CONTAINS CONTENT:
Mild sexual content
Liam came through the scene with wide, mortified eyes. He stood in the middle of the hall observing the damage, taking in the acrid smell of rot and sewage mixed with blood and death. Chunks of ice slowly glided across the floor. The white-clad corpse lying near the stairwell caught his attention, as did Tayane’s body sprawled in the middle of the hall, bleeding from a hole in her face. He shook his head dejectedly and gazed around at Marielle, Vincent, and Chamber. Klara had been moved back into the lab, and Kirra had gone with her to help her stabilize and check on John. Austin had followed shortly after to speak with them. Chamber had gone into the lab for a few moments, then had come back only to disappear again for about five minutes. Marielle was only just noticing this, as he had been quiet ever since.
“I came back as fast as I could when the alarms went off.” Liam crossed his burly arms over his chest. “What happened?”
“We were attacked,” Marielle stated.
Sabine rushed in behind Liam, her eyes tired but wide. She had obviously gone to bed before being abruptly awakened. Her hair was a mess, and she was wearing sweats. “Is John okay?” she demanded.
“Kirra is checking on him now,” Vincent said, and Sabine shoved past him and went into the lab.
Liam pressed, “Attacked?”
Marielle nodded and looked to Vincent, then Chamber.
“We were working, Monsieur, trying to figure out the next step with John, when three of them came through and attacked us. First with this”—Chamber gestured at the water all around them—”and then Cypher—”
“Amir?” Liam interjected, his eyes giant saucers.
“Yeah, he was here,” Marielle said, diverting her eyes away from the masked body not twelve feet away. Her mind was still a blur after shooting him. The Amir from this dimension hadn’t been in the area for several weeks, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like she had killed him, not a double from another dimension. Even though she knew the truth in her mind, it was going to take a while for it to register. She couldn’t imagine how Klara was feeling.
“Call him,” Liam suggested gently, noting the look on Marielle’s face. “Tomorrow. He’s in Morocco, but he’ll be back in a few weeks last I heard.”
“I will.”
“There’s also a third one”—Vincent gestured with his head—”in a room back there.”
Liam followed his motion with his gaze. “Who was it?”
“Harbor,” Marielle said softly.
“That explains this.” Liam gestured at their waterlogged surroundings. He observed that Vincent was leaning on the wall. “Are you okay, soldier?” Liam asked.
“Just… exhausted,” he admitted.
Liam nodded, as if he understood the emotional and physical toll this was taking. “Were they after Marielle again?” Vincent nodded. There was a pause as Liam thought. “All right, everyone to bed,” he ordered, looking into the lab and spotting Klara sitting on one of the tables. Austin was kneeling in front of her, talking in a hushed voice, one hand on her arm.
At that moment, Tayane ran from the stairwell toward the lab. She paused to glance at her own dead body with horror, then rushed to Klara, who finally seemed to break out of her trance. She slid off the table and buried her face in Tayane’s chest, sobbing as she held her. Rocking her tenderly, Tayane hushed her and stroked her hair as Klara choked out something unintelligible, then they went off somewhere to be alone.
Austin came back to Vincent, Marielle, Liam, and Chamber, who was simply leaning against the wall cleaning his glasses, which he’d apparently found. Vincent leaned against the wall next to him doing the same, and for a moment, both played off one another, looking at their glasses in shock, switching them, trying them on, and thanking one another. Then they repeated the entire charade.
“Just… one thing, Monsieur,” Chamber said, lifting a finger, and he marched into the lab, took a sheet of paper, and scrawled something down while the others waited with curious expectancy in their eyes. He paused and crossed something out, shaking his head. Then he rewrote it, glanced everything over, and nodded once before returning and handing it to Vincent.
Vincent read it, drumming his bottom lip for a moment in thought. He nodded. “The solution is solid.” Then his eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “Why didn’t I think of this?”
“You did,” Chamber replied with a small chuckle.
Vincent nodded ironically, dragging his fingertips across his forehead as he looked over the equations again. “We’ll try it first thing tomorrow.”
