Endgame

To March, Loras offers a lazy wave in greeting, his demeanor laced with subtle attitude. He remembers being shinai-bound to March, no doubt. And he’s not thrilled about it though it would be worse if March had been one of those bastards who came to La’heng to pick out a pretty slave. March’s great-uncle held Loras’s bond before; I’ve never asked what sort of man the great-uncle was, or what he did with Loras. I fear the answers.

“Come to join the rebellion?” Loras asks lazily.

“Just for a visit.” But March’s tone reflects regret. It goes against his nature not to fight. He’s a bit quixotic in that regard, always taking other people’s causes as his own.

“You may not remember me, Commander March, but I’m glad I got to see you again, so I can thank you.”

That always astonishes me—that Zeeka claims to recollect what happened to him when we took him—he was so tiny. I wonder if he recalls the pain of his death as well, but I’ve never summoned the courage to ask. It’s enough that he appreciates his second chance, and that he doesn’t blame me for what I did to him.

For once, March is pretty close to speechless. At last he manages, “For what?”

“Caring for me.”

“Anyone would have done the same. I’m glad to see you’re well,” he answers.

I grin, deciding I’ve let Zeeka discomfit him long enough. “Come on, I’ll show you the upstairs.”

“But Sasha…”

“You’ll notice if he gets upset, right? He’s safe with Vel.”

“True. His distress isn’t subtle.”

He follows without protest, the luggage over his shoulder, and I take him directly to my room. When the door swishes shut behind us, he drops the bags and pulls me into his arms. This isn’t a hello kiss, like the one at the spaceport. It’s far more visceral, and I need his touch so desperately that I can’t think. I’m not made for long periods of celibacy.

Neither am I…and it’s been a long dry spell, Jax.

Yeah, those five turns where he didn’t know where I was—in my defense, neither did I—then we reconciled and had to wait another turn. Nobody ever said our path would be easy, I suppose, but it seems to me it’s been harder than most. His kisses drive me until I’m wrapped around him, arms and legs, about to lose my mind.

“Well,” I say aloud. “I could show you the rest of the house…or—”

He cuts in, “I like ‘or.’ I am in love with ‘or.’”

While Sasha is occupied now, he’ll probably come looking for us at the worst possible moment. “We have to be quick.”

March yanks my shirt over my head. “I guarantee that won’t be a problem.”

His trembling makes me believe he hasn’t touched anyone else, just like he said he wouldn’t. I gave him permission, but he didn’t take it. Like me, he’s been focused on other things. No sex, until now.

Yes, there.

He bites down on the curve of my throat. I scramble out of the rest of my clothes, too impatient to let him undress me. March is clumsy in his haste. I can see he’s been working out; his stomach has new definition, and his arms are even bigger than before. I imagine him using fitness machines to sweat out the desire that haunts my own sleep, and he nods, still a quiet warmth in my head.

I can’t go slow. Tell me you’re ready.

My assent is all he needs to bear me back on the bed, touching and stroking with hurried, desperate hands. I dig my fingers into his hard shoulders; and then he’s inside me. He holds there, kissing me ravenously, then his movements begin with unpolished need. His longing fills my head, a blistering, white-hot crackle of desire, until I’m breathless and groaning beneath him. My legs curl around his hips as I urge him faster, deeper, harder, then, for the first time, he leaves me behind.

March arches and shudders, his eyes squeezing shut. I don’t know that he’s ever lost control like this with me before. I’m frustrated, obviously, but also a little moved. He wants me this much. I hold him and stroke his hair, his back, while he gets his breathing under control. A few moments later, he makes it up to me with fingers and lips, and I come undone with a quiet scream.

Afterward, he holds me, peppering gentle kisses against my brow. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

“I have no complaints.”

“You have to say that, or you’ll destroy my fragile male psyche.”

I lever up on an elbow to bite him. “Have I ever given the impression that tact is one of my greater gifts?”

He laughs. “Point.”

With a sigh, I say, “We should shower and get dressed. Sasha is being remarkably understanding, but I don’t want to tax him.”

He sobers, his amber gaze going bleak with remembered pain. “He noticed how sad I was after you left.”

“It was hard for me, too,” I whisper.

“I tried to put up a good front, but I didn’t eat much for the first month, and I barely slept.”

The March I remember wasn’t quite this open. He found it easier to show his feelings with forays into my head, but he didn’t talk about them. Being a parent has taught him emotional candor, I suppose. You can’t raise a kid to confide in you if you don’t muster up the courage to do the same.

I can offer no less than the same bravery. “I focused on work…but I lost four kilos after I arrived on La’heng.”

