Riven (Mirus 2)

“Almost thirty hours. I was getting worried. How are you feeling?”

She rubbed at her temple, registering the headache lodged behind her eyes. “Like somebody’s trying to jackhammer their way into my brain.”

Ian snapped back to alert and stepped into her space, gripping her around the arms. “This is very important, Marley. Do you have any tingling in your hands or feet?”

She blinked up at him, heart hammering in response to his sudden tension. “No.”

“Do you taste any blood in the back of your throat?”

“No. Ian, what—”

“In a minute. Any blurred vision? Sensitivity to light or sound?”

Rolling through the checklist, she said, “No, no, and no. Well, light a little bit.”

“Do you feel nauseous?”

“No. Actually I’m starving. What’s wrong?”

He relaxed, letting himself down degree by degree with a slow exhale, until he dropped his forehead to hers. “Then the Dream Walkers didn’t get to you.”

She felt the warmth of his breath against her face. He was so close, so solid and warm. A couple more inches and she could taste him… Marley shoved him back, irritated with her body’s reaction to having him near. The subconscious desire to trust him galled her. He’d betrayed her.

Lines creased the skin around his eyes. His already hard features seemed sharper as he stepped back without protest. Marley squashed the instant rise of sympathy as she looked, really looked at him. “Have you slept?”

“No. It wasn’t safe for both of us to be out.”

He’d been awake for more than a week now.

He watched over you while you slept. Kept you safe. He didn’t abandon you. That’s more than anyone else has ever done.

Marley slammed a mental door shut on the voice trying to wheedle her past being angry with him. He’d lied to her, and he needed to answer for that.

“You should catch some shut-eye,” she said.

“I’m fine. I can go a long time on just meditation.”

No bid for sympathy. Maybe he was trained to go ridiculous amounts of time without sleep. Fine, she’d take him at his word.

“Bathroom?” she asked, unwilling to keep standing here while he stared at her.

Ian gestured to a door on the other side of the bed. Without a word, Marley picked up her backpack and shut herself inside. Moving on auto

pilot, she stripped down and stepped in. The hot water was hard and plentiful. After a week of washing her hair in rest stop sinks and the one shower in the crappy motel, his tiled shower was as glorious as any spa. She soaped and scrubbed off all the layers of road dirt, real and psychological, until her skin was pink and raw.

Dressed again, she followed her nose through a living room with vaulted ceilings and into a small kitchen.

Despite the coffee she smelled, Ian was just pouring water from a kettle into a teapot. “I thought you might like something other than coffee.”

She mumbled, “Thanks.” She didn’t want him being solicitous and taking care of her.

You would prefer he be a douchebag so you can stay angry?

Bite me.

Arms wrapped around her torso, she paced the kitchen.

He opened a cabinet, pulled out a stack of tan plastic packages. “I’m afraid I don’t have a great deal to offer. I can only keep non-perishables, as I’m not here very often. We’ll go into town for real food later.”