No Such Thing Page 6

  The way she said that seemed off, but something told him not to pursue it. "Is there a chance—? Is the coma permanent?"

  "They say she still has brain function. They don’t seem to know why she doesn’t wake up." This triggered a fresh wave of grief. Her expression twisted for a second, her eyes sliding closed while tears slipped from under her lashes.

  Declan wracked his brain for something to say or something he could do that would help. But he couldn’t get past the burning need to touch her, to comfort her in some way, any way. Finally, with a sigh and a grimace for his own weakness, he cleared his throat. "I’m really sorry about your mom. And I’m sorry I grabbed you and started all this. Do you—not like to be touched? Because I’d be honored to hold your hand."

  Then he held his breath. Ryelle stiffened, her eyes opening slowly. She stared at him with a strange expression for a long, agonizing moment until his lungs began to ache.

  "You…want to hold my hand?"

  He nodded quickly, not trusting his voice. His heart was pounding a furious rhythm in his chest at his own audacity. You didn’t touch a telenetic. But maybe you could, if they agreed to it…maybe if they wanted you to?

  "Why?" she asked in such a low whisper that the communicator didn’t register it.

  Declan saw the shape of the word on her lips, though, and flinched. He was such an idiot. Why would she want to hold hands with him of all people? He ducked his head, staring at the grate between his feet while words spilled out of his mouth in a mortified babble. "Sorry, Mem Soliere, I don’t mean harm or offense. I just wanted to help, you know, I don’t know how you can stand it, with your mom how she is and it makes no sense that nobody will touch you. You’re amazing, and I just—" He snapped his teeth shut on the flow of words, a horrified flush rising from his throat to his face. Had he really been about to confess that he just couldn’t help wanting to touch something so beautiful?

  "I’m dangerous," she responded in a peculiar tone.

  Declan wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but he nodded without looking at her. "Yes, Mem, you’re a telenetic, and I had no right to ask. I’m sorry."

  "That’s why no one will touch me. I’m too dangerous."

  Surprised out of his mortification, he looked up at her. She was watching him with a light frown, body twisted on the bench so she faced him. Her mouth was tight.

  "Too dangerous? But the Institute wouldn’t send anybody out who’d hurt people. You didn’t hurt me when I grabbed you."

  "I’m the strongest telenetic they’ve ever seen. They don’t know if I can control it, and they are…concerned about my conduct."

  Declan stared at her, suddenly remembering her silver hair piece and what she’d said it was used for—the Institute didn’t trust her, watching and listening to everything she did. In a flash of intuition, he figured out why she needed the blind spots, above and beyond privacy from the crew. She expected the Institute to spy on her, to piggyback on the Odyssey’s com net to track her every move. He swallowed hard, horrified and deeply offended by the lengths they were willing to go to contain their telenetic. It wasn’t just her privacy they invaded either. A surge of fury tightened his jaw to stone and turned the muscles of his arms to rock across his chest.

  "So they’re afraid of you," he said through stiff lips, barely able to unclench his teeth enough to speak.

  She shrugged and glanced away, but the tight line of her mouth and strain around her eyes belied the casual gesture.

  "Well, I’m not," he said flatly, prying his arms loose and holding out his hand to her, palm up.

  She stared at it then lifted her gaze, those fathomless dark eyes searching his face with unnerving intensity. His anger drained away under that regard, recalling his earlier anxiety with a vengeance. He didn’t know what she saw in his eyes or expression, but after a moment she glanced back down at his hand with a faint crease of her forehead. Slowly she raised her own hand, hesitated for one heart-pounding moment, then laid her cool fingers across his.

  Ryelle wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Having touched almost no one but her mother her entire life, then having had only the most fleeting human contact in the last few years, she should have had very few preconceived notions of Declan’s touch. But she had not expected the heat and gentle strength of his fingers, his large hand engulfing her small one in a careful clasp.

