Special Forces 01 (25 page)

He swallowed hard, muscles tensing as he relived the moment. “I broke it down for them in terms they could understand. I let them know that there was no way that they could best me, either alone or as a group. I am a creation of war, born in conflict, tempered and honed to a razor’s edge in the forges of the battle field. They would have had no chance of surviving a conflict with me. They were standing down, when one of them pulled a gun.”

Anne’s breath hissed in between her teeth.

“I knew that I only had one chance to convince him of what a poor idea that gun was.” Rys suddenly realized with a start that he was holding onto Anne’s hand with a death grip. Taking a deep breath he consciously relaxed his hold before he accidentally broke her fingers. From the look on her face, he doubted she noticed. “I let him know that if he pulled that trigger, he had to be prepared to keep pulling it. It would take more than a single bullet to stop me. He also needed to be sure he was prepared to die; because I would come at him with everything I had, holding nothing back.”

“And then…?” she prompted, encouraging him to go on when he faltered.

“And then I turned my back on him and walked away.”

A long silent moment ensued. Rys slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering why she hadn’t said something. She was staring at him, stunned and shaken; it looked like the steering wheel might be taking the brunt of her emotions, judging from the white knuckles on her left hand.

“That’s it?” she demanded in a hoarse croak. “You just walked away?
With a gun pointed at your back?”

“Yes.”

“He could have shot you!”

“Yes,” Rys agreed, with a soul cleansing sigh. “There was that possibility. I did not believe he would, however.”

The pressure from her grip on his hand increased until it was almost painful. Startled, he searched her face closely trying to divine what she was thinking. Great Guardians, was she actually
crying?
Appalled, and definitely out of his league, he hesitantly reached over and brushed the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Why are you crying?” he whispered, fighting for a chance to understand.

“Because you would have let him shoot you!” she managed to choke out the words, the tears coming faster now; faster than he could dispatch them. “Because I could have lost my best friend tonight, and I might never have known what happened. Rys, what were you
thinking?”

“I’m not sure I was,” he admitted slowly, “I believe I was in a purely reactive posture.” In the aftermath, with perfect 20/20 hindsight, he analyzed all of his assumptions and actions. “I believe I’ve faced death too many times, Anne. It has ceased to scare me anymore.”

“Well, it scares the life out of me!” Anne pulled over and grabbed his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Don’t you ever, ever do that again, do you understand me? Your life is extremely precious, to
me
, if not to
you!
I will not allow you to die, and leave me all alone to mourn your passing. ARE WE CLEAR?!”

He stared back into her eyes with awe, visibly taken back by the dawning realization that she meant every word. She actually
cared
about what happened to him. It was important to her. That opened up a world of feelings and possibilities he did not even suspect existed. Standing in that now wide open spill gate, he was inundated with unimagined emotions so intense that he felt like he was in danger of being helplessly swept away.
So this is what it feels like to be truly alive?
It was pure, undiluted happiness, and it was strolling hand in hand with incredible responsibility. Great Guardians, he wasn’t sure if he was cut out for this degree of…intensity.

“Rys, I need a straight answer, now!” Anne had grown impatient with his silence. She had a burning expression in her eyes that left no doubt she would gladly race into the jaws of the eternal pit itself to retrieve him. “You will not die on me, promise me that!”

“Yes ma’am,” he managed to whisper past his constricted throat.

“Good, I am going to hold you to that.” She released her grip on his face, only to throw her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly.

Rys returned her embrace, burying his face into her neck, breathing in the heady aroma of her hair. How had he failed to realize just what his life meant to her?

And for that matter, what about the other people in his life? Gremlin, Snails, Erksome, his brother Captains, Jeremy and Sara, his new siblings….in the heat and intensity of the moment, what had he almost done?

Dear merciful Guardians, what fit of madness nearly ran me to ground? I was taught to survive at all costs! You can’t continue the fight, if you don’t survive.
A shiver of cold realization spread through his body, like a stone tossed into a still pond. What if Brandon had actually shot him? His arms tightened instinctively around her, refusing to let the flood take him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her long hair.

