Last Kiss Goodnight

  Grinning, Jecis delivered the first blow.

  Specks of blood and tissue flew in every direction. Vika flinched and pressed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from gasping. But Blue Eyes never even flinched--and he was once again peering at her.

  "I'm sorry," she mouthed. "So very sorry."

  A second blow was delivered.

  Again, Blue Eyes remained as he was and again Vika flinched. How could Jecis do this? How could anyone be this pitiless?

  A third blow rained. More blood and tissue sprayed, and Vika knew the damage to Blue Eyes's poor back was deep, beyond the need for stitches. Actually, there would be nothing left to stitch.

  With the fourth blow, Vika's knees gave out and she sank to the ground. No one deserved this kind of treatment. No one but the whip wielder himself. Tears pooled in her eyes, hazing her vision. How could she let her father do this?

  Shame joined the guilt and beat through her with the same force with which the whip continued to beat against Blue Eyes. She should do something. Should try and stop her father, no matter the consequences to herself.

  But did she? No. She was weak. Pathetic. A coward.

  You should just end it all, a voice whispered inside her head.

  Another voice, she realized with astonishment. Not the same sweet voice as before, but a deeper one, suggesting she . . . kill herself?

  You'll feel better. Everyone else will feel better. What's not to love about the idea?

  Pinpricks of evil brushed against her skin--evil she recognized from Jecis, Matas and that other realm--and the truth hit her. She really wasn't crazy. The voices were real.

  One sought to help her.

  One sought to destroy her.

  Well, she'd endured too much to give up now. All she had to do was stick to the plan, continuing to save and sell the presents her father gave her--and stop hemorrhaging cash to secretly buy niceties for the otherworlders. One year, she reminded herself.

  Hope is silly. What if your treasures are stolen before you can sell them--what if your cash is stolen after you sell them? What if your father discovers your plan? Do you really want him to have the satisfaction of killing you?

  "I'm not listening to you," she whispered. "Go away."

  Surprisingly, the evil crackle in the air faded.

  Another blow was delivered to Blue Eyes, stopping the most bizarre conversation she'd ever had. Another flinch on her part. Hopefully that was the end of it--but no, again and again the whip descended, until Blue Eyes had received fifteen agonizing strikes.

  A panting Jecis dropped the weapon and wiped his blood-spattered hands together in a gesture of a job well done. He looked Blue Eyes over, frowned. Actually, every person in the crowd was frowning, Vika realized. They were staring at Blue Eyes as if he were a monster wearing a tiara: terrified yet awed.

  Why?

  "Anyone helps him, and they die," Jecis announced. "And if you think to fight your way free and run," he added, stomping over to kick Blue Eyes in the stomach, "go for it. There's a tracker in your cuffs. I'll have you back in that cage by morning, and you'll wish the whipping had killed you. Oh, and if you try to remove the cuffs, you'll activate the blade-saws and they'll remove your hands." He laughed cruelly. "A little safety precaution I had installed."

  Blue Eyes didn't even glance in his direction.

  Jecis whisked around. "You and you," he snarled to two of his biggest employees. "Stay here the rest of the night and watch him."

  With that, he stomped away with a grinning Matas close on his heels. Most of the others followed after him. There were a few stragglers who hung back to gauge Blue Eyes's reaction to the threats. He remained just as he was, his expression blank, his gaze locked on Vika.

  Thankfully, fatigue from a long, hard day's work and the knowledge that another day just like this one loomed on the horizon soon got the better of the stragglers and they tottered off, leaving only the guards. One was stationed at the east end of the captives' circle and one was stationed at the west end.

  Vika gazed at the otherworlders in the cages. Most were gripping the bars, like Kitten, and some of their expressions were filled with horror while some were filled with relief. If she aided Blue Eyes and they sounded an alert, she would only bring more trouble upon his head. Or back.

  But why would they sound an alert? Jecis would return, and could very well direct his anger at the prisoners. But then again, if they remained silent, he would know they'd witnessed her actions and punish them tomorrow. Or maybe he would be too angry with Vika to consider the otherworlders' part.