  She heard Declan inhale sharply, but she didn’t look up at him, fascinated by the sensation of warmth soaking from his flesh into hers and the pressure of his fingers conveying controlled power as they held her. He had workman’s hands—for all their long-fingered, economic grace, they were rough and calloused, with stains around his short fingernails and in the creases of his knuckles. The contrast against her smooth, soft skin was startling and absorbing, but what really held her attention was the strength she could feel in his grasp as his fingers tightened a fraction against hers.

  She had never considered herself fragile—she was a powerhouse of telenetic talent, monstrous in her strength. Looking at her small hand contained in Declan’s large grip, she was amazed to feel delicate and very…female. Somehow just his fingers closing on hers made her very aware of her own petite femininity and his contrasting masculine size and shape. She didn’t know why that would be—it made no sense to her, but then again, she had only her mother’s touch to compare with this experience, having never had skin to skin contact with a male before.

  The thought of her mother brought a flood of memories, bittersweet and cruel in their clarity. Tears pricked at her eyes again as she realized just how much she had missed this, missed close contact with another human being. She had touched her mother while she was in the coma, but it wasn’t the same. There was no return pressure, no responding warmth and energy to welcome her, just endless waiting, endless silent suffering. She’d been without contact so long that Declan’s gentle clasp felt like a strange and wonderful miracle.

  She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, blinking fiercely to chase away tears. He’d seen enough of her breaking down. Her lack of control was appalling and dangerous. If the Institute could see her now, they would yank her back to them in a heartbeat. She was always very careful about shows of emotion, but Declan had broken through her guard so easily, his touch an unexpected reminder of her solitude. She swallowed again, this time against a surge of guilt. He said he wasn’t afraid of her, but she hadn’t shown him why he should be afraid—he had no idea just how powerful she truly was. She should not have taken his hand under false pretenses, but she’d been unable to resist. And she couldn’t regret it. She felt like she could stay here forever, feeling his warmth soak into her greedy skin.

  Suddenly realizing that she’d been staring at their clasped hands for quite a while, she jerked her chin up to look at him. He was watching her with an odd, glazed aspect to his beautiful eyes, his expression dazed and unfocused. With a frown, she tightened her control on her telenetic talent, but it was unnecessary—her power was as tightly bound to her as ever, so she hadn’t slipped and done anything to him. "Declan?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yeah," he said with a slight, rough edge to his voice as his eyes slowly focused. When his gaze met hers, a twinkling smile started in his sky-blue eyes and spread across his face like sunshine. "I’m great."

  Ryelle gaped at him as her heart jack-knifed and then stumbled along in her chest. She pressed her free hand to her heart, dimly wondering if she was having some kind of attack, but unable to dredge up much concern in the blinding light of his smile. The boy was beautiful. How had she not noticed before how simply gorgeous he was?

  "Ryelle?" His smile faded and his grip tightened around her fingers as anxiety crept into his expression. "Are you all right?"

  Then his thumb began to move across the back of her hand, slow, gentle strokes that were probably supposed to be soothing, judging by the look on his face. A strange tingle shot up her arm from the spot he was ca
ressing, while odd chills appeared in random spots over her skin and unfamiliar warmth spread through her middle. The sensations intensified when he leaned closer to her, his brows pulling together over worried eyes. "Ryelle?"

  "I feel strange," she murmured, distracted by the indigo color spiking through his eyes. Amazing.

  "You look a little peaky. Maybe we outta get you up top." He rose to his feet, still holding her hand securely in his.

  The tug on her appendage had her automatically rising to her feet and she was startled to feel her knees wobble a bit. "Yes, that’s probably best," she said with a frown. Concentrating on her uncertain balance, she retained her grip on him until she realized that they were outside the blind spot. Then she jerked her hand away with a stab of alarm.

  Declan looked down at her with wide eyes, his body frozen with his hand still extended out toward her. Something about his expression bit at her, hurting her deep inside. "I’m sorry," she gasped, barely stopping herself from reaching out to take his hand again. "But they—this isn’t…private."

