“So much,” he agreed, then returned to his task and locked on her clit, even as he thrust two fingers into her. There was mild resistance and a faint wince before pleasure consumed her.
Yes, she might have been active in the construct, but her body hadn’t been outside of it. They would all need to have care. Still, he marveled as she came apart under his mouth and groaned as she soaked his face.
The open abandon as she cried out.
He wanted all of it.
It was late when he finally carried her to bed and then prepared food for them both. When Valda fell asleep in his arms, he whispered the first of what would be many prayers.
Keep Valda safe.
Keep his brothers safe.
Bring them back together again.
Now, gazing at the tank where she floated, the lights telling him that it was doing its job, he focused specifically on the way her chest rose and fell—breathing.
Twenty-four hours until she woke, he hoped. The computer would inform him if a second infusion was necessary.
Another prayer wouldn’t hurt. His faith in Valda had sustained him all these years.
He could handle another day.
“Hologram,” he called.
“Good morning, Mr. Kenton,” the hologram greeted him as it flickered to life. “Are you ready to resume your review of the Bashan project?”
“Yes,” he said, forcing his gaze away from the woman he loved. “What’s next?”
Chapter 2
“Everyone deserves a chance to clean up their mistakes.” - Anonymous
VALDA
What happens in life writes a story in the flesh…unless what happens in life includes time spent in a nutrient chamber repairing fragmented genome while flooding the system with artificial stem cells. A pulse traveled through the electrode sending stimulus into the muscles of my legs. My calves flexed. Then my quads. My feet twitched. Next came my arms. My hands. Even my back, and finally my jaw.
The pulses came at irregular intervals designed to keep the patient from predicting their next one. Three days out of the tank, and I’d done little more than sleep, test my reflexes and cognitive functions, and worry. Well, not worry as much as Andreas was. He’d been a damn gift in the first hours as my body temperature equalized, even though I shivered like mad. From cleaning me up to washing my hair, to putting me in fresh, clean clothes, he’d handled everything.
Now, he stood over me, arms folded and his stern demeanor fierce. Dirk’s security forces had checked in with us. They believed they had a lead on where Dirk and Hatch had been taken, but those were the only details Andreas shared with me.
The stimulation therapy worked in conjunction with the treatment I’d received in the tank, designed to help with the muscle atrophy years of being trapped in the memoriam had done to my body. The ravages were not pretty. But we didn’t have time for my vanity.
Andreas glanced at the monitor as it signaled a completion to the cycle, and I sat forward to begin removing the electrodes. “Querida,” he murmured, closing his hand over mine to slow my movements and then take them over. “You’re doing it again.”
I focused on his dark eyes and the myriad of questions housed there. He’d finally showered and shaved this morning after I pointed out that he had no business looking after me if he wouldn’t take care of himself. The criticism wasn’t totally fair, he had been taking fantastic care of me and he’d done it all in isolation with no support.
I worried about him.
Catching his fingers with mine, I let out a breath. Not only had my grip improved, so had my dexterity. “You’re doing so much for me, again.”
“And I do it gladly,” he scolded me almost gently, though the bite in his tone was sharp. “You are still sleeping and restoring, yes? That’s why we’re doing all these tests? Working your muscles? Focusing on the exercises?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “But I’m not an invalid, and the fastest way to get me on my feet is for me to get on my feet.”
Patience reflected in his dark-eyed gaze as he stared at me steadily. Finished with removing the electrodes, he took a step back and folded his arms. “Very well. Then get on your feet.”
Placid. Relaxed. Almost temperate.
He didn’t fool me, but I appreciated the effort. The one thing we hadn’t discussed since I’d emerged was the challenges ahead. One of those challenges was this right here. Proving I could handle being up and on my own two feet in a world I’d failed to be a part of for years. A world that had changed and stolen two men that I’d loved while a third had chosen to leave.
I couldn’t blame Oz.
I wouldn’t blame him.
“Querida?”
I couldn’t let myself fall down that hole, though. If I did—no, I rejected the thought. Oz did what he did. He had every right to take his own life back after I took so much from him. Now, I needed to focus on getting off my ass and on my feet. With that in mind, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and dragged myself into sitting up properly with no support.
Every muscle I possessed protested.
The mind over the body.
The mind was a powerful thing. It could compartmentalize pain. It could separate the tangled threads of grief, anger, and despair. It could force focus, even when everything in the body wanted to just collapse.
If Dirk and Hatch were with us, maybe I could afford to be weak.
Maybe.
Even as that thought crested, denial drowned it out. No, my selfish choice ended with us in this situation. Hands flat against the rough cotton, I gripped the edge for support. As much as I hated to admit it, I checked to make sure the floor was there as I settled my feet against it. The chill of the metal beneath my toes sent a ripple of goosebumps all over my skin.
The sterile environment of the lab did not lend itself to warmth. Stomach bottoming out, I pushed away from the bed in an effort to trust my trembling muscles with my weight—weight that had diminished considerably from before. Even the light cotton shift I wore hung off me like I was a skeleton.
Pushing aside the vanity, I concentrated on straightening under Andreas’ watchful eyes. Despite the distance and the way he folded his arms, the tautness in his posture and the subtle shift of his weight betrayed his concern.
He refused to coddle me, despite the fact that he wanted to do nothing but protect me. I loved him for it. He pushed at me. Challenged me. Gave me something to fight against. I needed it.
I needed to rise above what others thought I couldn’t do. Every step I took sent my muscles trembling more. The icy sensation of a thousand pins and needles assaulted my legs as I made it five steps.
Five. Whole. Steps.
Then my knees wobbled, and one began to buckle. Sweat trickled down my spine as I fought the feeling of it collapsing. I’d practiced my yoga almost religiously, every day for the last five years, and it didn’t matter a damn. My mind and body could not find an agreement with what it knew and what happened.
Even the life—no, lives I’d lived left me with the worst case of cognitive dissonance. Three more steps, and Andreas caught me before I could collapse.
A total of eight steps.
One arm around me, he gave me a look filled with such heartbreak and sorrow that I sighed. “I will get better,” I promised him as he pulled me in tight to his side.