, but he pushed the pain aside, listening to Jenny catch up, her breath hissing, voice m.u.f.fled as she swore at him. He had not expected her to follow, and he remembered suddenly how dark it would seem to her. How dangerous that darkness would be. She couldn't see as well as he could at night. Not that it was holding her back.

He slowed. Her fingers sc.r.a.ped against his hip, then managed to catch his arm.

”Stop,” she said. ”Stop.”

Perrin leaned hard against a tree. His heart thundered until it was all he could hear, all he could feel-except for her touch, her fingers, tightening warm against his skin. She was so warm.

And when she drew even closer, and pressed her forehead against his arm-resting there, quiet, her breathing ragged-he died a little.

”I don't know how to talk to you,” she whispered. ”I'm always offending you. I know how I feel, in my gut, but the words come out wrong.”

”No, they don't,” he told her. ”You just have the misfortune of talking to someone who is irredeemably dysfunctional.”

A rough laugh escaped her, but it lasted for all of a second. He wanted to hear her laugh again. Her silence was deep, heavy. The dog whined. Pop music played on. The woman had stopped screaming.

Jenny didn't move. Her hand tightened around his arm. Perrin closed his eyes, still dying, and bent to kiss the top of her head. He needed to, more than he needed to breathe.

The need spread, and deepened, flowing through his veins with a heat that made him dizzy, lost. He leaned down again and brushed his lips against her brow. She did not pull away or act afraid, and he took that to heart, sliding his hand up her throat, rubbing the corner of her mouth with his thumb until she leaned harder against him, rising on her toes. Her eyes were closed. With antic.i.p.ation, maybe.

But it felt deeper than that. Antic.i.p.ation was cheap. This was survival. This was a moment on a beach, and dreams, and sacrifice. This was a lifetime of needing to be close to someone who had never been real except in his dreams, so heart-hungry for that dream he had never lasted with any other. Never mind he had been called a fool for that-and worse.

”I missed you so much,” Perrin whispered, and, as her eyes flew open, he kissed her.

Just a brush of his lips against hers. So light, but he felt that touch down to the root of his soul. Heat poured into the hole at the base of his skull, and for one moment-just one-it was as though his kra'a had returned and he was complete again. Heart humming. Aching with all the terrible beauty of life, stretching his skin.

Jenny sighed, loosening her hold on his arm, but not her touch. She pressed her hands against his chest, featherlight on his ribs. Seared him, burned him, pushed him near an edge he hadn't known existed. He deepened his kiss, groaning as her mouth widened, and her tongue grazed his.

The dog barked. They broke apart. Jenny swayed, and Perrin crushed her to his chest. Both of them were breathing hard. He couldn't swallow. Too much heart in his throat.

”I'm losing my mind,” she whispered, breath hot against his skin.

”I'm losing mine,” he muttered, voice torn, ragged. Suffering, again, the pulse of heat at the base of his skull. Not pain, not emptiness . . . but life. Purpose. He wasn't sure what good he could do anymore, but if keeping her alive was all that was left to him, then so be it. She was all that mattered.

Jenny pushed away from him. Not far, but it was enough to steal away all that rich warmth. Perrin wanted to grab her back but forced himself to remain still and harden his heart. Just enough.

”Stay here,” he said. ”Let me go.”

”No,” she whispered, staring at him with haunted eyes. ”I won't do that. Not again.”

Not again. Perrin felt punched in the gut, and suddenly he couldn't stand the idea of letting her out of his sight. ”Stay close, then. You want to free hostages, I a.s.sume. And find a radio?”

”Radio first. We'll help the woman if we're able, but we're not equipped to stage a full rescue. Not without possibly making things worse. I know people who can help.”

Pragmatic. Perrin liked that. It occurred to him that it wasn't just childhood memory and the bond of dreams that made him want her, but the woman herself. Guts and intelligence, and fire. She hadn't lied to him yet, either-though he was an expert with omissions. Perrin studied her face, unmoving. ”You're not saying everything.”

Her mouth opened with a strangled cough, and her eyes focused inward, conflicted. He had the distinct, uncomfortable sense that she was trying to tell him something and couldn't. He held her face in his hands, wis.h.i.+ng he could read her mind. Marveling at the miracle of being able to touch her at all.

The sea witch's face wavered in his memories. All he could recall, with clarity, were her golden eyes.

Look between the two of you for the answers you seek.

Perrin wasn't certain anymore that he knew the questions. Find the kra'a? Learn how to survive and make a life for them both? a.s.suming she even wanted him for life?

”Jenny,” he said. ”What's wrong?”

Defeat flickered in her eyes, and she closed her mouth, jaw tight. Stared openly at him, so much in her eyes he leaned in, closer. He heard her sobs in his mind, and before he could push those memories away, his gut clenched so tight and hard with pain and fury, he felt sick.

”Jenny,” he said again, his voice hard and brittle.

”Don't get hurt,” she said. ”Please.”

He stared. Jenny looked away, as though ashamed. ”If I didn't think someone was down there who needed help more than we do, I would just turn around. No matter what I said earlier. But I can't do that now. So please. Please. Just . . .”

Her voice trailed off. The dog whined at her feet.

But he heard the words. Stay alive. Just stay alive.

”You, too,” he said.

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