  Comprehension dawned on his face. "Oh, right. Sure." He thawed, but she could still see some reserve in the way he moved as he climbed aboard the grav-trolley.

  Ryelle followed, baffled by how much pain his distress caused her. The only person who had ever affected her so deeply was her mother. How could he have such a strong effect on her? She barely knew him.

  Staring into the cavern as it dropped away below them, she mulled her reactions over with a frustrated frown until she realized that he was staring at her.

  "Feel better?" he asked.

  She took a moment to assess her condition and was surprised to find that she was back to normal. "Yes, thank you," she answered with puzzled politeness. "I feel fine."

  "Good," he said with a lightening of his expression as he docked the trolley. "You saw the highlights, but I’d still like to give you the rest of the tour…unless you need to go."

  The sound of that last word was considerably more unpleasant than she would have ever believed possible. Not only would she have to put the damned snood back on, but she’d have to walk away from Declan. At the moment, that was something she really didn’t want to do.

  "I’ll need to make sure that Commander Task isn’t looking for me. If I’m not needed, I would love to finish the tour." She moved to the side of the grav-trolley and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I think it would be best if you helped me this time, though. Please."

  She pretended not to see his grin, especially since her heart seemed to want to do strange things in her chest at the sight. He brushed past her, leapt up to the main floor, and gave her a dramatic bow, before holding out his hand to her. Smothering a smile of her own, she focused on her skirts as she placed her hand in his and stepped carefully out of the trolley. His warm fingers were just as compelling as before and it took all her will power to pull away once she was on solid ground. When their fingers parted, Declan sighed heavily and she kept her face turned down, making a pretense of brushing at her skirts.

  "Sark me! Did you just—?"

  "Bags! Watch your language, man. Has the Chief been looking for us?" Declan’s voice sounded strained.

  Ryelle looked up to see the Chief’s second gaping at them, eyes bugging a little. His rough face was turning an interesting shade of purplish red all the way to his receding hairline, making an odd color contrast with the orange fuzz of his hair. He was shorter than Declan, but was quite a bit thicker across the chest and middle. Right now, his bulk was between them and the path to the Chief—this circumstance didn’t look to be changing any time soon.

  "Mer Bagera," she said politely, nodding to him. The man continued to stare at them, slack-jawed.

  Declan muttered something impolite that Ryelle didn’t think she was supposed to hear. "Bags, snap out. Has anybody called down for Mem Soliere?"

  The other man shook his head sharply as if to clear it before bellowing, "Naw, yer clear. Want I should spell ya?" Then he grinned rather like a shark, looking Ryelle up and down with a gleam in his eye that was probably rude, but she only felt amused.

  Declan was not. His jaw went tight and he glared at his fellow sailor with what looked like real anger. "Step off, Bags."

  Bagera shrugged carelessly. "Ah, no sense a’ fun! You want a change a’ face, girlie, y’just let ol’ Bags know, eh?" He gave Ryelle an exaggerated wink and another grin before sauntering away.

  "Sorry about him," Declan said stiffly as he ushered her in the opposite direction.

  "No need to apologize," Ryelle responded with a smothered smile. "He’s—colorful. I believe that’s the first time I’ve ever been called ‘girlie.’"

  "And the last," she heard him mutter darkly.

  They double checked with the Chief to make certain that Ryelle was not needed and that Declan was free to continue the tour, before picking up where they’d left off. Declan showed her all the control areas and explained his support duties as well as the duties of his fellow crew members, as they wandered through the different engineering sections. He seemed determined to avoid other crew members, speaking as briefly as possible with the Chief and ushering her with all due speed past the large woman she’d been introduced to earlier. He dutifully showed her each of the blind spots, eyes alight with something that was as unnerving to Ryelle as it was intriguing, though he kept his thoughts and his hands to himself. They finished with another grav-trolley ride through the engine cavern.

