Of Alliance and Rebellion (19 page)

His face filled her vision, and she was enraptured. Eyelashes black as coal spread across his cheeks; his hair fell onto his forehead, but not—as he so often ensured it did—into his eyes, covering his scar.

Her eyes traced that scar now, seeing in it all of the physical pain he must have endured receiving it and the emotional trauma he had obviously experienced since. That Guardian Compulsion writhed within her, trying to rise to the surface and protect.

She shoved it back down, but it did not go far, and she knew this was going to be a constant struggle for her until she completed her mission.

At the thought of her mission, of harming the man before her, that Guardian Compulsion charged to the front, overthrowing her tenuous roadblocks and tossing her right into Guardian mode.

Her entire vision turned golden—no trace of black and white this time. Her body and mind were clearly not split on where their priorities lay.

Anahita closed her eyes tightly, not willing to look through the golden haze that spelled her doom. The possibility that she could hurt Max, let alone kill him, seemed distant and far-fetched.

Max’s breaths quickened, and Anahita opened her eyes a fraction. His face was no longer relaxed. His brows were low and drawn together. His lips had tensed, a firmer
O
appearing between them. Behind his eyelids, she could see his eyes darting back and forth.

A whimper left his mouth.

Before she’d had time for a second thought, her arms were around him. She pulled him into her body, wanting to wrap her entire self around him and cursing her robe for constricting her legs. She tucked his face into the curve of her neck and threaded the fingers of one hand through the hair on the back of his head. With her other hand, she made what she hoped were soothing circles across the wide expanse of his shoulder blades.

His breaths immediately settled, but she felt his body stiffen as he woke up.

“You are safe,” she whispered to him, bending her head to bury her nose in his hair.

She felt him draw in a breath and hold it, and then, almost tentatively, his arms went around her, one burrowing between her ribcage and the bed, the other wrapping around her waist.

That held breath left him on a shuddering sigh. His hands clutched at her back, fingers digging into her skin through the fabric of her robe, and he pressed his face so firmly into her neck that she feared he hurt his nose.

His breaths kicked up again, and they sounded like pants—a sound that an animal would make upon realizing it had escaped a trap. They were an odd mix of residual fear and relief.

“I fucking hate that dream,” he murmured into her skin. She could feel his lips brush her neck as he spoke, and she hoped the effect it had on her body was not apparent in the way she continued to stroke his back.

“What dream?” she asked.

He shook his head against her and held her tighter. Just when she was sure he would not answer her, there was the slightest whisper: “I tried to escape.”

Anahita stiffened before she could stop herself, then quickly resumed stroking his back. “Hmm?” she hummed as noncommittally as possible.

“Back in prison,” he continued. “I tried to escape. Constantly.” His arms tightened. “My face was punishment.”

Anahita tried to pull back to look in his eyes, but he would not release his hold on her. She had to settle for rubbing her cheek against his hair. “That is terrible.”

An odd, humorless laugh brushed against her neck. “I killed someone. One of the guards who tried to stop me. His brother took his retribution.”

Anahita closed her eyes.

“They had only recently guessed that the fruit from the other Tree may scar us. It took ten of them to hold me down, but they did it. And then that fucker sliced me up and threatened to do the same to Luke if I ever tried to escape again.” His big body shuddered in her arms. “And I was so scared for him, I agreed,” he said in a voice so small she could barely hear it. “Promised anything as long as they wouldn’t touch him.” His voice surged. “I was a coward. We didn’t know that their funding had dried up when Eli killed the original head of the Operation. Most of the guards left after they stopped getting paid, and I
still
didn’t try to escape. I gave up. It’s disgusting.”

“No,” Anahita said, squeezing him tighter.

“What’s worse,” Max said, cutting her off, “is that I can’t even take my revenge now. There’s no one left to take it against but a couple of guards who stayed because they’re zealots.”

“Then we will take your revenge against those few,” Anahita vowed. “It is important to you, it is important to me.” A haggard puff of breath caressed Anahita’s ear. “It is over now,” she said, tenderness welling up within her and nearly bringing tears to her golden eyes. “I will never let anything hurt you again.”

