PART TWENTY SEVEN

Tess shifted where she sat on Max and Liz’s bed, staring up at Max as he paced before them anxiously. Liz sat stiffly beside her, back perfectly straight, her hands resting lightly on her knees. But Tess knew Liz felt anything but calm—she’d learned her body language extremely well over the years, but more than that, Tess could almost taste the fear radiating from her.

"Max, this is a risky, foolish plan. I…I can’t be part of it," Tess argued, her voice tight. "And frankly, as your second, I have to take a strong stance on this."

"As my second?" Max’s voice rose slightly as he halted in front of her, and she saw his eyes flare a bit. Tess realized that somehow he’d taken her remark as a challenge to his authority, as if somehow she were trying to undermine him.

"I haven’t emphasized that fact often, Max," She explained quietly. "I’m doing it now because I think the situation calls for it."

Max’s expression softened immediately, as he blew out a heavy, thoughtful breath. He remained quiet a moment, his eyes searching the room around them, until he glanced down at her again.

"Don’t you want him back?" Max’s voice was barely more than a whisper, gentle, as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

Tess instantly dropped her head, unable to meet his intense gaze, as she felt tears sting her eyes.

Didn’t she want him back? More than her next breath, more than life…her entire body ached with how much she wanted Marco McKinley back.

Tess studied the backs of her hands as she thought how best to respond to his question. "You know the answer to that," she finally stated quietly, her voice catching. "You know how much I want him…but not if it means your life, Max."

Liz sucked in a sharp breath beside her, and one glance in her direction revealed just how upset she really was. Her face had paled, and she chewed her lip so hard Tess couldn’t believe it didn’t bleed.

"I can do it without putting myself in danger," Max explained quietly, his eyes darting between them both, eager for their acceptance.

"You can’t." Tess stated firmly, running her hand down the length of her ponytail.

Max squatted just in front of her, so that they were eye level. "We can study their patrols, and figure out when he’s approachable." His words spilled out in a rush, full of emotion. "I won’t be involved in that part, and I won’t try to make contact before we’re certain when its most safe."

"Max, does it occur to you that he’s there for a reason? That he’s trying to accomplish something?" Tess questioned, leaning forward toward him. "We don’t know anything about how he got there, or why."

"He’s there because I ordered him to leave us…me…all of us," Max stammered, wiping a hand across his eyes, and for the first time Tess truly realized just how much he had suffered over his actions that night months ago.

"No, Max," Liz interjected gently. "He left here because you ordered him to. But he went there for some other purpose, and Tess is right…we don’t know what it is yet."

"You know, the problem here is that you and Marco are so damned much alike," Tess announced, because it had suddenly hit her with startling clarity. "Marco left and wouldn’t return because he blamed himself."

"Because of me…because I ordered him to," Max corrected heavily.

"I’m not so sure about that, Max," Tess answered. "I think it had more to do with his own self-accusation about what had happened. Just like your killing yourself with blame right now."

"Thank you," Liz exclaimed with a sigh, her posture relaxing as she nodded in agreement with Tess.

Max dropped his eyes to the floor. "I can fix this."

"Maybe part of how this gets fixed, is if you trust him," Tess offered softly. "Trust him to be safe…to uphold his vow…let him do what he obviously felt he needed to do for you."

Max blew out a heavy breath, and stepped away from them, and suddenly seemed so weary—a bone-deep, long-term kind of exhaustion. "I can’t fight you both," he complained, running a hand through his hair as he turned back toward them, but a faint smile played at his lips. "Well, yeah, actually I can, but I don’t want to."

Tess smiled in return, and when she glanced at Liz was relieved to see that all the tension had left her delicate features.

"That’s because you’re a smart king," Liz teased softly, tipping her chin up toward Max.

"A smart king who just got his ass kicked by his queen and his second in command," Max laughed wryly.

"Like I said," Liz teased. "Smart king…one who realizes the women in his life know what’s best."

They laughed softly, and Tess was glad to share the moment with them—but secretly her heart was was still heavy--because while she hadn’t been willing to risk Max’s life to accomplish it, she ached to have Marco back.

