No'One awoke in an earthquake.
Beneath her, the mattress was all a-jumbling, the great force of the disturbance pitching pillows this way and that, sending covers flying, the cold air barging in against her skin -
Her consciousness quickly redefined the cause of the chaos. It was not the earth moving, but Tohrment. He was flailing beside her as if fighting against ties that bound him to the bed, his massive body jerking uncontrollably.
He'd had that dream again. The one he refused to speak of, and which, therefore, had to concern his beloved.
The glow from the bathroom caught his naked body as he landed on his feet, the clenched muscles of his back throwing hard-lined shadows, his hands curled in fists, his thighs engaged as if he were about to spring forward.
As he caught his breath and got his bearings, the name that was carved into his skin in a graceful arch expanded and contracted, almost as if the female was alive again:
WELLESANDRA
Without a word, Tohrment stalked into the bathroom, closing the door, cutting off the illumination... and her.
Lying in the dark, she listened to the water start to run. A quick glance to the bedside clock indicated it was about time to get up, and yet she stayed where she was.
How many days had she spent in this bed of his? A month's worth. No, two... mayhap three? Time had ceased to have meaning to her, the nights wafting by like fragrance on a summer's breeze.
She supposed he was her first lover.
Except... he refused to take her fully.
Moreover, even after all this time together, he did not allow her to touch him. Nor did he sleep under the covers with her. Or kiss her on the mouth. And he did not join her in the tub or the pool, or watch her dress with lingering eyes... and he did not hold her when they slept.
Still, he was generous with his sensual talents, taking her time and time again to that place of transient bliss, always so careful with her body and her releases. And she knew it pleased him, as well: His body's reaction was too powerful to hide.
It seemed greedy to want more. But she did.
In spite of all the mad heat they called up from each other, in spite of the way he freely fed from her and she did the same from him, she felt... stalled. Trapped in a place that was short of an ultimate destination. Even though she had found structure in her nights working down at the compound, and relief and anticipation every dawn when he came back in health and strength, she was... quagmired. Restless.
Unhappy.
Which was why she had finally requested a visitor to come to the compound this evening.
At least she could make some progress somewhere. Or so she hoped.
Slipping out from the pocket of warmth she herself created, she shivered even though the heating units were on. The inconsistent temperature was one thing that she had yet to get used to on this side - and the only thing about the Sanctuary that she missed. Here, there were times when she was o'erheated, and others when she had a chill, the latter more prevalent now that September had arrived and ushered in with it the early frosts of fall.
As she pulled on her robe, its folds were cold, and she trembled within the fabric's cloying embrace. She made sure she was always dressed whenever she was out of bed. Tohrment had never said as much, but she had the sense that he preferred her as such: As much as he appeared to enjoy the feel of her, his eyes avoided her nakedness and ducked away, too, when they were in public - even though surely his Brothers knew that she stayed with him.
She had a feeling, even though he had said he knew it was her whom he pleasured, that he tried to find his shellan in her body, in their experiences together.
Any reminder to the contrary would be difficult for him.
Slipping her feet into her leather moccasins, she hesitated before leaving. She hated that he was in extremis, but he would never talk to her about it. In fact, lately, he did not speak much when she was around him, even though their bodies were fluent in whatever language it was they communicated in. Indeed, nothing good could come out of her lingering, especially given the mood he had to be in.
Forcing herself to the door, she put her hood up and her head out, looking both ways before stepping into the corridor and shutting him in by himself.
As usual, she left without making a sound.
"Lassiter," Tohr hissed into the bathroom mirror. When there was no reply, he splashed his face with cold water again. "Lassiter."
As he closed his eyes, he saw his Wellsie in that gray landscape. She was even farther away from him, off now in the distance... harder than ever to reach as she sat so still among those boulders of gray stone.
They were losing ground.
"Lassiter - where the fuck are you?"
The angel finally made an appearance over on the edge of the Jacuzzi, a box of Freddie Freihofer's chocolate-chip cookies in one hand, a long-tall of milk in the other.
"Want one?" he said, jogging the calorie payload. "They're right out of the fridge. So much better cold."
Tohr glared at the guy. "You told me I was the problem." When all he got was chewing, he had the urge to feed the whole box to the bastard. At once. "She's still there. She's nearly gone."
Lassiter put the spoil-your-dinner aside, like maybe he'd just lost his appetite. And when he simply shook his head, Tohr had a moment of panic.
"If you've bullshitted me, angel, I'm going to kill you."
The other male rolled his eyes. "I'm already dead, idiot. And might I remind you that your shellan's not the only one I'm trying to get free - my destiny is hers, remember. You fail, I fail - so I'm not incented to fuck with you."
"Then why the hell is she still in that horrible place?"
Lassiter threw up his hands. "Look, man, it's going to take more than a couple of orgasms. You've got to know that."
"Jesus Christ, I can't do much more than I am - "
"Really." Lassiter's eyes narrowed. "You sure about that."