As the words left her mouth, she was startled that they rang true. She fought the urge to panic. She had to hurt him. She
had to
.

His breathing froze, and he pulled back. She loosened the hold she had on the back of his head and tipped her chin to look upon him.

Their faces were nearly touching. His eyes skipped back and forth between hers, and she could see in his mismatched eyes that he understood the implication of finding two golden eyes. She reached up and brushed the back of her fingers across his smooth cheek, wanting more than anything—even more than getting her Warrior side to come to the fore—to taste his lips once again.

His eyes drifted closed, and he moved in closer. A thrill shot up Anahita’s spine as she realized he was going to grant her unspoken wish. His arms tightened around her back.

And then, suddenly, he was gone.

His arms had left her. She was lying on the bed, alone, the cold breezes of the medical wing pouring over her.

She looked beside the bed to find Max standing across the room, one of his hands plowing through his hair.

He glowered at her with agitated and tortured eyes. “I said
no touching
,” he hissed, as though in pain.

Anahita shot upright, her hands fisting. “This is nonsense,” she hissed right back. “You needed it and you liked it, so do not snap at me like a child on the verge of an irrational tantrum. Are you a man or are you a boy? Take responsibility for your actions. This was not my fault. There
is
no fault, Max. It was only comfort!”

In the aftermath of her tirade, they blinked at each other in stunned silence. If she had not gotten so angry, she would have laughed at the look upon his face. He wore the same expression he would have if she had smacked him in the face with a beam.

Finally, Max exhaled heavily. “I cannot get close to you, angel.” He dipped his chin and looked up at her through his lashes. “And keeping my distance becomes harder with each second we’re together.”

Anahita tilted her head to the side. “I understand completely.” Even now, her fingers itched to touch him again. To hold him and sooth both of their feelings in the wake of their confrontation.

“I want to touch you again,” Max whispered, stealing the words from her thoughts and bringing Anahita’s eyes snapping back to his. She hoped that was a plan of action.

“I want to touch you
always
,” Max groaned, shoving both hands through his hair and throwing them down to his sides once more. “It’s fucking maddening.”

Anahita swung her legs over the side of the cot. “I want that too,” she said, reaching toward him with her right hand. “So much I ache from it.”

Max looked at her hand before taking a shuffling step toward her. He bent forward at the waist and tentatively laced his fingers with hers. He gave her fingers a squeeze. “What do we do?”

It felt as though she could not breathe. “I know what I would
like
to do,” she whispered. “I know what I cannot do,” she finished, feeling as though they were perched on a precipice.

“Cannot do,” Max parroted. With a frown, he dropped her fingers and stepped back. “Yeah, me, too,” he said without meeting her eyes.

Sorrow knifed through her. “I have hurt you again, haven’t I?”

Max grimaced. “I’m not a fucking moonflower, angel. I do not
hurt
as easily as you seem to think.”

Anahita ducked her head, trying to get him to meet her eyes. “I do not think that is exactly true, Max,” she said softly. Her Temptation “hurt”
very
easily. He was in a constant state of hurt.

“Don’t,” Max pleaded beneath his breath. “Don’t go there. Please.”

His voice had cracked on the last word, and Anahita nearly burst from her skin with the desire to wrap her arms around him. To shield him from the world that had been so cruel to him. She stood slowly to give him plenty of advance warning that she was going to move, and then she took the two steps needed to close the distance between them.

“Max,” she whispered.

His shoulders stiffened.

“Well, hello,” a new voice said.

Anahita’s head snapped around. Oliver stood in the doorway of the medical room, pinning them both with a bemused look.

Max sucked in a breath beside her, and when she looked back at him, he had distanced himself from her. “Hey, man,” Max said after clearing his throat. “You look all better!”