Marco stood staring through the dirty windowpane of his makeshift bedroom into the wintry night. An icy rain pounded the warehouse rooftop, a sharp metallic sound, like bony fingers rapping incessantly--a lonely, hollow cadence to match the heaviness in his heart. It was a black night, and the only illumination in the gravel parking lot beyond his window emanated from a small security lamp, one which hung suspended from a tall wooden phone pole. The lantern rocked beneath the driving storm, illuminating the sideways pattern of the falling rain. The only shocking thing about the storm was that it hadn’t turned to snow yet, or even ice, but apparently the temperature hovered just above freezing.

Marco sighed heavily, folding his arms across his chest, as he continued to stare out into the dreary blackness. At least the rain had saved his people one last time, but he knew the reprieve would be short lived. The whispered rumor among Nicholas’s men was that Khivar would be in camp next week at an undisclosed time--and Marco knew from Anna’s past intelligence reports that he never made an actual physical appearance, so he found this impending visit quite disturbing. Especially because Nicholas had indicated earlier in the evening that Khivar had ordered an attack on Max’s camp within the next few days, outlining two very succinct goals for the assault--assassinate Max Evans once and for all, but not before learning the location of the Granolith. Khivar insisted that the resistance had gone too far in taking out so many of his men in the past months. And now Max would pay…and heavily.

Marco shivered at the thought, and was again thankful for tonight’s torrential downpour, because it had delayed their planned offensive. Marco turned back toward the small space heater that sat in the middle of the tiny, dingy room he’d been sleeping in all these months. His "bedroom" consisted of nothing more than a small, dirty mattress thrown on the floor, along with a blanket, and the space heater. And it was always so bone-chillingly cold, especially tonight with such dampness in the air. The abandoned warehouse where they’d holed up certainly didn’t have any heat—and he was one of the favored ones, since Nicholas had allowed him the small, portable heater. And that at least provided its scant red lighting, since his room was dark save that illumination.

Marco reflected that he’d never felt so homesick in all his life, which was pretty ironic since he’d often felt like a man without a home. Not without family—his unit had served that purpose for as long as he could remember—but without a true home. And now the one place he’d always most identified as sanctuary had been found out by the enemy, and Marco realized he’d probably never hike those mountain paths again, never sit on the front porch of the cabin and just breathe in the fresh country air.

He wondered why he hadn’t truly appreciated the quality of life Serena had insisted on for all of them, had fought for…decent food and clothes, even all the damn CD’s he’d wanted. In contrast, his new world consisted of cold, canned food and was wholly void of music, which simply underscored the emptiness of it all. At times he could only press his eyes shut and try to recall a random Bob Dylan or Neil Young song, or even Donovan for that matter--anything, but the endless void of being around these people. Since the first night he’d arrived here, his soul had been filled with nothing but silence.

But worse than that was the depression that had begun to slowly haunt him, simply from his constant exposure to the emotions he sensed within them all. He’d now spent more than four months living among the truly soulless—and it had been like living on the edge of a vast black hole. It was the very opposite from his trouble with Max and Liz’s bond, because now he couldn’t form a tight enough emotional fortress against the sheer lifelessness of these people.

He collapsed on his small pallet, and began unlacing his combat boots—Nicholas insisted they all dress in camouflage fatigues and military attire. At the moment, he just wished he could wrap his beloved black parka around himself, because it was so damn cold. But he’d hardly planned ahead that night he’d fled in August…no, that hadn’t been thought out at all.

And he wished he could wrap Tess tightly within his arms…ah, how she’d warm his soul, his body….all of him, inside and out, and then all the deadness he’d grown accustomed to would just be pushed aside. His eyes fluttered closed, as he stretched his socked feet in front of the space heater, and conjured the memory of her scent. Of her taste.

If Tess were here, she’d re-ignite his soul in the space of a mere heartbeat.

God, if by some miracle he ever found himself within Max’s camp again, he wouldn’t repeat his mistake—he’d make Tess his own, even if it killed him. No more fighting, no more resisting. Just him begging her to be his bonded mate for life, to forgive him for having so foolishly denied what was more than obvious.

Because if he’d doubted it back then, the dreams had taught him differently these past months, had drummed out his destiny with startling clarity--the endless, haunting dreams, shifting somewhat each night, but always with the same message.

She was his called mate.

****

Tess lay in bed, staring up at the smooth wooden planks that formed the ceiling of her bedroom. Her room was dark, save the eerie red glow of her alarm clock, and the glow it cast across the ceiling--it was well past eleven p.m., but she couldn’t sleep at all. For one thing, she had late night patrols, and even though she should be able to grab a good three hours sleep, she never slept well on nights when she was on split shift. That’s what they called it when they worked the three a.m. to seven a.m. corridor, because it "split the night." She hated split shift with a passion, because it was without question the loneliest sliver of nighttime.

