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 by Marjorie M. Liu
He went very still. So did Rikki, but it was with calm. She did not think she had ever felt so calm – as though part of her suddenly found this insanity easier to accept than cruelty; that a man who could vanish into thin air, or be a cheetah, was less disturbing than willful torture and murder – that compared to everything she had experienced in her life – not as frightening, too weird to be threatening. Hairless cat, weird. UFO, weird. The kind of weird that showed up in the National Enquirer, or those late night television documentaries her dad had loved, the ones about singing crystals and possessed nuns and the elusive tracks of some howling Siberian Yeti. Oh, her dad would think this was great. He’d be all over Amiri like – like –
She couldn’t finish the thought. It hurt too much.
Amiri held out his hand, palm up. Rikki hesitated, then placed her hand in his. His skin was warm and dry, and she felt a slow tingle ride up her arm.
“People are not always what they seem,” he said quietly. “No one shows their true face, not to the world. But some…some hide more than others.”
Rikki thought of her scars. “And you?”
He said nothing at first, then reached out and touched her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I am the man who promised to protect you. That has not changed.”
So soft. His voice was a like a velvet chain, supple and binding. It made her frightened of him. For the first time, fear. But not because of what he might be.
“Rikki Kinn,” he murmured, but she held up her hand, silencing him. It was hard to breathe, harder to think. His touch, his words. It had been a long time. Only two people had ever taken care of her. Two men she trusted with all her heart. No reservations, no second-guessing. She’d never had that with anyone else, not friends or lovers. Always some sliver of doubt holding her back.
Not that she minded. Rikki could take care of herself. Trusted her gut more than she wanted to be with someone, though recent years had made her push everyone away. No one was safe.
Hired gun. Not what he seems. You can’t trust that.
But those words, his voice…his eyes…
“I believe you,” she whispered. I believe you and that terrifies me.
Amiri said nothing. There was still that hush to him, something in the way he held himself that made her think he was more on the edge than her; as though one wrong move, one word, one glance, would hurt him so far down she would never find him again.
Not that she knew what to look for. Not that it should matter.
“That wasn’t an invitation for silence,” she told him. “You still owe me an explanation.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, staring at their hands. His fingers tightened, just slightly, and he scooted backward, drawing Rikki with him. For a moment she panicked, but he was gentle, almost tender, and she suddenly did not feel like fighting him. He lay down, using one of the packs as a pillow, giving her the other. Rikki curled up beside him, her knee brushing his thigh, her hand still held in a loose warm grip. It felt natural, lying with him. So natural, she did not even think about what she was doing until it was already done.
Part of her wanted to pull away, just out of principle, habit. But she stayed still, letting him hold her hand, watching his profile as he stared into the dark canopy, his gaze so intense she wondered if he could see straight through to the stars.
“You’re not talking,” Rikki said, after some time had passed. Her eyes were tired; she could hardly keep them open.
“Rest first,” he said softly.
As if. “You can’t run forever. Unless you don’t trust me.”
“Trust,” he echoed, turning his head just enough to look at her. “Do you know what I risk?”
“The same thing anyone does.” Rikki closed her eyes. “Not that you have a choice. Not that it matters. I already know you’re not human.”
“Then you know very little,” he said, and refused to say another word for the rest of the night.
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