Liam sighed. “The water damage is a problem.”
Austin was leaning on the wall near the lab door, arms crossed with one hand cupping his chin. He looked around at the water as if noticing for the first time how much damage it had done, and how much of that he’d had a part in. He cringed a little and sighed, putting a hand to his face and wiping his expression off.
Everyone glanced at him for a moment, then turned away, uncertain of how to respond to the fact that they knew about Austin’s powers. Should they tell? It had seemed to shock everyone except Vincent, Marielle, and Chamber…
In fact, Marielle thought, Chamber was the one who revealed it. How did he know that?
Chamber’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “And with that, I excuse myself.” He bowed slightly.
“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” Liam put a hand up to stop him from walking by. “I want you to stay here.”
“It’s too bad we don’t always get what we want, isn’t it?”
“Okay, then how about an order?” Liam asked, crossing his enormous arms over his chest.
Chamber smirked on the left side of his mouth, and Vincent shook his head, rolling his eyes as he turned to Marielle, who was curiously watching all of this unfold. “No, mon amie. He wants to be here, I don’t. Simple as that.” He raised his right hand and snapped, vanishing in a flurry of red, blue, orange, pink, and gold.
Liam turned to Vincent and Marielle. “I guess I should have seen that coming.”
“Wait, I thought his teleporter broke,” Marielle said, glancing at Vincent.
“It did. He must have had a reload,” Vincent said.
“That explains where he went earlier,” Marielle noted under her breath. “Will we see him again?”
Vincent raised an eyebrow and shrugged a single shoulder. “Chamber does what Chamber wants to do.”
Liam put his hands up in mock surrender. “Marielle, I want you to stay here tonight, and I want everyone to rest.”
“Fine, I’ll stay with Vincent,” Marielle replied.
Austin looked down and swallowed hard. “I’ll stay, too. Take my room.”
Marielle glowered at him. “That’s not necessary.”
He came off the wall, smoothing his tie down. Everyone was still wet from Harbor’s attack, and he was no exception. She’d never seen a single hair out of place on him, and she was trying not to notice how attractive he was with it damp and messy.
“Look,” he growled, raising his hands slightly, “it’s obvious they’re not going to stop until they get you. You guys need an extra set of eyes tonight. I’m staying, and that’s that.”
Vincent and Marielle exchanged looks. “I defer to Dr. Rancor,” he said quietly.
Marielle felt her cheeks flush with annoyance. “Whatever.” She shook her head as she caught sight of the smirk Austin was trying so hard to suppress.
“I won’t bug you guys,” he murmured, his tone momentarily turning him into a young boy in his early teens.
She rolled her eyes at him. I’m not going to sleep with him, Austin.
At that moment, Kirra and Sabine emerged from the shielded room that held John. Liam clapped. “Kirra, is John okay?”
“There’s damage to some of the machines,” Kirra answered.
Sabine added, “He’s stable for now, but we’ll need repairs tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you in charge of that,” Liam said, and Sabine acknowledged this with a nod. “Everyone to bed, now.”
***
The elevator ride up to the rooms was awkward. Austin, Vincent, and Marielle all stood in the middle of the car. No one spoke for several floors.
“Thank you for all of your help, Dr. Rancor,” Vincent eventually said.
Austin looked away. Marielle had noted a while ago that when Austin had fifty things to say but didn’t know how to say a single one, he merely replied, “Yeah.”
The doors opened, and Austin peeled out ahead of them, going straight to Room Nine. Vincent and Marielle followed quickly after.
“Sleep well, Austin,” Vincent said, and it shocked Marielle a little that both of Vincent’s statements had sounded genuine. Austin paused long enough to process the words, then vanished behind the door to his room.
Marielle’s skin prickled. She knew she was going into the same room she’d been in with Vincent many times now, but the context was different. Were they going to share a bed? Should she take a shower?
They entered in darkness, and Vincent flicked the light on. Then, without a much of a warning beyond, “I’ll be a minute,” he disappeared into the bathroom. Not exactly the romantic actions of a few days ago.