“You’d better be,” she whispered back. “You deducted five years off of my life with that stunt. You better give me a good reason to get them back.” Pulling away slightly, she focused on his face. “Are you going to tell me
who
ambushed you tonight?”

Rys blinked, remembering he was so focused on telling Anne the whole tale, he failed to mention any names. “It was Brandon and his friends.”

“Brandon…” she repeated dumbfounded. “Brandon
Bloch?
”

“Affirmative.”

Words seemed to fail her completely, as the impossible weight of his words reached her. “That’s…really not…good.”

“You have nailed the target. I have no idea what I am going to say to Sara and Jeremy,” he sighed.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted hopelessly. “I need to think about how to approach this. This is well beyond of my field of expertise.”

“We’ll put our heads together and come up with something,” she promised him.

She let him go after a few moments, mopping her face with the sleeve of her shirt, wiping away the remaining traces of her tears. “I need some serious chocolate, and lots of it.”

“Chocolate?” he repeated, surprised at this random pronouncement out of the blue.

“Rule number three in the cannon code for dealing with women successfully, Rys. We always require chocolate when upset or tired.”

Rys pondered this unexpected gem of information. “How odd, I have experienced that exact phenomenon when training with my men. I never attempt to take them to the limit when they exhibit signs of low blood sugar.”

She rewarded him with that crooked smile, the one that said she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, or how to respond. “Are you up for some insanely good ice cream?”

He needed more of her right now, her sanity, her calmness, her comforting attachment to him. If ice cream was the way to keep her with him for a while longer, he would eat it until he was sick. “Always. Are there any ice cream shops open this late?”

“There’s one, and one is all we need.”

Chapter Thirteen

Anne ordered a complicated concoction with an obscene amount of chocolate in it. Rys went with something a little tamer, a sherbet blend that was sweet on the tongue, and a welcome relief to his overheated body.

They sat on a pair of high stools at the counter, contentedly ingesting sugar, and ignoring the sleepy teenager manning the small ice cream parlor. Rys was only half-way through the sherbet and wondering how he was going to finish the rest, when an incoming call buzzed through.

An ominous premonition descended on him as he coded the mental command to answer. This is Savar.

“Arystair!”
There was no mistaking Jeremy Bloch’s voice.
“Where are you? Brandon just came home with the most ridiculous sounding story I’ve ever heard.”

Rys groaned and buried his head in his hands.
Yes, sir, I imagine that he did.

“What is it?” Anne asked in alarm, the spoon hovering in midair.

“Brandon went home carrying tales of his version of our night out on the town,” Rys answered succinctly.

“Oh. Crap.”

“Yeah, that covers it.” He was distracted from saying anything else by the Admiral’s response.

“You didn’t answer my question. Where are you?”

Fifth Street. I’m with Anne Dorian.

There was a long pause.
“What on earth are you doing with Anne Dorian? Brandon made it sound like you stormed off into the country somewhere alone.”

Sir…your son is probably cutting out a story from a bolt of white cloth. The truth is…the truth is considerably uglier.

“I believe I knew that.”
Jeremy’s voice was very grim.
“Arystair, you need to get home quickly. Should I come to get you?”

No, Anne will bring me. And I think…I think she needs to be there for this.
Not for anyone else’s sake, just for his. Sometimes, the only thing that felt sane to Rys these days was Anne.

“No problem, just come ASAP.”

I am on my way, sir.
Rys cut the connection and turned his head. “Anne, we need to go.”

“I figured as much.” Immediately hopping off the stool, with one final bite of her ice cream, she led the way back outside to her car. “Do you just want me to drop you off?” she asked quietly, giving him the option.

“Negative. I would appreciate it if you would come inside with me.” he added softly, giving her the chance to dodge the approaching storm. “I’m not exactly sure…how this is going to go down. What can I say to them? This is going to be a major blow.”

