Allie's War Season Four (49 page)

He must have had a funny expression on his face, because Wreg surprised him again, even as he released his arms. He laughed.

Grabbing hold of Jon’s hand to pull him to his feet, he wrapped his arms around Jon’s body once he had, pulling Jon against him, using strong hands to grip muscles in Jon’s back and neck.

Jon fell into him, into a kind of wordless relief.

Through those few seconds of embrace, Jon could only hold the other man in his arms and hands, hoping like hell he wasn’t imagining this, that nothing would happen to make the world fall apart again before they could have that last conversation with Revik.

Even as the thought hit him, a shiver of misgiving hit Jon’s light.

It was enough to get him pushing Wreg towards the door leading out of the fancy executive office, towards the hallway, towards the elevators...towards Revik.

15

CROSSING THE LINE

REVIK SLUMPED INTO the couch, rubbing his eyes with a hand as he swept the packet of hiri off the coffee table. He hadn’t smoked hiri very often the last time he’d been in New York.

He’d found himself craving them incessantly for the past few months in San Francisco, however.

He didn’t know if the fact that Allie didn’t smoke curbed his own cravings before now, but truthfully, he’d barely thought of hiri as more than an occasional distraction for the past few years––since even as far back as their time together in that cabin in the Himalayas. He couldn’t remember smoking much when he’d been working with the rebels, either, not even when he and Allie had been kept apart by that fact.

The only exception had been the tank. When Allie had been deprogramming him in the tank, he’d wanted to smoke, but rarely when Allie herself had been there, with him.

Now, he couldn’t sleep from craving the fucking things.

Revik cupped his hand around the silver lighter, letting the flame lick the edges of the dark-colored leaf wrapper as he inhaled. Once he had it lit, he dropped the lighter back on the table and leaned into the leather couch, resting his head on the back cushion as he exhaled smoke up towards the ceiling.

Allie was asleep.

She’d been the one to want to come up here. Once they’d gotten here, once they were alone, she’d been as direct with him as she had been that day in San Francisco. More direct, maybe.

He hadn’t been any more difficult to seduce this time, either.

Revik felt his throat close briefly, right before he took another drag off the hiri.

Wreg pinged him only a few seconds before, so at least he had an excuse to be awake.

He could use the distraction...any excuse to think about something other than the sex he’d just had, the confusing mess it had been for him and possibly for her, too. He grimaced at the thought, rubbing his forehead with the hand holding the hiri. He didn’t know if he could take thinking about her end of things, in addition to his own. He didn’t really want to focus too much on the extent to which he might be confusing her, given her current mental state...especially since he didn’t seem to be able to be intimate with her physically without having some kind of emotional breakdown in the process.

Taking another drag of the hiri, he exhaled even as he tried to push it out.

The pain was getting worse, too. Not better, worse.

Revik knew that might continue to happen. Hell, he still didn’t know if he could survive like this, ultimately, with only half of his wife here with him. It might just kill him slower. Or it might leave him in a constant state of deprivation that might be worse.

He had to think about the child.

He knew, even before Tarsi said it aloud, that the child was the only thing that mattered at this point. Cass didn’t matter, not at base. Terian and Shadow mattered only to the extent that Cass did, meaning that they needed to be eliminated if the rest of the survivors of this plague were to have even half a chance.

For Revik himself, negative motivations had never been enough for long. His anger remained, but the hottest part of that had been sucked out of him when Allie opened her eyes. He couldn’t explain to himself why, exactly, or what it meant, but Allie being awake managed to put their child...
her
child...back to the forefront of his mind.

Maybe that had been Allie’s doing, too.

Sighing, he fought to clear his head.

He was exhausted. It wasn’t the telekinesis. He’d felt pretty high from that...hopeful, even. He’d felt like maybe they would actually pull this off.

He knew now that the real source of his optimism had been Allie, though. He’d felt her so much, all through that fight at the airstrip. Some part of him had started to believe she was coming back. When she’d pushed him to bring her up here, that hope had remained. But after an hour or more of being in bed with her, he felt depressed all over again.

She’d been aggressive with him.

Aggressive, but so fucking distant.

She wanted him, but she didn’t seem to notice him at all in that want.

He’d wanted to hit her at one point, the same impulse that had shamed him so much in that house on Alamo Square. He
didn’t
hit her, of course, not this time, any more than he had that first time in San Francisco, but the wanting to do it, the feeling of that violence, made him feel even worse about what he’d let happen between them.

Some part of him even understood where the impulse to violence came from...not from a genuine desire to hurt her, but to bring her back, to force her to see him...to pay attention. It might even be an instinctive pull of some kind, related to their light connection, like when one of his loved ones got put in danger behind the Barrier. Causing them physical pain could sometimes be the only way to jerk them out.