Marielle sat awkwardly on the bed, but understood when she heard the shower running. He wanted to wash off the old water, sweat, and blood. She should do the same. He was only gone for a few minutes before he emerged dressed in Valorant sweats, drying his short hair with a towel.
“There’s an extra towel in there,” he commented, gesturing for her to use the shower if she wanted to.
She nodded and went into the bathroom. It was hard to believe he’d finished so quickly, but she remembered that the military taught recruits to shower in thirty seconds or less.
Inside, she shut the door and wondered for a moment if she should lock it. Then she felt her cheeks fill with color, and she put her fingertips to her mouth with a large grin. “No,” she whispered. “He’s not going to try and come in here. He’s too much of a gentleman.”
She locked the door anyway. She felt weird undressing, like he could see her, even though she knew that was impossible.
The hot water felt wonderful against her skin, and she stayed under it for a minute longer than she needed to, allowing the events of the evening to finally register. The shower hid her tears, but she wasn’t certain it disguised her sniffles and sobs, regardless of how quiet she tried to be.
She got out, dried off, and got dressed, then wrapped the extra towel around her head and cautiously went back into the bedroom. Vincent was sitting in the chair, reading. Smiling, she sat on the bed and continued to towel-dry her hair. It was just too darn long. “What are you reading?”
He smiled back at her, turning the book over to display the cover. “This is The Count of Monte Cristo.”
“Oh?” she asked. “Are you just going to read?”
He closed the book and put it aside with a gleam of interest in his eyes. “Was there something else you wanted to do, Marielle?”
Her face flushed, and she couldn’t hide it. “Uh… We could talk?” she ventured. He smiled, leaning over his knees and rubbing his hands together expectantly. “You haven’t called me Masin in a while,” she stated.
He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at her, his expression implying that the reason should have been obvious to her. “You”—he bit his lip for a moment—”told me not to.”
She gave a little gasp, embarrassed that she had forgotten telling him that after he had pulled his pistol on her. “Oh my gosh, you’re right, I did.” She shook her head and hid her face in her palm for a moment. “I’m sorry, feel free to start again,” she whispered, dragging her gaze back to his.
“Okay,” he replied. “Masin.”
Silence passed between them for a long time, and she finished with the towel and set it aside, her hair damp but dry enough to ignore. It probably looked a mess, although she was fairly certain he thought she looked beautiful by the look in his eyes.
“Are you not going to sleep?” she asked, trying to hide a small smile.
“There’s only one bed.”
She crumpled inside. That’s the point, Vincent… Biting her lip, she pressed, “Yeah, but are you not going to sleep at all?”
“I’m going to watch you,” he said flatly.
She glanced one way, then the other. “All night?”
“Well, it’s about 1:45. It won’t be too long,” he explained. Then he straightened again and leaned his temple on one fingertip, knuckles curled at the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t you need rest?”
“At some point.” He smiled in a way that said he recognized her desire, then added in a whisper, “It’s not the right time.”
She nodded in agreement. “After today…” She tucked her bottom lip in for a moment, considering carefully what to say next. “Where do we stand?” She flicked her eyes back to his face.
“I don’t know where you stand, but…” He glanced down for a moment, then his eyes returned to hers. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her heart exploded in her chest; it was so powerful she wondered if he could hear it. She knew she was breathing hard as well.
He made it even worse. “You invade every thought I have.”
She couldn’t feel her limbs. “What are you telling me, Vincent?”
He only smiled in response.
After another long period of silence, Marielle exhaled and flopped back against the bed, arms outstretched like a starfish. Feeling like the heat was going to kill her, she envied Austin as she fanned herself for a moment. He wasn’t having temperature issues at all, was he? She wanted to scream at how unfair it was. It was hot enough that most of her hair already felt dry, so she did something daring. She unbuttoned her pants and slipped them down her legs, tossing them to the side of the bed.
Vincent watched every motion, his eyes roving her body from her navel, now peeking out under her T-shirt, to her underwear, which wasn’t revealing, then down her legs and back up to her face. He didn’t move, but she caught his chest rising and falling in deep breaths.