And he did. The beard was gone. The long hair was trimmed so that it was tousled and a little longer in the front than back. Looking at him, you would never know he was on a constant death cycle. He sported a cocky grin and leaned against the doorframe. As Anahita watched, Max gave the man a genuine smile that brought a lump to her throat. He was so obviously important to her Temptation. Oliver’s suffering weighted heavily on Max. Perhaps, when Anahita killed the remaining guards who had tortured her human, she could look for the woman who had set Oliver on his current path…

“Yup,” Oliver said. “Got my pudding.” He held a package of plastic cups aloft before cradling it against his chest again. He pointed at Anahita with a black plastic spoon that oddly enough had tines on the end of it. “You’re an angel.” Those blue eyes of his roved over her form before returning to her face. “A very
pretty
angel. Want some pudding? I would share with you.”

“Oliver,” Max said, the simple word a warning.

“Not him though,” Oliver said, gesturing toward Max. “He’s surly.”

Max stepped in front of Anahita, effectively blocking Oliver from her view.

“I was sent to find you,” Oliver said. “Something about a meeting. And a plan?”

Anahita leaned around Max’s shoulder in time to see Oliver give Max a look laden with meaning. She frowned.

“Right,” Max said quickly. He turned on the spot, giving Anahita a look that couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Her frown deepened. “Uh, bye,” he said, shifting his weight.

Anahita leaned around him again to look at Oliver, and the moment her eyes clapped on him, her vision split: half black and white, half golden. The sword beneath her wing heated. Reason narrowed.

Her mission.

Her sword hand was in motion, reaching over her shoulder.

“Anahita!” Max yelled, his nose an inch from hers.

Unwillingly, her eyes left her target for a moment to stare at the man before her.

“You hurt him, you hurt me,” he said urgently. “Badly. Understand?” He gripped her shoulders tightly with both hands. “I love this man more than I love myself,” he whispered for her alone.

Something panged behind her heart, and when she next blinked, her double vision cleared. The world was straight color, as it should be. No, as it should
not
be! She gawped at Max in wide-eyed horror. Her Temptation could wrangle her Compulsion!

“Huh.” The sound came from Oliver in the doorway. “That was weird.”

Max took her in with one last look, then spun on his heel. “Out,” he barked at Oliver. “Now.”

“But she never answered me about the pudding.”

Max grabbed Oliver by the back of his neck and pushed him out into the hall, slamming the door behind them with a resounding crash.

Anahita stared at the closed door while her knees gave out and she sank to the floor. She felt her dreams crumbling within her.

• • •

Max kept his hand on Oliver’s neck as he marched him down the hall since the idiot was
still
trying to turn around and go back to Anahita.

Max had about had a heart attack when the angel had looked at Oliver and her eyes had snapped into that kill-mode of hers. Never once since he’d been around the angel, who had repeatedly told him she would kill him, had Max been scared for himself. But Oliver had definitely been in her sights; Max’s friend had been in danger. And then—

“Holy hell,” he muttered. He could snap Anahita out of her fucking “angel craze” or whatever that black-eyed thing was. Her
Compulsion
, she’d called it. He might be able to save their bacon!

“Man, you can let go of me now,” Oliver said, twisting out of Max’s grip. He continued matching Max’s frantic pace as they walked through the main room with the Trees. He pried a pudding cup out of the cardboard holder and peeled the lid off, giving it a lick before tossing it into a trash can as he passed, winking at the brunette sitting beside it as he did so. “You know,” he said, before shoving a spork heaped with pudding into his mouth. “I think you’re making a mistake,” he said around the pudding.

Max grimaced. “That is fucking disgusting.
Swallow
, man. Damn.”

Oliver snorted. “That’s what she said.” He frowned. “He said…” He shook his head. “Whatever it’s supposed to be. Still figuring that one out. Chick named Dahlia taught it to me.”

Max had met Jericho’s wife briefly. “Can tell you right now, she hears you call her
chick,
and she’ll teach you a lot more.”

“Naw, she loved me,” Oliver said, spooning up more pudding. “All the ladies love some Oliver.” He looked at Max out of the corner of his eye. “But
you
. The ladies don’t love you, man. Not because of your scar,” he said, talking louder just as Max opened his mouth to object. “It’s more on account of you being a massive asshole and stuff. But that angel.
She
likes you. And you’re gonna use her?” Oliver shook his head. “Only tail in a bajillion-mile radius you
ever
have a chance of getting, and you’re ensuring she hates your guts. Typical.”