  Either way, she wasn't going to worry about her father right now. She couldn't. Too well did she know the pain of being beaten, then left alone and hurting, desperate for someone, anyone, to help. Abandoning Blue Eyes wasn't an option.

  Heart thundering in her chest, Vika snuck up behind the first guard. Gulping, she flipped back the hood of her cloak and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun to face her, tensed.

  "Vika," he said, his expression hardening. He looked behind her, as if he expected her father to pounce. "What are you doing here?"

  She forced a grin, held up her hand . . . the one with the ring she'd purchased only a few weeks ago, for just such a moment as this . . . and blew. Has to work. A fine, dark powder misted over the man's face, the same drug Jecis used to sedate the otherworlders. He coughed, his skin flushing with color, and she retreated into the darkness. A moment later, his knees collapsed. He hit the ground, already unconscious.

  "Bernard?" the other guard said, striding forward. He reached his friend and crouched down--and Vika was there, crouching as well, blowing powder in his face. He too coughed and fell, landing on top of his buddy.

  She waited, just to be sure. Both males remained in place.

  A small measure of joy burst through her. It had worked!

  In an hour, they would awaken and they would remember what she'd done, but they wouldn't tell Jecis, she didn't think. Most likely they would rather undergo chastisement for sleeping on the job than cast blame upon her and suffer an even worse fate.

  Vika rushed forward, dropping to her knees the moment she reached Blue Eyes's side. His head was turned toward her, his cheek resting on the stump, his jaw clenched. His eyes were closed, the long length of his lashes fanning out. Flecks of blood had splashed onto his face. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and tenderly brushed the hair from his brow.

  He met her gaze. "What are you doing, Vika?"

  "Helping."

  "Don't. I'm not in a nice mood."

  A tide of warmth rose inside her, washing through her. He thought to protect her from himself. He was as beautiful as he was strong, she realized, and she hated seeing him brought so low by such evil.

  I should have stopped this. I should have done something.

  Well, she was doing something now.

  "I must." As quickly as she was able, she unhooked the cuffs from the stump. Despite the fact that Blue Eyes was still awake, he slumped forward, making no effort to stop his momentum.

  She caught him before he hit the ground. He was too big and too heavy for her to drag back to his cage. Plus, his back . . . oh, sweet mercy. Bile burned a path up her chest. Up close, she could see exposed hunks of muscle, decimated tissue, and blood leaking into a thousand tiny rivers.

  The tears returned to her eyes. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. She eased him to the ground as best she could, felt a vibration, and suspected he'd moaned. It was his first reaction to what had happened. Either the action had hurt him worse than the whipping or he didn't mind revealing his pain to her.

  She straightened, intending to rush to the edge of the clearing where she'd stored food and medicine and other supplies, knowing she would have to feed the prisoners and doctor Blue Eyes swiftly, without alerting anyone at camp. But before she could take a single step, surprisingly strong fingers wrapped around her ankle.

  "I'll be back," she said, and pointed to where she needed to go.

&n
bsp; Blue Eyes maintained his grip. Shadows and golden firelight flickered over his face, twining light with dark, and while she could see that his lips were moving, she couldn't make out the words.

  "Let go," she said, and prayed she hadn't yelled. "You're too weak to do anything to me, and besides that, I have salve over there."

  This time his grip tightened. "I'm not too weak. And I warned you I'm on the edge."

  Her gaze darted through the area, but no one jumped out at her. A blessing, surely, and one she might not receive again. Unable to think up any other option, Vika sat down. Still Blue Eyes maintained his hold on her ankle, forcing her to curl into a ball to meet his eyes.

  She placed one hand on her throat, and said, "What do you want from me?"

  "I told you what I wanted."

  Just now or before? Deciding to brave it out, she said, "Let me guess. Freedom. Well, too bad. You need medical attention first."

  He frowned at her.

  Great. Had she missed by a mile? "Let go of me, or I'll fight my way free and leave you here. And before you think that will allow you to crawl away to lady liberty, know that I'll knock you out first. My father wasn't lying. There's a tracker in the cuffs, and you'll be better off staying put."