Did he think she was beautiful? Was he excited? She had no idea. He was still. Calm. Focused. For a moment, his eyes seemed to search hers. Perhaps he was trying to decide whether she was asking him to respond to this or not. He obviously decided that whatever the answer was, it didn’t matter… because he didn’t move.
She had a wicked thought. Take it all off, Marielle. Give him a full show, watch his reaction. Make him squirm the way he’s making you squirm. But she shook it from her head with a giggle as she buried her flushed face in the pillows.
A grin spread over his face, and he huffed a deep breath of air out of his nose. It was the first—and only—moment when he looked away, perhaps a little embarrassed. He had to know what she was thinking. She hid her face in the mattress again and wiggled a bit.
He laughed gently, shaking his head at her. “You’re adorable, Masin, but I’m not going to join you.” He glanced at the right wall. “Austin can hear us,” he mouthed.
She swallowed. Right. She’d forgotten they were sharing a wall. She wondered how much her giggling had already caused him pain. Suddenly, her chest hurt for him. Was he really listening?
“Is he still awake?” she whispered so quietly it was almost inaudible.
Vincent nodded. “He’s listening to us,” he mouthed.
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been trained to hear it,” he replied, brushing his lips with his middle finger. He raised a finger as if to say, “Wait…”
She strained to hear, her eyes screwing up, her ears focusing. He pointed to a certain spot along the wall, suggesting that Austin was on the opposite side with his ear pressed to the wall. She cocked her head at him, amazed. She hadn’t heard anything.
“It’s a change in the density of the wall,” Vincent whispered. “It causes a distortion in sound patterns.” He pulled his shirt away from his chest a few times, cooling himself.
“What’s he listening for?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
He gave her an incredulous look, his expression screaming, “It’s Austin. What do you think he’s listening for?”
She nodded. Yeah, it was Austin… He wanted to hear them.
Vincent paused. “They can’t have you,” he sighed, picking up the conversation in a more normal voice and looking briefly at the left wall. “Especially one or two of them.”
She sighed, playing with the ends of her hair as she watched him watching her. “Cory?”
“I want you nowhere near him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How about…? Who’s the other?”
“We won’t talk about that for now,” he replied tightly. The tension in his voice and body let her know that whatever he was referring to, it was bad, and he didn’t want to go there even in his mind.
“What can we talk about?” she asked.
He shrugged, his eyes drifting partway down her body again before quickly focusing on her face. He was so in control, and it always scared her a little.
“Well, I’m awake for now, so if your plan is to watch me sleep, that’s not going to happen for a while,” she told him.
He moved his head one way, then the other, as if trying to decide. “How do you do the… uh…” She couldn’t figure out how to word the question. “When they tortured you, how did you… not feel it?”
He stroked his bottom lip once or twice, subconsciously trying to satiate his desire to kiss her. “It’s called recalling,” he explained. “It’s similar to what you do when you read someone… what you did with me.”
“That first night.”
Vincent nodded. “You were trained in it, right?” She nodded. “I was as well, but it goes several steps further. The basic technique is extremely difficult to master. Over sixty percent of all who practice it can’t maintain or use it.”
He leaned over his knees and rubbed his hands together again. “You have to remember something that really happened and go deep, deep inside yourself. You train yourself to shut off everything—every sight, every sound, every feeling. Then you go to your event, your place”—he touched his index finger to his right eyebrow—”and you recall it. You tell yourself every single detail you can remember until you are there again, and then you… immerse yourself in it. The sights, the smells, the sounds…”
She was entranced, watching him speak. “Where do you go?”
“It’s changed throughout my life. When I was younger, it was a village where I used to enjoy celebrating Christmas.” He smiled softly. “Now it’s my wedding night.”
She blushed. “Will you tell me about it?” He reddened a little in response. She cleared her throat. “I know it’s personal, but… I want to know why it’s so special to you. Why it’s the place you go.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, then held it for a count of three and blew out through rounded lips. Then he did this again, and finally a third time. He leaned back in the chair, hands loose on the arm rests, legs spread apart. His head rolled back a little, and he cleared his throat. “There is a single curl resting on the side of my wife’s perfect face… I want to touch it, but I have already told her I won’t until we are settled. I make her wait for me…”
Like you’re making me wait for you now, Vincent? Marielle thought.
