Fires of the Desert (Children of the Desert Book 4) (37 page)

The man stared, eyes narrowing. “You’re a fucking loon, is what you are, boy. You lost us a damn good man there.”

“He’s not worth the price you’d pay for his help.”

“He’s got the hells’ own experience compared to you, and
Yuer’s
the one paying him, not me nor you.”

That confirmed a number of Tank’s suspicions. “Yuer doesn’t know the games Raffin likes to play, nor the enemies he’s already made,” Tank retorted. “Yuer wouldn’t like the nobles of Isata coming to demand blood-right at his doorstep, I’m thinking. Bad for business, having a merc on the payroll with his head half in a noose already. He’ll be thrown out of the Hall within the next few months, is my guess.”

The man’s hostile expression eased into a more calculating squint. “Yuer don’t care about any of that, and you ought to know it already,” he said. “And Raffin’s out to spread the word that you’re a witch, is
my
guess. You just landed yourself deep in the shit, boy. I won’t be seeing you this side of the Aftertime.”

“My business to handle,” Tank said, not answering the implied question. “We’ll pick up the cart and horses in the morning, and be on our way to face tomorrow.”

The man shook his head slowly, a grudging respect surfacing. “You’re a loon,” he said,
“Tank.
And I’m Pin. Don’t be here much past dawn; we got more business inbound and need the room.”

Still shaking his head, Pin unlatched the door with a low snort of derision and went out without looking back.

“There goes the easy part,” Tank said under his breath, and left the house by the front door, ignoring the array of stares from the men in the yard.

Tank focused on cleaning hard-to-reach cuts and let Dasin stammer out explanations without interruption.

“I thought—it wasn’t—In the beginning, it seemed—he was so—Ouch!”

Tank pressed the damp cloth against a freshly bleeding nick and didn’t say anything; thinking about Wian’s insistence that he had a
gift,
and whether—if he tried—he could ease the cuts and stop the bleeding altogether, just by wanting it to happen.

He didn’t try.

“He said you didn’t respect me enough,” Dasin said sullenly. “Said I’d be better off with someone who understood me. And at first, he was
nice.”

Tank lifted the cloth free with care; looked at the spotting of red and bit his tongue to keep from saying anything. The cut seemed to have clotted. He dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water, wrung it out, and began patting down another spot.

“He convinced Lohim to give me a good arrangement. He’s—persuasive.” Dasin’s voice dropped on the last word. “You couldn’t have done it.”

No: wouldn’t. Because it’s your damn job to handle,
Tank thought, but stayed quiet.

Dasin shifted uneasily, then went still again. After a few moments, he said, “I don’t know—how it turned around. He went from charming to a little rough, and I didn’t—mind that; but then we wound up stalled here. Pin said we had to wait for some addition to the delivery—wouldn’t say what. And Raffin got—a little strange. Restless. And over the last day—”

So Eredion’s “contact” is Pin? That doesn’t sound right. More likely, it’s someone Pin listens to.
Tank set that minor matter aside to puzzle over later.

“Don’t want details,” Tank said aloud as he dropped the cloth in the bowl of water and sat back. He made himself spread his hands out flat on his thighs, instead of fisting. “Really, really
don’t
want the damn details, Dasin.”

Dasin turned his head, long blond hair threading over to hide his face. He looked sideways at Tank through that fine pale screen, then said, “All right. I was stupid.”

“No.
Stupid
was going off with Raffin without me around to back him off. What happened after that,
stupid
doesn’t even
touch.
Damnit, Dasin, you knew what you were getting into, whatever lies you told yourself.
I
knew he wasn’t safe soon as I saw him; you sure as the hells are hot knew you’d get hurt.”

“I’m
sorry!”

“Sorry
doesn’t come close to covering it for me,” Tank said.
“Sorry
won’t stand up for Yuer, either. Use your damn brains, Dasin. You still have those, don’t you? Or did Raffin shake them completely loose?” He heard his voice getting louder; set his teeth together and grabbed for control of his temper before he started shouting.

Dasin ducked his head and said nothing for a few breaths. Then: “Thank you. For not—leaving me on my own. For coming after me.” He paused. “I’ll handle Yuer.”

“You’ll have to,” Tank said, keeping his voice completely flat. “I’m just the merc. Got some ideas on what you can say, though, that might help sort it all out.”

“Good to know,” Dasin said dryly, then sat up straight, pushing the hair from his face, and looked directly at Tank. “Tell me the rest of it,” he invited. “Might as well get you yelling at me all the way over with.”

“Dasin,” Tank said as evenly as he could, “I’ve been riding all day. I just put my Hall status on the line to save your standing with Yuer, not to mention risking my life for you.
And
I just patched you up from someone else’s love-taps.” He paused and took a long breath to relax his throat. “If I open my mouth on the whole of what I’m thinking, it’s going to end with you going through a fucking
wall,
Dasin. Best I don’t start.”

Dasin flinched, then nodded slowly. “Won’t happen again,” he said, barely audible.

Don’t promise what you don’t have to give,
Tank thought. Aloud, he said, “Good to know.”

Dasin ducked his head, expression souring, as though he sensed the cynicism behind Tank’s answer. He reached for his shirt.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he muttered, avoiding Tank’s gaze.

“Good notion,” Tank said easily, and stood, turning his back to allow Dasin some privacy.

Deiq withdrew from
other-
perception and lay still, cradling Alyea against him, content just to listen to her breathing. If anyone had intruded on them at that moment, he would have simply flipped them over the cliff without moving. To protect against that, he flung out a hand towards the door into the fortress and set a ward of his own against it, binding it shut until he damn well pleased it to open.

