Light of Kaska (24 page)

Myelle managed to shoo the other members of the family away, citing a
Materi
conference for their need for privacy. By that time, Rogue and Liss had both caught the grim undertow in the victorious moment and eyed Keza with concern. Myelle escorted them into her private suites, gesturing them to sit around her small kitchenette table while she gathered cups. “Do you want to give them the replay or shall I?” Myelle asked, preparing hot tea for them.

Keza smiled at her mother, grateful for the offer but knowing it would be better if she went over it herself. Like cutting a festering wound to let the pus out. Painful and gross but necessary.

She unraveled the story for them in a dry monotone, staring mostly at her tea or past their heads at the restless ocean beyond the windows. Myelle would chime in occasionally with any thread she might have missed, but for the most part her mother let her tell it. When she came to Chase’s entrance, she hesitated, remembering how he’d stared only at the Magistrate, but his voice…she had
thought
his voice spoke to her.

Clearing her throat, she continued, “Chase came forward as a witness. He told them the claim was legit and the Magistrate believed him, let us all go. On our way out, though, Chase…he made it very clear that he considers Kaska a prison and that I’m to blame for him being stuck here. I think we can safely say—” She took a deep breath, steeling her spine. “That he will be applying his candidacy elsewhere,” she finished carefully, not looking at any of them.

One of them drew a hissing breath—she was pretty sure it was her mother—but no one said anything for a long moment. Then Rogue abruptly rose to his feet. “Don’t worry, sis,” he said, moving around the table to drop a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll fix that.”

“Rogue, what are you—?” But she was talking to thin air. He was gone. Keza looked at the rest of her family and jerked a thumb at the exit in silent question.

Nade shrugged, a faint frown between her brows. “Male bonding?” she suggested.

Liss glowered, a glint of bloodlust in her brown eyes. “Maybe he’ll beat that stupid jerk up.”

Myelle made a disgusted noise and rose to her feet, picking up cups from around the table and placing them in the scrubber. “Rogue wouldn’t be so foolish. The man has a violent record a light-year long. But I for one would love to see the last of him.”

“Mother,” Keza growled in warning.

Myelle turned to face her, lifting cool eyebrows. “He’s hurting my daughter. He’s lucky I haven’t torn him limb from limb by now.”

“Go Mom,” Liss said with a reemerging grin.

“Now, now,” Nade soothed, sitting back and folding her arms across her chest. “We don’t need to go that far. On the other hand, short rations might do that man some good. I can tell you one thing—he’s never eating my
brecaria
again.”

Liss’ jaw dropped, her eyes sparkling with glee. “Vicious! Damn, sis, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Laughter caught Keza by surprise.

Chapter 12

“Man, talk about cutting off your dick to spite your…well, everything else.”

Stryker threw another hard punch at the bag before turning a narrow gaze on Keza’s brother. “Wanna go a round?” he growled.

“Oh, sure, ‘cause I’m an idiot,” Rogue drawled with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow, settling a shoulder against the archway and folding his arms across his chest in a stance of practiced nonchalance.

Harle snickered from the corner he’d currently parked himself in the large exercise room. Stryker hadn’t been able to shake the big man after he’d solicited his help getting to the hearing. He wasn’t sure if it was male loyalty or a prudent need to keep an eye on the ticking bomb. Maybe both.

“Than fuck off,” he snarled, turning his back on the younger man to focus his black rage on the innocent but accommodating punching bag.

“Nade’s right. You’re a hell of a charmer,” Harle commented in a mild tone.

“Looks like he needs to beat somebody,” Rogue said behind him. “Why don’t you step up, Harle?”

Harle snorted. “You’re young. Someday you’ll recognize potential homicide when you see it. The man doesn’t wanna beat somebody—he wants to
kill
somebody. I ain’t volunteerin’.”

Stryker grunted, thinking sourly that the man had been a badge too long. He’d be great company if it wasn’t for his inconvenient intuition. He took his irritation out on the bag.

“Point taken,” Rogue said with a smile in his voice. “Still, he’s got great moves. Maybe we should enter him in the fights—”

Stryker spun, caught him by the shirtfront, and slammed him into the wall before he could finish that thought. Harle didn’t even stand up, just sighed in a resigned sort of way.

Rogue met Stryker’s gaze with wide, mahogany eyes for a moment before a slow grin cut across his face. “Never mind.”

