Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)
Page 41“Just to make you laugh,” he said. “And look, it worked. As for the how . . . it’s fairly simple. I worked as a merc for turns. Killed a lot of people. I ended up in this oddball crew . . .” He trailed off, trying to decide how to explain his tenure with Sirantha Jax. It had been so long that the galaxy might’ve forgotten her by now. His need for vengeance had cooled, too.
For long turns in the Bug prison, he’d reflected on how he’d make her pay, should he ever catch up with her, but since ending up in Perdition, he’d decided not to waste turns chasing a pipe dream. Once he broke out of this hellhole, it was time to try something new. But Jael didn’t kid himself it would be easy. He’d had a look at the ship’s defenses now, and they had damn near cracked him in two.
“Odd how?”
“I dunno. Almost like a family, I guess.”
“You didn’t fit?”
“That’s the thing,” he said softly. “I could have, I think. But I was too quick to assume they’d sell me out, given the chance.”
“So you shot first,” she guessed.
“Yeah. It didn’t end well. I did time on Ithiss-Tor. Then they extradited me in exchange for some Ithtorian POWs. The Science Corp snatched me up, ran another series of tests. They kept me under such heavy sedation, I didn’t know shit until just before they put me down.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, reaching toward him in an abortive moment, then her hands returned to her lap. “Clearly it didn’t take.”
“What happened then?”
“I convinced them I was too valuable to destroy. They decided it was best to confine me here, where I’d be under complete lockdown, but within reach if they need me to run more experiments. And here I am. Charming story, right?”
“Unusual, definitely.”
He had no idea what he sought from her, not expiation or forgiveness, something else. Understanding, maybe. He’d never had that. Warmth trickled through him as he processed the fact that she absolutely wasn’t afraid or revolted. So far as he could tell, nothing had changed in her response to him despite what she’d learned about his origins. It unhinged his tongue after decades of silence and secrecy.
Jael went on, “My name? It’s the initials of the doctor who made me. Jurgin Landau.”
“It doesn’t matter where you started,” she said. “Or what you’ve been through. That shit just means you’re strong. In here, if you’re tough enough, you dub yourself whatever you want. You think anybody called me Dread Queen before? I made that happen. So can you . . . because from where I’m sitting, you look pretty damn special, and not because of the fast healing.”
At her words, the warmth turned into longing too fierce to deny. So he kissed her.
21
It wasn’t a hard kiss, more of a question. His lips were soft, tentative, as they moved over hers. The warmth felt unexpectedly good. Yet she sensed that Jael expected to be rebuffed, then he’d attribute the rejection to what she’d just learned about him. Since Dred knew what lurked beneath his charming exterior, she couldn’t do it. The kiss bloomed into a soft and heated exchange, breaths shared, a glide of tongues and nibble of teeth. Her body flared to life as he settled her closer. He rocked against her, and the fit was so good. Dred flattened a palm on his chest to force some distance between them, feeling his heart race. He actually groaned from that light touch, his head tilted back. She had no idea why she didn’t resist when he took her hand and slid it lower.
You should stop this. You can’t afford distraction.
But his approach wasn’t forceful or demanding. He wanted nothing of her but this, she suspected. Dred couldn’t resist reading him, just a quick glimpse, but she saw only raw desire crackling keenly along the edges of old sorrow. So she slid her fingers inside his trousers and watched his face as she touched him. “Yes?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
Those were the only words they spoke during those odd, intimate moments. It didn’t take long for him to arch and moan her name. She stepped back and gave him a moment to collect himself. Her breathing was unsteady as she washed her hands, but she was composed by the time she finished.
“Is that how you react to all such conversations?” she wondered aloud.
“There haven’t been any like this. And if you hadn’t touched another soul in thirty turns, you’d be easy, too.” His lashes drifted up, blue eyes sharp with an ache she’d never seen in a human being. Jael collapsed on her bunk, looking rather ravaged.
It took all her self-control not to pounce. So it’s been that long. Of all the strange and shocking things he’d shared, that one startled her the most.
He named a date. “That was when they started the IGP. I was created ten turns in.”
After Dred did the math, she wondered if he was screwing with her. If not for his unusual physiology, she’d be sure he was. “You’re saying you’re over a hundred turns.”
He shrugged. “I’ve aged well.” His expression turned inscrutable, then he added, “I’m sorry, by the way. I shouldn’t have started this with you. I promised myself I wouldn’t.”
She took the apology at face value though she wondered why. It also made her even more determined to level the ground between them. She didn’t share confidence; she never had. Even Tam and Einar didn’t know her story, but she’d closed her eyes while listening to him, and Jael’s colors stayed steady. Generally, that meant he was telling the truth, and she felt like that bravery required something in return. Since she had no intention of investing in an actual relationship in here—that way lay madness and danger—she’d given him the honesty of a moment’s physical contact. She had nothing else to offer.
Then she yielded to the impulse to give something back. She didn’t want him walking out of this encounter feeling like half a person. “I’m from a small colony in the Outskirts.”
Funny how just saying that brought her past to life. So easily she could picture the prefab corrugated metal buildings and the frontier feel. People went about their business with weapons on their hips because there were native beasts on that ball of rock that would eat you, given half a chance. There were other dangers, too. Pretty much everyone who ended up on Tehrann was hiding from something—or someone—one way or another. Dred hadn’t let herself think of her parents in turns, not even to wonder whether they were still alive.