She paused with her key in the ignition. “Are you afraid that they won’t believe you?” She sounded momentarily indignant.

“No, I am confident they will believe me. That is the problem.” The evidence that he could provide would be devastating. “But this…as much as Brandon can be a pain and a disappointment, he is still their son.”

“Not much of a son,” she mumbled to herself, starting the car up.

“Agreed,” he nodded, absently rubbing a hand over his neck.

The drive to the Bloch house was silent, they were both lost in their own thoughts. Anne did resume her possessive grip on his hand, which was far more comforting to Rys than she probably realized. That warm soft hand felt like a Durasteel lifeline to him, which was exactly what he needed. He knew he was in way over his head.

Every light on the first floor of the house was blazing. At this time of night, that wasn’t an encouraging sign. Rys led the way in through the front door, Anne close on his heels.

Jeremy was pacing restlessly around the living room, but stopped when they walked in. Sara was seated in a chair, hands knotted together nervously. Brandon, looking only faintly worried at Rys’s appearance, was sprawled on the couch.

It was only the three of them waiting in the living room; the rest of the family was conspicuously absent. Rys assumed that Brandon hadn’t mentioned the involvement of his friends in whatever flight of fancy he had concocted.

“Out with your girlfriend pretty late, aren’t you, Mr. Perfect?” Brandon sneered.

“Brandon, shut up!” Jeremy snapped. “Miss Dorian, I appreciate you bringing Rys home.”

“I’m happy to do it, Admiral Bloch,” Anne returned curtly. “After what almost happened tonight, I’m very glad to be able to bring Rys home.”

Brandon sat up again with his mouth open to speak, but with the dark glare from his father, he faltered and slumped back into a sullen silence.

“What do you mean by that, Miss Dorian?” Jeremy asked with quiet intensity, picking up every nuance and intonation in her voice with the practiced skill of a military analyst.

Rys shook his head at her. “Anne, it is better to display this first hand, instead of trying to explain it.”

“Display?” she repeated in confusion. “Do you have proof of what happened tonight?”

“Yes I do.” Rys replied matter-of-factly, and gave Jeremy a pointed look. “Sir, as of this moment, I am fully disclosing everything to Anne and your wife. They have the necessary clearance, and they deserve a more complete explanation than what they’ve been provided so far.”

Jeremy Bloch hadn’t become an Admiral just because of his longevity and seniority. He suddenly understood what Rys meant, and the blood drained from his face. “Guardians,” he choked out, closing his eyes. “Of course, your optic replacement recorded everything that took place tonight, didn’t it?”

“His artificial eye,” Sara breathed in realization. “I almost forgot about that.”

“What are you talking about?” Brandon demanded. “Doesn’t that fake eye of his just let him see?”

“It does a great deal more than that.” Rys allowed him a feral smile. “Actually, that is probably the least of what it can do. It can also zoom in at enormous distances, act as a camera recording real time events, or switch to infrared to allow for optimal night vision.”

At the word “camera” Brandon froze in dawning horror.

Rys gestured to the slim, black laptop on the coffee table. “Sir, if I may?”

Jeremy drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Go ahead.”

It took only moments to boot the computer up and download the fifteen minute video file from his chip to the laptop. When it was finished, he swung the screen around so that everyone could see it, and hit play.

Then he deliberately stepped out of the way, distancing himself from that computer, as it faithfully related the events of the evening.

Rys did not watch their expressions—he couldn’t. Seeing the growing pain and horror on their faces would have felt like someone was twisting a knife in his own chest. Instead, he watched Brandon. Seeing stark fear frozen on his face was an entirely different experience. He wasn’t gloating or euphoric, he just felt vindicated.

Yeah, you thought you could get away with it, didn’t you? Then you thought you would twist this mess to your advantage after all. You’d make a pathetic soldier, Brandon. You always come up short, because you fail to do enough research on your enemies.