Stryker snarled his disappointment and let him go, stalking back to the bag.

“So anyway—” Rogue started again but Harle interrupted him.

“This is not a good idea, little brother,” he warned.

“Since when are any of my ideas good ones?”

“Exactly, so why don’t you just—”

“Can’t stop now, though. Just getting to the fun part.”

Stryker tried to tune them out, focusing instead on the slide of muscle on bone, the bunch and flex, the power that came all the way from the soles of his feet to drive through his shoulder and into the bag. He tried not to think.

“Kaska’s tits, boy, you got a death wish?”

“I’ve been asked that before,” Rogue answered with a chuckle. “Here’s your answer.” His voice lost all humor. “Stryker, you hurt my sister.”

Stryker froze, catching the bag when it swung back at him. Standing with the thing between his gloved hands, he stared blindly through it and saw Keza’s face, the way she had grown pale and drawn at his words. He knew he’d hurt her. That was why he was trying to kill the damn punching bag.

“Food for thought,” Rogue continued softly. “A prison is only a prison if you think it is. Maybe you should try wanting to be here. See how that works for you.”

Stryker could tell by the whisper of air that the young man had left. Closing his eyes, he dropped his sweaty forehead against the leather.

“Huh,” Harle grunted from across the room. “You gonna go kill him?”

He ignored the big man.

“Kid’s heart is in the right place. But he got it wrong, didn’t he? You already want to be here.”

He ignored Harle some more.

“Connies,” Harle snorted. “Always makin’ things difficult.”

Stryker tried not to take the bait, but the black violence surging through his blood demanded some kind of outlet. He whirled, going still when he saw that Harle was already on his feet, watching Stryker with a wary seriousness that belied his careless tone.

“Decided to volunteer after all?” Stryker asked in a deadly soft voice.

“Only if I have to,” Harle answered, his big body loose and ready. “Just wonderin’ what the issue is.”

“Those people out there are a different fucking species, Harle. Want to be here? Shit, yes! A wolf would love to sit jack-ass in the middle of a flock of sheep. How long’s that gonna last? ‘Bout as long as it takes to gobble up that last sweet little lamb, I’m guessing.”

Harle’s expression turned thoughtful. “Nice metaphor, man.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Stryker snarled, turning back to the punching bag.

“So you don’t think you’ll fit in here.”

“What d’you want me to do, teach the rugrats how to pick pockets and cold-jump transports?”

“Only at parties.”

“Prick.”

“Stop, I’m gettin’ all mushy and teary-eyed.”

Stryker felt reluctant humor tug at the corner of his mouth.

“They’re only askin’ you to do one thing. From what Rogue says, you ain’t exactly reluctant.”

“Fuck myself into a coma. Sure, I can do that. Then what?”

“Uh, wait an hour?”

A snort of humor snuck out before he could catch it and Stryker stopped the bag, staring at the big man.

Harle stared back for a long moment. Then a light seemed to flick on behind his eyes. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of those guys who can’t just relax and do nuthin’. I can find you a job, man, no problem.”

Stryker bared his teeth in a snarl. “I will beat you bloody.”

“Gotta catch me first. Got a better idea. You ‘bout ready to get stinkin’ drunk?”

“Hell, yes,” Stryker sighed.

They ended up in the observatory with a tall bottle of some kind of very potent Kaskan liquor and two shot glasses. Disdaining the benches, they sprawled on the floor with their backs to the stone wall, staring out at the underwater playground. The lights were on, but no selkies made an appearance. Periodically, Harle would ask, “Think they’ll show?” and Stryker would ignore him.

At first they mostly sat in silence, drinking with single-minded concentration and the occasional idle comment. Soon Stryker grew saturated enough to ask Harle how he’d come to Kaska and then listened to the man rhapsodize about how he’d met Rolanade. After a while he interrupted with, “Man, you’re whipped.”

Harle let out a drunken snort of laughter and gave Stryker a lazy punch to the shoulder, which actually hurt for a second before the alcohol took the pain away. “Best damn day of my life, meetin’ that woman. You’ll think so too, after you settle in a bit.”

Stryker stared at him in puzzlement. “Meeting Nade?”

“Keza.”

“Oh,” he said with an exaggerated nod of understanding. “My little farm girl. You know, she smells like sunshine. Tastes like it, too,” he murmured, eyelids drooping and body hardening as he remembered how many varieties of that flavor he’d found on and in her body.