Liz called it the Circadian Trough, the point occurring twice in each twenty-four hour cycle when human energy ebbed at its lowest—a time typically associated with the four a.m. corridor. And known statistically as the most common time of death among the terminally ill. A creepy, unearthly time, when even hybrid energy dipped low, and when often out on the trail, Tess felt unseen eyes upon her--eyes that didn’t exist, because she couldn’t locate anyone in her night vision goggles.

It was the sort of sensation she would have loved to discuss with Marco, to see if he thought there was anything to the impressions, wondered if his intuitive side might be able to offer more explanation.

Mostly, she hated split shift, because it was so still and silent in the woods, it left room for only one other person, one other thought. Marco. It was the time when she ached for him the most, and in some ways, felt oddly connected with him, too—as if the sheer void of nighttime drew them closer together somehow.

Tess reached for her alarm clock, turning it toward her. It was only 11:18, even now. She placed the clock back on the nightstand, and rolled onto her side, shutting her eyes.

Tonight’s patrol would be worse than usual, because it had been raining all night, the water draining down the mountain paths in flood-like proportions. Riley had been kind enough to ask if she wanted him to cover her shift tonight, but she’d declined his offer—it was important that she never back down from any situation, no matter how demanding or treacherous.

She never wanted any of them to see themselves in a subservient role, simply because they were their protectors. They were all soldiers fighting together within the resistance, and she’d been made keenly aware of potential social distinctions from the story Serena had told her about Marek and Ayanna. She wasn’t any less of a soldier because of who her family might have been on Antar at one time, anymore than because she was a woman.

Tess rolled over in bed again, and determined to get at least a little rest before her alarm clock chimed at 2:30 a.m.

***

Sleep had enveloped Tess quickly, wooing her into its sweet arms…into his strong arms, just as it did almost every night. She stood on the rocky promontory just outside the pod chamber, watching a distant storm move across the desert, flashes of lighting striking, sky to earth. The wind had picked up, and her hair caught in the breeze, wrapping loose tendrils around her face…soft rain began to pelt her skin, but she couldn’t leave.

Things were unfinished…he hadn’t come.

And then she felt him slip surprisingly behind her, his large dark hands encircling her small waist.

"Did you think I’d forget?" He whispered in his familiar, throaty voice. A smile played at her lips, as her chest tightened.

"I never thought it."

"No, I don’t suppose you would," he breathed, sweeping her hair off of her neck, onto her shoulder in one smooth gesture. She still hadn’t seen him, could only feel his tall form right behind her.

"Ah…" he sighed, lowering his mouth to the nape of her neck, and letting his warm lips just graze the skin there. Yet his mouth seared her skin, even with such a subtle brush against her neck.

She laughed softly, covering his hands where they rested against her body. "What?"

"You know." His kisses moved further around her neck, dangerously closer to her chest.

"Tell me…" She whimpered softly, as his burning kisses met the cool flesh of her exposed skin.

"You grew your hair for me, Ayanna," he finally explained, his voice hardly more than a deep sigh.

"Tess," she corrected softly, reaching a hand to cup his unseen face.

"Same," he murmured. "It’s so lovely…you…you’re all I dream of every night."

She laughed turning to face him now, and was surprised to remember just how tall he really was. He made her feel delicate and feminine just by his very presence, by how dark and smoldering his looks were.

"Marek," she whispered. "My dreams of you are the only thing that keep me sane."

"Marco," he corrected her in a breathy whisper, lowering his lips slowly toward hers, as he pulled her close against his chest. But she held her hand out, stopping him as she gazed up into his lovely black eyes, rimmed with such thick, sooty lashes.

"But I need to know where you are…lately." she explained.

"You know already."

"But why are you there?"

"You know that, too," he laughed gently, combing his fingers through her long tresses. But then his expression changed, darkening as the rain began to fall much more steadily. Suddenly, she realized he was soaking wet—as was she.

He glanced around them, nearly sniffing the desert air, then looked back at her. "You’re in danger, sweet Tess," he explained. "It’s why I’m really here…I’m sorry, I want so much more. But I’ve come to warn you."

"About what?" She asked, feeling suddenly very disoriented and confused.