Like Allie had hit him in the past, to get him back in his body, away from the Rooks...away from Menlim or whoever or whatever else had taken his light from hers.

The pain in his chest worsened. He raised his hand to it mindlessly, rubbing the spot, even as he fought to breathe past it.

Fuck. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

She’d been attentive to him...physically, that is...which almost made it worse.

He felt like she’d been servicing him almost...or maybe that he’d been servicing her. She’d undressed him and pushed him to a chair, and...gods, he didn’t even want to think about what she’d done. She’d used things she must have learned from the Lao Hu on his light and body, and he’d been crying by the end, jealous and angry and crying. The sheer irrationality of it, how out of control his mind and heart and light got with hers frightened him.

Now she slept in their bed...the bed they’d shared after their wedding. Only instead of him, she slept with the wire around her neck, likely not even noticing his absence.

Pain throbbed his temples, making him feel sick.

He should eat. Once Wreg and Jon left, he should go looking for food. He’d been forgetting to eat lately, and he knew it would cause problems if he let himself lose too much weight. Maybe he’d hit Jorag up for some time sparring, too.

Wreg would be otherwise occupied.

Even as he thought it, a low tone came from the door to the outside corridor.

Revik rose to his feet, deciding to ignore his relative state of undress.

Hell, he was wearing pants. If they wanted to come over at this time of night, they would have to suck up seeing his bare chest.

The more he thought about it, the more he thought getting drunk might not be a bad move for him tonight.

He unlocked and opened the door, taking another drag of the hiri and nodding to the two men as they walked in, without really looking at either of them. He didn’t wait for them, either, but retreated back to the couch, already wincing and shielding from the pain coming off both of them in a coiling, out of control mess.

Jesus Christ. As if he didn’t have enough of his own shit to deal with right now.

Neither of them spoke, either, but followed him wordlessly to the couch. Then they just stood there, looking down at Revik where he sat. Revik flicked his fingers in the direction of the packet of hiri, as well as the bottles of wine on the counter behind them.

“If you want something, take it,” he said, having to muster an effort to be even that polite. “Otherwise, talk.”

Jon hesitated, glancing at Wreg. Wreg continued to frown at Revik, his dark eyes wary.

“You all right,
laoban?”
he said, his voice reflecting that same wariness.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Wreg said. “What does that mean?”

“Where’s Allie?” Jon said then, looking around, as if noticing her absence for the first time.

Revik felt his jaw clench more at each question. “She’s in the other room,” he said, wishing now he’d gotten the wine while he’d been on his feet.

“Asleep?” Jon said, his voice more subdued.

“Wired,” Revik said, speaking bluntly before he’d thought about how it sounded. Jesus, he sounded drunk and he wasn’t. He could feel from Wreg’s light that the ex-rebel assumed he’d been drinking, too. “Did you two come up here to chat?” Revik said. “Because you picked a pretty shitty night, if so. I was about to get drunk. So unless you want to join me...or at least open the fucking bottle...say what you have to say and get out.”

Wreg and Jon exchanged a look.

Then Wreg walked over to the bar where Revik had indicated earlier.

Looking at the labels of a few of the unopened bottles standing there, he picked one and then opened drawers, rummaging around for an opener. Revik just sat there, watching, his jaw hard as Wreg screwed the corkscrew into the top after cutting off the metal wrap. A few seconds later, there was an audible but soft ‘pop’ as he removed the cork. He reached for the cabinets above the counter then and pulled down a few long-stemmed glasses.

“Don’t bother,” Revik said, clicking his fingers at him. “Just bring the bottle...”

Wreg glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head, giving him a faint smile. His dark eyes remained wary, though. “What are we?” he said, his voice holding a wry humor. “Barbarians? I think a few glasses being dirtied is worth the effort, brother. Especially in these trying days, where we are clinging to civilization with our fingertips as it is...”

Revik gave a low snort, in spite of himself.

His jaw unclenched slightly as he watched the seer pour. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled, fighting to calm down. Stubbing out the last of the hiri, he reached for the packet, shaking out another one.

“Smoke?” he asked Wreg, holding one up as Wreg handed him the fullest of the three wine glasses he’d poured. Wreg gestured a polite assent, trading him for the glass. Jon took the third glass when Wreg handed it to him, but Revik could still feel the younger man’s stare.

“Are you sleeping with her?” Jon blurted.

Revik froze. He turned his head, giving the other man a hard stare. “Is your brain attached to your mouth, brother Jon?” he said.

Jon noticeably reddened. “Probably not,” he muttered. “But no one else was asking. I figured I might as well...”

“What the fuck do you think?” Revik said, his voice just as cold.

“I think you are,” Jon said. Swallowing more of the wine nervously, he made a vague gesture with his free hand as he lowered the glass from his lips. “...I’m wondering why,” he finished, wiping his mouth. “I mean, obviously, you’re not okay with it.”