“The glow of the church as we leave is golden, a tad orange. The candles are all flickering, and I notice that two have gone out, but not as much as I notice the curl. I want so much to touch it. I won’t.
“As we get to the airport, I want to touch her so badly it causes me physical distress. I reach out and run my fingers along the hem of her jacket. She sees me do this and smiles at me flirtatiously. She wants to break me, even though she knows she can’t. She leans over in front of me so I can see down her shirt, and she tries so hard to make it look casual, but it’s obvious. She blushes—she does that a lot. She gives me a look that demands that I touch her… I don’t. But I’m close as I take our bags, and I can smell her perfume. I focus on the smell… I breathe it in…” His chest rose and fell as he said this. “Lavender… berries… There’s a hint of cinnamon somewhere, probably from the wedding cake. It was cinnamon, with maple icing. I can still taste it on my tongue. It’s sweet… but not as sweet as our first kiss will be once we’re at the hotel in Turin.
“She’s stayed in white, a short dress that covers her thighs but little else… I keep looking at her legs. They’re creamy and beautiful, and I want them wrapped around me.” He panted hungrily, and Marielle’s heart sped up a little. “She’s wearing a white jacket over the dress, but she removes it when we get on the plane so I can see her arms and her breasts squeezed perfectly into her dress. Her lips are red as blood, and her eyes are inviting. I won’t give in… I won’t give in…
“She tries so hard, even taking a sip of alcohol—I think she ordered vodka—and tempting me to kiss her. Her lips are screaming for a kiss. No, I won’t kiss you… not now. M-maybe when we land. She does this for hours… It’s a game to her, to break me. I can smell her scent; I can almost taste it. It’s sweet but bitter.
“I hear the captain signal our landing. Just a little longer, love… just a little longer. I keep looking at that curl. It’s long and beautiful; I use it as an anchor for how I’m feeling now. I memorize this curl in such detail, I can remember it perfectly to this day. I don’t remember landing, but I remember her clapping for the pilot, and the smell of the streets. The sound of her high heels as she walked.
“When we get to the room, she expects me to attack her. I wander into the bathroom and close the door. She’s so frustrated, and I’m loving every second of it. I smile at myself in the mirror, admiring my black tuxedo with gold trim; I know exactly what I’m doing. By the time I come back out, she’s practically begging me to touch her. Her lips are so full and so red.
“I finally do touch her. I go and pick her up; she’s my bride. I take her to the bed and gently lay her down. Again, I surprise her by sitting in a chair, scooting to the bedside, and gently taking off her shoes. She’s looking at me, begging, pleading with her gorgeous eyes. I rub her feet one at a time. I slip my hands up her legs. They’re so smooth, they feel like silk. I dip and kiss up them slowly. Then I…”
Vincent opened his eyes and smiled at Marielle. “That is where I will stop,” he said with a salacious grin.
She tucked her lips in, but it was impossible to hide her smile. When he saw how much she was squirming, he flicked a brow at her. They both grinned at one another for a moment. “You recalled all of that when they tortured you?”
He nodded. “In greater detail. I go as deep as possible.”
Smirking, she turned onto her left side, leaning against her hand and watching him. With one knee bent over the other, her body was a perfect curve, and she saw him study it again before looking at her face.
There was silence for a few moments. “I’ll read to you,” he whispered.
She nodded. He picked the book up and let it fall open to the beginning. He straightened his back, readjusted his glasses. “‘On the 24th of February, 1815, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signaled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples. As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and rounding the Chateau d’If, got on board the vessel between Cape Morgion and Rion Island…’”
Marielle let her head rest against the mattress. Vincent’s velvety voice seemed to move over her entire body, and she found herself drifting, unaware of the precise moment when sleep found her.
Somewhere in her dreams, she heard a voice, close to her right ear. “Good night, Marielle…”