Prison properly turned into sanctuary, he relaxed into utter peace and watched the light fade towards dark, Alyea dozing contentedly in his arms. He didn’t think about what had just happened; he couldn’t bear to examine it, in case he found some flaw to ruin the moment. As the temperature chilled, he wrapped warmth around both of them.

Alyea stirred as her cool skin warmed again, vaguely restless, then rolled to face him. “That didn’t exactly hurt,” she said dryly. “You keep handing out dire warnings, and then—”

He didn’t want her to think about it. Didn’t want to think about it himself. He shifted position abruptly, closing his teeth around her nipple; she hissed and tried to push him away.

“Damnit, Deiq—”

He let go and set the tip of his nose against hers instead, just touching, breathing through his nose as he stared into her eyes.

“Don’t avoid this,” she said, barely audible.

He grinned without humor and slid a hand across her body again,
willing
her to respond to the distraction this time: with only a light nudge over into recent memories, her breathing went ragged.

“Don’t—” she gasped, even as her body reacted as he’d asked it to. “Please—no—”

A surge of want fueling her body even as her mind cried out against it; horrified at the physical welcome the dasta streaking through her system gave as Tevin climbed onto her, despite her furious attempts to fight off the drug—

Horrified, Deiq released the push on her will immediately, catching her against him in a tight embrace.

“No,” he said into her hair as she writhed in his grip. “No, Alyea, no, not that, not like that—Listen to me—I’m sorry, damnit, I forgot—shhh....”

She shoved at him, trying to break free. Instinct gathered, aggravation rising.

“Alyea,
stop,”
he said sharply, commanding where persuasion had failed. She collapsed, breathing hard, rebellion twitching through her muscles: he only had moments before the hold broke. He spoke fast: “Alyea. Stop. Look at me, damnit. I’m not going to rape you. I forgot for a moment, and I’m
sorry.
But you have to stop fighting me, right now, damnit,
now.”

The moment stretched, twisted—She glared at him, expression nearly feral, as though she saw him as Tevin now—and broke.

“Hells
with you!” she snarled, and shoved with everything she had to get free.

He fought his own anger for a heartbeat, and lost: flipped over to pin her beneath him, one hand on her throat and the other capturing both her wrists, yanking her hands up into a position where she had little leverage, then snarled, his face almost directly against hers.

As her face went white, he remembered that Alyea was open now: he could have bypassed all the speech and put the words into her mind. Habit had kept him from reaching for that contact, and it might have avoided this. Too late now—he only had the truth left, with no time to craft manipulations.

You be still,
he said without words. She went rigid, every muscle locked in a battle between obeying and rebelling; that continued resistance was vaguely surprising.
You are mine,
he told her, with the weight of certainty.

The
hells
I am!
seared back at him, a response as hot and uncompromising as the fireball that had destroyed the Tower cellars.

He flinched back a little, unsettled: a moment later, images slammed into his mind, experiences of pain unleashed as a weapon of brutal efficiency, making the initial image of Tevin preparing for rape look delicate in comparison.

Deiq howled, self-control almost gone under the assault, and struck out, not with his own memories of pain—those would destroy her mind, and even his ha’reye side didn’t want that—but by yanking her memories of Tank to the forefront, driving that passion into her consciousness—

—He saw Eredion and Tank to either side, Alyea between them, heat flashing among the three—

—saw, overlaid in Alyea’s memory like a ghost she wasn’t aware of carrying, Eredion’s frantic rejection of the moment, his terrified reaction:
Oh, gods, Deiq will kill me if I do this—

—and Alyea’s own fear flared at the evoked memory
—He’s going to kill me for being with Tank, that’s what this is all about, he’s
jealous—

—which jarred his ha’reye side into confusion. He grabbed for control and threw back his head with a burst of laughter.

“Oh, hells,” he said aloud, tension evaporating like smoke in a high wind and relief flooding his body with a moment of watery weakness. “You don’t understand a damn thing, do you? Neither of you do.”

Alyea writhed beneath him, caught between anger and evoked desires. He released all hold on her and rolled clear, retreating halfway across the patio before she could even sit up. Breathing hard, still grinning, he sank into a crouch, leaning forward on splayed hands like a runner readying for a sprint, and watched her through half-lidded eyes.

She sat up, pushing her hair back out of her face, and glared at him without fear. “If you
ever
touch me again,” she said, “I will do my damn best to kill you.”

He let out a long breath, restraining irritation, and reminded himself that she was still young, and her ability to understand had severe limits. He pushed back to a kneeling position, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Evkit very probably wanted me to kill you,” he said, and watched shock flare through her whole body. “I’m going to enjoy denying him that result.”

He stood, slowly, and came towards her. She watched him with deep, hostile suspicion but made no move to attack or retreat; either from residual trust or from the understanding that either move would be useless.

“Why would Evkit want you to kill me, when he was trying to save me from you not long ago?” she demanded.

He knelt beside the couch, settling back onto his heels, and regarded her steadily. “Because he’s complicated,” he told her, then deliberately put one hand on her ankle. She held still, nostrils flaring as though she were able to scent the danger in the moment. He took his hand away and leaned back on his heels again.

“Complicated,” she said, color flaring high in her cheeks.

“Never underestimate him,” Deiq said. “Or me.”

He put his hand on her ankle again. This time he tugged lightly, pulling her leg out straight and to one side; her lips went thin, but she offered no fight.

“I’m not human,” Deiq said, watching her face. “You keep forgetting that.” He let her ankle go and stood up.

Her gaze skittered to his groin and back up to his face, and one eyebrow quirked.
“That
looks entirely human,” she said dryly.

He held still save for raising one eyebrow, and waited patiently for her to work it out.

She watched his expression, frowning; he could sense her mind beginning to work again. At last she said, the words rough in her throat, “It’s not about sex for you.”