As their stares clashed, Tohr had to look away - as well as reassess any privacy he assumed he and No'One had.
Fuck that; they'd had a hundred orgasms together, so...
"You know as well as I do how much you haven't done," the angel said softly. "Blood, sweat and tears, that's what it's going to take."
Lowering his head, Tohr rubbed his temples, feeling like he was going to scream. Fucking bullshit -
"You're going out tonight, yeah?" the angel murmured. "So when you get back, come find me."
"You're with me anyway, aren't you."
"Don't know what you're talking about. Let's meet after Last Meal."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"You say you want help - well, I'm going to give it to you."
The angel got to his feet and sauntered toward the bathroom's door. Then doubled back and got his frickin' cookies. "Until dawn, my friend."
Left by himself, Tohr briefly considered the merits of punching the mirror - but then figured he might endanger his chances of going out and finding some lessers to kill. And right now? That prospect was the only thing keeping him in his own skin.
Blood. Sweat. Tears.
Cursing, he took a shower, shaved, and went out into the bedroom. No'One was already gone, likely so that she could make it down to First Meal separately from him. She did this every night, even though the show of discretion couldn't possibly fool anybody.
You know as well as I do how much you haven't done.
Damn it to hell, Lassiter probably did have a point - and not just about the whole sex thing.
As he thought about it, he realized he never explained himself to No'One. Like, there was no way she didn't know that he'd had a nightmare again - him popping off the bed like it was a toaster and moody-ing around was a neon sign in the room. But he never talked about it with her. Never gave her an opening to ask about it.
He didn't really talk to her about anything, actually. Not his work out in the field. Not his Brothers. Not the ongoing struggles the king was having with the glymera.
And there were so many other distances that he maintained...
At his closet, he ripped out a pair of leathers, stepped into them, and -
The waistband jammed at his thighs. And when he pulled them again, they stayed put. Yanking them even harder, they... split at the fly into two halves.
What. The. Fuck.
Goddamn pieces of shit.
He grabbed another pair. And ran into the same problem - his thighs were too big for them.
Going through his closet, he checked all his sets of fighting clothes. Now that he thought about it, things had been getting tighter lately. Jackets constricting his shoulders. Shirts ripped under the armpits at the end of the night. Thighgate.
Glancing over his shoulder, he caught his reflection in the mirror over one of the dressers.
Damn, he was... back to the size he had once been. Strange that he hadn't noticed until tonight, but his body, now on a regular feeding schedule, had blown out to its previous dimensions, his shoulders corded with muscle, his arms bulging, his stomach rippled, his thighs swollen with power.
No'One was responsible for this. It was her blood in him making him this strong.
Turning away, he went over to the phone by the bed, ordered up another pair of leathers in a bigger size, stat, and then parked it on the chaise.
His eyes locked on the closet.
The mating dress was still in it, pushed to the rear, hanging where he had put it when he'd resolved to try to move on.
Lassiter was right: He hadn't taken things as far as he could. But, God, having sex with someone else? As in actual sex? There had only ever been his Wellsie.
Shiiiiit... this nightmare he was in just kept getting more "mare."
But, God, that vision as he'd woken up, of his shellan ever farther away... even more faded... her exhausted eyes tortured and gray as the landscape.
The knock on the door was too strong to be Fritz.
"Come in."
John Matthew peered around the jamb. The kid was dressed for fighting, his weapons on, his mood dark.
"Going out early?" Tohr said.
No, I've switched shifts with Z - just wanted you to know that.
"What's wrong?"
Nothing.
What a lie. The truth came out in the sharp edges to the kid's words, his hands forming the positions of ASL with hard corners on the letters. And he wouldn't look anywhere but the floor.
Tohr thought of the messy bed across the way, and the fact that No'One had left one of her spare sheaths on the chair over by the bureau.
"John," he said. "Listen..."
The kid didn't look at him. Just stood there in the open doorway, head down, brows down, body twitching to leave.
"Come in a minute. And shut the door."
John took his time and crossed his arms when he was done closing them in.
Crap. Where to start.
"I think you know what's going on here. With No'One."
None of my business, came the signed response.
"Bullshit." At least that got him some eye contact - too bad, since he promptly stalled out on the reveal. How could he explain what was going on? "It's a complicated situation. But no one's taking Wellsie's place." Shit, that name. "I mean - "
Do you love her?
"No'One? No, I don't."
So what the hell are you doing here - no, don't answer that. John paced around, hands on hips, weapons catching the light in subtle flashes. I can guess.
In a sad way, Tohr thought, the anger was honorable. A son protecting the memory of his mother.
God, that hurt.
"I've got to move on," Tohr whispered hoarsely. "I have no choice."
The fuck you don't. But like I said, it's none of my business. I gotta go. Later -
"If you think for one moment that I'm having a party in here, you're too wrong."
I've heard the sounds. I know exactly how much fun you're having.
As he took off, the door shut with a crack.
Fantastic. This night got any better and someone was going to lose a leg. Or a head.