  "What about you? Will he beat you for helping me?"

  "That's none of your concern."

  Blue Eyes said something, but his lips were moving too quickly for her to track.

  Uneasy, she gulped. "Has anyone ever told you that, uh, your accent is too thick to translate?" A question wasn't a lie, now was it?

  The frown returned, darker than before. "You're staring at my mouth. Stop."

  Her gaze snapped up. "I'll stop the moment you let go of me. How's that?"

  The intensity of his crystal gaze held her in thrall before she realized his mouth was again moving. She looked down, and he pressed his lips together. Frustrated, she looked up--and he once again began to move his mouth. She looked down.

  He paused, and just before she beat at his chest in frustration, he said, "You're deaf, aren't you?"

  Her entire body stiffened. How had he guessed? No one had ever guessed. Had the other prisoners heard him?

  She gritted out a sharp, "I hope you felt silly saying that." An evasion wasn't a lie, either, though it wasn't exactly the truth. But too many people tried to take advantage of her when they knew of her infirmity. "I have medicine over there. Let me go, and I'll make you feel better."

  "Why?" he demanded.

  Her gaze flipped up long enough to catch the slitting of his eyelids, the color darkening his cheeks. "Why what?"

  "Why do you want to help me?"

  Why indeed. "You're hurting."

  "So?"

  Before she could reply, not that she knew what to say, his gaze slid away from her, over her shoulder. Fearing one of the performers had stumbled upon them, she twisted, ready to leap up and toss out some kind of threat. But again, no one jumped out at her.

  Several seconds passed before she calmed down enough to curl back up and meet Blue Eyes's gaze. "I must hurry," she said. "Or do you desire another whipping--and to watch one be delivered to me?"

  A moment passed without any reaction from him, and she thought that surely no one else in the world could hide their emotions like this man. Then, to her surprise, he released her without further argument. She hopped to her feet and rushed to her supplies.

  Twelve

  But everything exposed by the light becomes visible--and everything that is illuminated becomes a light.

  --EPHESIANS 4:13

  GREAT WAVES OF PAIN raked Solo's entire body, but all he could think about was Vika's deafness. And she was deaf. He had no doubts. She had watched his mouth constantly, and when he'd gotten over his assumption that she was merely staring in horror at his long, sharp teeth, he'd realized she hadn't heard anything he'd said. Otherwise, she never would have approached him.

  "Come any closer, and I'll chew off your face," he'd said through teeth gritted from rage and mortification, and though the words had been a falsehood, she hadn't known that.

  She had come closer.

  "Free my arms so I can snap your neck in two."

  Another falsehood, but still she'd freed his arms.

  "You're begging for it, aren't you?" he'd said. "Well, now you're mine, and I'll never let you go. You want mercy, you'll have to earn it."

  She had displayed no fear.

  Then he had recalled the way she had watched her father's mouth, and the way she had watched the otherworlders' mouths. The way she had seemed to so easily tune out the rest of the world. The way her father's men were comfortable enough to discuss her while standing directly behind her.

  And really, the handicap explained so much more. She had to have her hand on her throat to judge the volume of her voice, but even that wasn't 100 percent accurate. She would whisper at inappropriate times and bellow at others.

  Solo wasn't sure what to make of the development . . . or of the fact that she wasn't as aloof as she wanted him to believe. She hadn't liked watching his whipping; the knowledge had struck him at the same moment the whip had, stunning him as well as strengthening him. With every blow, Vika had jolted in sympathy. Tears of genuine sorrow had filled her eyes, big and fat and rolling down her cheeks. Her knees had eventually given out.

  She had become his anchor.

  A laughing Dr. E had abandoned him.

  A sighing X had abandoned him, though he had first promised to help the moment his strength returned. Help Solo would have refused if he'd been alone. X had already failed him. He wouldn't be foolish enough to trust the creature again.

  Vika, though, she had stayed put, holding his gaze without wavering so that he was never alone and never had to concentrate on someone else, never had to consider what was happening.

