Riven (Mirus 2)

Mrs. Jameson’s gaze fell to the bag on the floor, then lifted back to Ian. “I guess you were just excited to have him home.”

Marley stepped into Ian, tipping her head against his shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “You have no idea. Thanks for checking on me. I appreciate it.” With a smile that felt as if it would crack any moment, Marley slowly shut the door on the woman. She slumped back against the panels, staying silent as the footsteps receded.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s try this again.”

~*~

Ian struggled to focus on her, when all he could think about was the lingering sensation of her body curled around his in an easy gesture of affection. The unexpected move stirred up memories from a past he’d thought long forgotten. His brain spun, trying to memorize the imprint of her against him because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone close for any purpose other than a fight. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and drown in the pretty floral scent.

“Ian, stay with me,” she said, using her soothing tone again. How did she do that? Sparks of purple fear and gray green confusion crackled around her, but she didn’t show it in her face or her voice.

Focus.

“You need to pack a bag. Nothing but essentials, the things you can’t live without. A few changes of clothes, whatever cash you have on hand.”

“What I need is some kind of an explanation,” she insisted.

Everything in him rebelled at that. There was no time. She’d already seen too much. Telling her more would do her no favors. Ian fought the urge to put her into thrall, to pack a bag himself and haul her out of the apartment whether she liked it or not. It would be so easy, the practical, obvious move. The move of someone who cared more about the outcome of the mission than the consequences of the means used to achieve it.

She’s not a mission, she’s a person, he reminded himself, and dug deep for patience and logic, searching for the bare minimum facts she needed to know.

“There are hidden things in the world, things that, for their own safety, the general public isn’t supposed to know exist. What you saw today is a part of that hidden world.”

“Monsters in the dark,”

she murmured.

A typical and predictable prejudicial response, one at the root of the very law he was trying to save her from. No way in hell could he let on that he wasn’t human. He chose his words carefully. “There is a group of people who will kill to keep the secret. A group who’s already sending someone to silence you.”

The blood drained out of her face, but she stayed steady. “How do I know that someone isn’t you?”

“If I wanted you dead, I could’ve been in and out of here in less than thirty seconds. I wouldn’t have intervened when you were mugged, wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. Now, please, go pack.”

“How did you even know the pencil was mine?”

It carries your scent. But he could hardly say that. His mind flipped through other explanations, considering what he knew of her, what he’d observed the night they met. “They were in your bag that night. I recognized the style and took a chance. Didn’t figure too many folks in this neighborhood were investing in high end art supplies.”

The citrine aura of wariness faded slightly. She didn’t trust him—not yet—but it was a start. Too slow a start. Ian struggled to contain his impatience and keep his voice level. “I know you have questions, but we need to move. It’s not safe here. The Hunter could arrive at any moment.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

How could he answer the question when he didn’t even understand the answer himself?

Ian opened his mouth, intending to bullshit his way through the last of her resistance, when a light flared bright near the doorway to Marley’s bedroom. “Down!” he shouted, and sprang toward the dawning portal.

The man who stepped through had no weapon in the hands he held up for peace. He started to speak, “Don’t be alarmed—”

Ian slammed into him. He’d hoped to knock the man back through the portal, but the other man spun, crashing into the door frame, and the gateway snapped shut. Ian grabbed him by the shirt front and slammed him back again. The other man lifted hands glowing green, his lips moving in an incantation. Ian drove a fist into his belly, and the light died as the spell lost voice.

A warlock. Why the hell did they send a warlock? The thought ricocheted through Ian’s brain as he took advantage of the warlock’s momentary immobility and jerked the other man around to wrap an arm around his throat. He could end this fast with one quick wrench, but instinct counseled him to use something less permanent. The warlock began to struggle, driving an elbow back. But Ian was ready for the blow and didn’t loosen his hold. Hands scrabbled at his neck, feet began to kick. And then the guy was out. Ian lowered his body to the floor.

Marley hadn’t moved from in front of the door. Shaking, white-faced she asked, “Is he dead?”

“No. He won’t be out long.” Ian grabbed a lamp and yanked the plug from the wall. He cut the cord with his utility knife and crossed back to the warlock, rolling him over and binding his hands. “Now do you believe me?” he asked.

He waited for more requests for information, for the why he couldn’t give, but instead she asked, “How long will we be gone?”

Forever, he thought. But Ian didn’t dare tell her. Not yet. “A few days. A week, maybe.” He could get her away, find a new location, get her set up there with a new identity, new life in that timespan. And by then, hopefully he’d have a damned good story cooked up to explain to Matthias why he was late to accepting his new post in Wales.