As usual, I'm loading all the chapters first, so look in comments for anything going on in real time. Thanks. H
Chapter Four
Over the next three days, Shep didn't enter the room upstairs. If she wasn't going to tell him the name, there was no point. He was resolved now. He would do what he had to and move on, just like he always did. He left food outside the door on a tray and collected the empty one later. The vanata was in there. That was all that mattered.
On the fourth day, he set down the tray and turned to go down the stairs. He turned back when she opened the door. She was standing there, looking unbelievably pretty in a dress he'd gotten for her. It was a simple white dress with buttons down the front.
He'd forgotten, somehow, how beautiful she was. She didn't have underwear. It was more sheer than he'd realized when he'd ordered it. He could see her silhouette with the sun behind her through the large window. Her nipples and the darkness of the hair between her legs. Her curves.
His brows shot up. There were streaks of dirt on her hands. He looked closer. Her hands were filthy. He realized. The pencils were charcoal. Her feet were bare. Her dark hair was drawn back from her face in a loose silky braid and there was a dark smudge of charcoal on her cheek.
She avoided his eyes. There was something she wanted. She wanted it badly enough to face him like this. For a moment, he thought she might have decided to save herself and tell him.
"May I have my pencil sharpener?" she said.
He stared. He was going to kill her in three days and she wanted a fucking pencil sharpener?
"Please?" she said.
Shep nodded. He went downstairs. He searched and couldn't find it, and then he remembered and got his pants from the laundry. He climbed the stairs again. She heard him and opened the door to extend her hand.
"Nope. It stays with me," he said, opening the door wide and moving into the room.
She made way for him. Walked past him, she knelt and began to gather papers up, moving quickly. She had drawings laid out all over the floor. All over the table. Papers littered all the surfaces.
It looked like she'd used every piece of paper he'd brought her.
He walked to her and stopped her. Pulling her to her feet by her arm, he pointed. "Sit."
When he held out his hand, she yielded the papers after a moment and went and sat down. Her eyes darting to the different papers. He gathered the rest up. Maeva sat with her hands clenching together on her lap. They were making those small twisting motions.
He came and sat down, looking at the drawings. He set each one aside when he was done. He got to one and looked up at her. She flinched. He set it down and picked up the next.
When he was done, there was a large pile in front of him and his hands were also dirty with charcoal. He walked into the bathroom and washed them. Coming out with a wet washcloth, he went down on one knee in front of her and rubbed at the smudge on her cheek. She looked embarrassed and rubbed at the same spot with her fingers, smudging her cheek again. His mouth twitched. Did she have to be so...whatever she was?
He took her hands and ran the washcloth over them, cleaning the charcoal off, and then swiped her cheek again. He found another drawing on the floor under the table and looked at it before straightening and putting it with the others on the table.
When he looked at her, she was watching his face. She looked down. "Please don't be cruel."
Shep eyed her. "You're very good. They're accurate. Expressive."
Her eyes flashed up to his and lit. Her mouth parted like she was going to say something and then she stopped, looking down again.
It was the truth. Regardless of the fancy teachers she'd had, you couldn't fake that kind of talent. The drawings were fucking amazing. It didn't sit with what he knew about her. She was a Sashta noble, a spoiled bitch. She'd betrayed her own father to him.
They were primarily landscapes and portraits. Amazing visual memory. She'd make a good operative if she could just keep every little thing she was feeling from her face. There was a whole page of himself. His eyes. His shoulders and head. That was what had made her flinch. Multiple sketches of his hands, as if they were uppermost in her mind.
She was still looking down with those long dark lashes. He stared at her. What was it about her? He looked at her mouth. The last time he'd been with her she'd been crying out in painful pleasure. He felt heat in his belly, thinking about it. He didn't want to see this side of her.
Enough waiting and whining about it. He got up. Pausing at the door before he left, he turned his head, giving her his profile. "Do you want to get out of this room in the morning? Go for a walk?"
The vanata was quiet. She knew. Prisoners of war didn't go for walks in the countryside. He would bring his pistol. He had to do it, tomorrow or a couple of days later. Earlier was probably better. At least it would be over.
"Okay," she said, her voice dull.
"Put the sharpener outside the door when you're done."
#
The next morning, Shep turned to look behind himself to watch her climb. It was uncanny how graceful the vanata was. Her motions were fluid and complete. When she moved around freely, you saw it more. She really wasn't completely human. He had gotten her simple flat shoes, which were black, and she was wearing the same white dress. He felt a wave of tension in his gut. He shouldn't think about it. Just do it. It would be a relief to have it over with.
Yeah, he was fucking lying to himself.
The weather was warm. It was a little windy. Spring was almost gone. There was no rain today. The craggy, windswept path to the mesa was steep in places. The raw beauty here, with its black jagged rock, was a stark contrast to the green moors that ran on for helos at their feet.
When they got to the mesa, the ground leveling, he walked toward the cliff. It was a long drop.
Sitting by the edge, but not too near it, his hands hung off his knees. Shep looked out at the horizon because he couldn't quite do it yet. He would soon. When he moved, it would be quick.
She hesitated. Then she came and also sat. She wasn't far. Her legs were folded under her to the side. He turned to her. The wind came up again, bringing a smell of the grass from the moor and rich black earth. Her hands were on her lap making those small tense motions. The wind stirred her hair. She was so beautiful.
"Are you going to kill me now?" she said, her voice calm.
"Are you going to tell me who your mate is?"
"No."
He looked away. The pistol was in his pants. The cold weight of it was pressing on his back. He hadn't always been like this. People called him ruthless. He
was
ruthless. He'd led the resistance by being willing to do whatever it took. To do it personally, if necessary. Things he'd had to force himself to do. Things he tried not to think about too much. Things he sometimes couldn't stop thinking about in the hours before dawn.
He could tell she wouldn't fight him. She had to know there'd be no point. Whatever else, she was gentle. He'd get a shovel from the house. Bring it up here. Bury her in that white dress. It was a good spot, isolated and hidden from surveillance. Nobody came here. It would take him some time to dig the hole. The ground was rocky. He'd go back and take her drawings and burn them in the fireplace.
His jaw clenched. He'd get his head straight, and then the moment he got near her, he'd forget everything to which he was loyal. He'd forget every obligation he had to the people he commanded. People who trusted him. He was going to have to call Patrick.
He glanced at her. Maeva had been quiet with him and watchful. He'd always been curious. Everyone had been curious. "What's it like to be a vanata?"
She studied his face. "Don't they tell you anymore?"
He shrugged. "That the original vanatas were human-like and already here when humans came to the planet. That the vanata males were so aggressive that they were wiped out almost immediately. That humans only won against them because we had advanced tech. That the females interbred with humans. That some of their descendants were born like them and always retained at least half-vanata characteristics. That you're a hybrid scientists once said could never happen between species. That the usur needs a vanata to control the Sigel. That vanatas mate for life."
"There's not much more. What would you like to know?"