  What a puzzle she was. He couldn't figure her out.

  And he wouldn't be given the chance tonight, he was sure. He had let her go, and she had bolted, which was probably a good thing. Right now he hung at the end of a fraying rope, ready to fall into his most dangerous at any moment. He hadn't lied about that. His mind was hazed by the ever-increasing pain he had refused to reveal to Jecis, even in the smallest degree. He would rather bathe in acid and towel himself dry with broken glass than satisfy the sick desires of such a madman. Michael had trained him better than that.

  "I'm back," Vika said.

  How utterly shocking. She'd kept her word without being forced.

  He wanted to howl as she gently tended his wounds, but once again he remained quiet. He didn't want her to stop. He needed this. And he liked the thought of her hands on him, no matter the circumstances.

  "You'll heal," she whispered. "You have to heal."

  As the sound of her soft voice drifted through his mind, he was able to pretend they were at his farm, in his bedroom. On his bed. They had just made love, and he was exhausted. She had loved every moment, and now, she couldn't stop touching him, had to have more of him. But as his fellow captives marveled aloud, throwing rapid-fire questions and commands at him, he was drawn back to the present.

  "Why are you just lying there?" the Mec whispered fiercely. "Kill her!"

  Did he know she was deaf?

  "Bob! Fred! Over here!" Criss rattled her cage door. "Fight through the pain and free us!"

  "Now's your chance," the Bree Lian growled. "Do something!"

  No. They didn't know. They would have told him to use the defect against her. Right now they were simply desperate for action.

  "Why don't you all shut up?" the Targon snipped. "Let the girl aid the man."

  Support. From the Targon. Miracle of miracles.

  Vika cast a glance over her shoulder. "Hush," she said, and turned back to Solo.

  Solo frowned. Maybe he was mistaken about her. Maybe--no. No mistake. She had simply followed the direction of his gaze. She had no idea the creatures had commanded him to end her life. Her expression was sad rather than angry, guilty rather than fea
rful.

  He should listen to his companions and act. He should fight his way out. Now. He should do whatever proved necessary.

  He wasn't against hurting a defenseless deaf girl to save himself . . . was he? Only yesterday he would have said no, no, a thousand times no. But twice now Vika had tenderly ministered to him, and only his mother had ever done such a thing for him. Vika had given him food and earned herself a beating.

  His mother would expect him to aid the girl aiding him.

  Yes, he was against hurting a defenseless deaf girl. This deaf girl.

  Using every bit of his strength, Solo pulled himself into a crouch. Whatever salve she had spread over his wounds seeped deep and thankfully dulled the pain. She slid an arm under his chest and applied pressure, helping him straighten.

  "Can you lift the rest of the way?" she asked softly.

  He opened his mouth to respond, realized she couldn't see his lips at this angle, and settled for nodding. He lumbered to his feet, tried not to cringe. Vika urged him toward the cage; he resisted.

  "I'm not going back there," he said. New plan. He would leave with Vika and Kitten, find a hiding place, one Jecis wouldn't be able to track, even if there was a GPS chip in the cuffs, and take time to heal. He would contact Michael. Together they would come back here and destroy the circus. Some aspects of the plans would always be the same. Vika, he would . . . He wasn't sure what he'd do with her anymore.

  After the circus was destroyed, he would hunt John and Blue if they were missing.

  "Please," she said, giving his arm a tug. The single word was drenched with fear.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to allow your father to hurt you, either." He wrapped his arm around her waist and forced her into his side.

  She struggled for freedom, but he merely tightened his hold. She struggled some more, but surprisingly enough, she was careful not to brush against his wounds.

  "Don't do this," she pleaded.

  "I must."

  As the otherworlders called him over--save me first, no me, please, me--she finally stilled.

  "Okay," she said with a dejected sigh, "that does it. I'm officially throwing in the wet blanket."

  Uh, what? Maybe it was his injured state, but he so did not understand what she'd just said. "Throwing in . . . the towel?" Maybe.