"Be careful, my love…be on guard."

And with those words, Tess felt an icy hand reach right within her dream and literally yank her out. She bolted up in bed, her heart hammering, and drew in burning gulps of air. She couldn’t breathe at all because this dream had been markedly different. Normally, she couldn’t really remember them afterwards--they were just always the hazy awareness of Marco coming to her, meeting her…loving her.

But this time, she’d heard his warning and it chilled her to the marrow. This dream had been more palpable, more real—as if he’d actually visited her somehow. And the intensity of his final words left her shivering, wishing the dream had come on any other night than this one. She glanced quickly at her alarm clock, not even sure how long she’d been sleeping.

2:08 a.m.

Almost time for her patrol. Damn, she thought, swinging her feet onto the icy floor. And realized she needed to speak to Serena before she headed out, because it seemed that Marco had just issued a warning—whether by design or inadvertently, she wasn’t sure.

But she knew one thing. The two of them had been sharing an intuitive bond for a long while now, and this was something to be taken seriously.

****

Marco jolted awake to the sensation of lips against his own. Not the sweet lips he’d been dreaming of just a moment before, but the lips of his enemy. Of Lonnie. Her face hovered just over his in the half-darkness of his room, her image cast in the eerie red glow of his space heater. His mouth still burned, and he wondered how long she’d been kissing him like that, just kneeling over him on his mattress, her hands planted squarely on both sides of his head. In one motion, he shoved her off of him.

"Lonnie," he roared. "Cut it out."

"Yeah, you told me that before," she complained, sitting up, but still nestled close against his side. "Monk vow and all that."

"That’s right," he ground out. It’s what he’d stood by ever since that night so many months ago, when she’d appeared in the bar, determined to seduce him. He’d made it perfectly clear that night that he might be for sale, but his body definitely wasn’t—despite her many efforts at arousing him.

They had only left him cold.

And one thing was for sure, he’d already hurt Tess enough, the last thing he’d do was indulge in a meaningless dalliance with someone like Lonnie. He was holding out for his soul mate, nothing less.

So, when Lonnie had come to him that night with her empty kisses and explained that they’d been watching the safe house—knew all about it in fact—and that obviously Max had expelled him, Marco had played along. He’d realized in that moment that his king and queen, his unit…his love, were in terrible danger, and that he had only that one chance to act. That the enemy believed he could be bought.

So he allowed himself to be. In theory.

And sold out meaningless information, mislead them at every turn…anything to prevent Khivar from directly attacking the safe house where they all sat like so many sideshow prizes, waiting to be plucked by the first eager taker.

"You listening to me, or what?" Lonnie demanded, tilting her head sideways. Marco blinked a few times, clearing his thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah…I’m with you," he lied, even if those words were the furthest thing from the truth.

"So, up and at ‘em soldier boy," Lonnie promptly with a pretentiously seductive gaze. She ran her hands across his chest, and he wrestled to an upright position, rubbing his tired eyes. He’d been having yet another of his dreams…and been jerked out of it prematurely by Lonnie’s feeble attempts at seduction.

And her efforts paled in comparison to the heavenly place he’d just been, especially because it had felt even more vibrant and real than usual. Tess’s hair had been so long, and the way they’d touched…had been as vivid as if she’d been right in his bed.

"What do you mean?" He asked, running a sleepy hand through his hair, which had been cropped military style, per Nicholas’s specifications for all his soldiers--shorter than he’d ever worn it in his life. Now it was all spiky and slicked back, causing him to look more Italian than he probably ever had in his life.

Lonnie leaned in close to his face, her mouth just a breath away from his own, and he flinched backward, longing to be separate from her unsolicited attentions.

"I mean…tonight’s the night, baby."

Marco’s heart began hammering an erratic rhythm. He’d been so sure the weather protected them all this evening that he’d never suspected this would be the time Nicholas would order the hit.

"You mean…" Marco’s voice came out all choked and unsteady.

"You’re finally going to get your revenge on Max Evans," she smiled in the reddish darkness. "Nicholas says the rain gives a strategic advantage, that they won’t expect anything tonight…so we’re heading out."

Heading out…the words caused Marco to shiver involuntarily. And he wondered if all his training, all these many years—his vows even—had prepared him for what he had to do tonight.

If--in this moment where it most mattered--he could save his king. And he prayed that he was at least half the soldier he hoped he was, because otherwise it would all end tonight.