“You didn’t need to.” He runs exploratory hands down my rib cage, noting the slight difference in my build. “You feel almost fragile now.”

“I’m not.”

He nods. “Let’s get that shower.”

Cleaning up leads to bathroom sex, which leaves us both shaky, then a real shower. We do so individually because showering with him might mean death by dehydration. By the time Vel’s call comes, we’re dressed again. Mostly.

“Jax, Sasha has finished examining all the vehicles and is wondering where the two of you are,” he says.

“We’ll be down shortly,” I promise.

To give credence to the lie I intend to tell Sasha, I take him on a quick tour of the house. He only pays cursory attention, then we join the others in the ready room, where there’s a comm center, comfortable furnishings, and a big screen to monitor the Imperial response to our petitions.

“Did you see anything you like?” March asks.

Sasha nods with enthusiasm. “Tomorrow, Vel is going to show me how to modify a short-range shuttle for in-atmosphere use.”

“There are some ruins nearby. If we finish overhauling the navigation system, we can go for a test drive…with your uncle’s permission.”

“Can I? Please?”

March tilts his head at me like I asked Vel to do this. “Of course, as long as the weather’s clear.”

More alone time, he says silently, and I beam in response.

CHAPTER 6

March has been here four days.

The time passes in a beautiful blur of eating, laughing, talking, and sex. Though it can’t last, I’m desperate to drink him in. Store up good memories to tide me over during the dark times to come. Deliberately, he and I don’t speak of the parting that will occur in ten days. It’s like we’re in a bubble, where nothing bad can touch us.

Or at least, we pretend.

“What’s a normal day for you like?” I ask.

It’s late, and we’re in bed. His arms are wrapped around me, and I’m snuggled against his side. Such moments without threat of attack or interruption seem like they’ve been scarce.

He regards me thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“I get up, make breakfast—”

“You mean you program the kitchen-mate.”

“And?” March eyes me with a half smile.

“Go on.”

“Then I see Sasha off to school. After that, I work out. Do some household chores. When he gets home, I help with his homework. We eat dinner together. Watch some vids.”

“Do you have friends there?”

He considers. “Friendly acquaintances, people I talk to at school functions.”

“But you’re not close to anyone.” It’s not a question.

March strokes my back lazily. “Are you worried I’ve met someone?”

“No.” Okay, maybe a little.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Jax. That would be pointless when I’m so in love with you.”

The night passes swiftly after that, but we don’t sleep much.

The next afternoon, we’re all in the ready room, watching the result of the hearings. March senses my nerves and laces our fingers together. Sasha is sprawled on the floor, playing a game with Zeeka. Vel isn’t around; he’s in the storage bay, working on the shuttle. I wonder if he’s doing that on purpose—giving March and me so much space. I need to talk to him, I think.

Loras looks resigned as we await the verdict. The pretty, dark-haired presenter on the vid stands outside an enormous, opulent structure that serves as the governmental hub, near the governor’s palace. Like the surrounding structures, it’s not of La’hengrin design, as it was built when the first wave of invaders occupied the planet. Loras growls beneath his breath.

“Today, the Imperial board of governors are expected to rule on the final appeal for the widespread availability of Carvati’s Cure. This miracle drug is purported to restore La’hengrin autonomy and would obviate the need for any Imperial presence.” Maybe I’m imagining it, but she seems sympathetic to the cause. From her appearance, she’s an ONN—Omni News Net—talking head, not bribed by Nicuan authorities. That means we have a shot at some fair coverage on the bounce.

Then, as we watch, a squadron of centurions march up behind her. Their uniforms shine in the sunlight; it’s not metal, but a synthetic polymer burnished to appear so. I glance at March, wondering if he ever wore that armor; I know he fought on Nicuan for many turns. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he shakes his head.

I never worked for the same noble that long. Mercs become eligible to be promoted as centurions after ten turns in the service to the same house.

I glance at him in sudden interest. Other than the story about how he left Nicuan, I don’t know that much about his time there. You never stuck with any house?

They paid well, but I hated them. So I had a tendency to get them killed.

My brows shoot up. On purpose?

He shrugs, and I turn back to the screen, where the presenter is struggling with two centurions. “You need to come with us, ma’am.”

“Why?” she demands. “This is violation of the Free Press Act, my diplomatic status as a journalist, and—”

They stop playing nice, then. A centurion claps a hand over her mouth as the presenter thrashes, and the drone-cam changes angles, likely following its simple programming to stay out of reach and keep filming. The soldiers solve this dilemma by shooting it. Red light sparks, then the feed dies. They permit twenty seconds of static before a new presenter takes over in the same locale. I can tell by his haircut, however, that he’s Imperial personnel, not ONN.