“No kiddin’. I wouldn’t know.”

“Damn right. Better stay that way, too,” Stryker snarled, feeling incredibly hostile toward his drinking buddy all of a sudden.

Harle held up a placating hand. “Got my own. Don’t want yours.”

Stryker subsided with a furious mutter, downing another shot. “They try to come through
her
window and I’ll tear ‘em apart.”

“Who?” Harle asked with a slightly dazed look.

“Horny bastards wantin’ a piece of
Materi
ass.”

“Oh. Well, y’know how to fix that.”

“Yeah. Where’s your weapon storage?”

Harle guffawed and hit him again. He didn’t feel it that time. “I mean get there first, y’knobhead.”

Stryker brooded on that one for a while, watching the light play across the underwater wonderland. “She’s still afraid of me.” His voice was soft and he slurred the words a little, but Harle heard.

The big man was quiet for a long moment before he asked, “Did’ja give her cause?”

Stryker sent him a disgusted look. “What d’you think?”

“Wolf and sheep. Right.” Harle paused then announced quite calmly, “If you hurt her bad, I’ll have to kill you.”

Stryker snorted. “Badge,” he sneered then added, “I’d never hurt her. Don’t beat or rape women. She’s so small, though. Bruised her wrist without knowing it. Won’t do that again.”

“That was the cause?”

“Yeah.”

Harle made a rude noise in the back of his throat. “She ain’t afraid of you.”

“Yeah she is.”

“She’s the dragon’s daughter. It’d take more’n that.”

“You don’t know her. She’s afraid of everything.”

Harle looked at him in surprise. “We talkin’ about the same woman?”

Stryker thought about that for a moment. “She’s different here.”

“I’d say that’s a good thing.”

Stryker considered it and decided he’d say the same thing. With a grunt and another shot, he went back to contemplating the playground. After a while he gestured to it and said, “You know, they fucked it up.”

“Fucked what up?”

“That part there. See, it’s startin’ to lean over. They didn’t reinforce it. I can see why they didn’t just stick a prop under it—ruins the look. But all they had to do was stack ‘em and they’d support each other. Be more fun for the critters that way, too.”

Harle just looked at him.

“Don’t gimme that big dumb face. Open your eyes and look at it.” Stryker staggered to his feet and managed to weave over to the clear front of the observatory. “See, look.” He made an exaggerated pointing gesture and nearly smacked his head against the glass. With patient care, he steadied himself and started over. “Look, that piece there should go up here. Then you could stack that on that thing. Push those two pieces together and you got a bridge. Over that bridge you could keep goin’ with the design. Ain’t finished, y’know.” He paused, eyeing the structures critically. “Don’t know what kinda material they used, but it was too heavy. Built to last, but don’t hold up under its own weight. If you keep goin’ with it, you’re gonna need something with more flex—what the hell are you laughing at?”

Harle was wheezing, he was laughing so hard. Stryker glowered at him, feeling a vague sense of foolishness. Had he just done something stupid? He wasn’t sure. His alcohol-fogged brain was having trouble focusing.

Harle finally managed to gasp, “You’re a builder.”

“Fuck you say,” Stryker retorted in knee-jerk response, alarm zinging through him.

“S’right, fuck I say,” Harle said and burst into another gale of laughter, holding his sides and sliding down the wall.

Stryker watched him for a long moment then muttered something derogatory under his breath before making his careful way across the floor to the bottle of alcohol. Gingerly, he pushed it far out of Harle’s reach. “I’m cuttin’ you off, man.” That was apparently the funniest thing Stryker had ever said. “Get a grip. You’re gigglin’ like a girl,” he complained, sliding down the wall to sit some distance from the victim of alcohol poisoning.

Harle hiccupped and managed to stop snickering, his cheek pressed against the stone floor of the observatory. He gave Stryker a smooshed grin and said, “You’re a builder. Don’t gimme that kill-you look, either. I took you on the tour, ‘member? I watched you look at supports, joists, and struts. You eyeballed layouts and materials and poked your head in closets, for shit’s sake. At first, I thought you were casing, scopin’ for a smash and grab, but you never even looked at the stuff. Then we got up top the house, you looked down, and I swear you came in your pants. You had drool on your face. I had t’damn near crack you on the head to get you to come down outta orbit.”