  During this extended tour, they spoke of other things besides the ship functions. Ryelle discovered that he was an only child, too, with his mother as his only living relative. She was fascinated by this similarity between them when so many other facets of their lives were so different. When he docked the grav-trolley, she pretended not to notice that the ride was over, bombarding him with questions about his life in the Nine Rings. She was captivated not only by his accounts of life in one of the rougher edges of the colonized worlds, but also by how he related his stories—animated amusement, affectionate contempt, embarrassed eagerness, open and uninhibited honesty. She gathered from his experiences that some people held the Nine Rings in low esteem, but Declan defended his home with such easy affection in his warm honey voice that Ryelle discovered a burning need to go there.

  His accounts of how he’d lived in the Nine Rings were as alien to her as the GenTec way of life, but much more attractive. He’d had a loving, supportive mother, freedom to do as he pleased, friends to get into trouble with, and even enemies that he’d fought with cheerful abandon. His life sounded so normal. She knew that her life at the Institute wasn’t normal even for telenetics, but when he asked her about it and she began to describe how she lived, his frozen expression told her that it was a lot less normal than she’d suspected.

  "You’re never allowed out?"

  Ryelle clasped her hands in her lap, letting her eyes fall to the cavern below. Here it was, the part she’d been avoiding, the explanation of just how different she was from anyone else. Just how dangerous she was. Clearing her throat, she said carefully, "The Institute feels that frequent and prolonged contact with the public would be detrimental for telenetics. That’s why we aren’t seen in public venues very often. There are strict laws governing telenetic behavior, and if we ever found ourselves in a situation where we felt it necessary to defend ourselves, we might act in ways that contradicted those laws."

  "Defend yourselves?"

  "Not everyone appreciates our unique abilities."

  He was silent for a moment and Ryelle bit the inside of her cheek, hoping he’d leave that part alone. She liked spending time with him. She did not want to ruin the atmosphere by having a political discussion that could turn uncomfortable.

  "Yeah, I’d heard that," he said in a neutral tone and she took a peek at him. He was leaning forward with his elbows on knees and head tilted at a thoughtful angle, staring at his interwoven fingers. "I guess I can see their point, protecting telenetics from that sort of thing… But you sai
d they never let you out. You said this was your first trip outside Institute grounds."

  Ryelle grimaced. Might as well get it over with. Enough stalling. "I am the most powerful telenetic they’ve ever seen. My abilities manifested at a much younger age than usual. I was a—difficult child to control. Most telenetic children are separated from their families, at least at first, so that they will form close bonds with their teachers and handlers. But when they tried to take me away from my mother, I…I leveled the Institute."

  She paused to swallow the shame of that loss of control, that five-year-old panic attack which had governed their attitudes and actions toward her ever since. Without looking at Declan, she finished her confession, tightening her clasped fingers until they hurt. "All seven buildings of it. They had enough telenetic talent around to keep anyone from getting killed, but not enough to control me at the same time. In the end, they had to bring my mother in to contain me. They’ve had trouble trusting me ever since. Letting me out in public wasn’t an option."

  "How old were you?" he asked softly.

  "Five."

  "Just a baby. How can they hold that against you?"

  "You don’t know how strong I am," she muttered, staring down at her white knuckles.

  "Ryelle," he murmured in his honey voice. She felt her stomach flip and quiver at the sound. Looking up, she met his beautiful blue gaze, open and warm, and the quiver spread from her stomach all the way to her fingers and toes. "It doesn’t matter how strong you are. It doesn’t matter to me."

  Then he dazzled her with that sunshine smile again. To hell with my watchers, she thought with reckless rebellion and reached out to take his hand.

  Chapter 5

  "So, how was the tour?" The commander’s tone was casual, but his light gaze was sharper than strictly necessary as he studied her across his desk.

  Ryelle put on her best bland expression and said, "The Odyssey’s engines are magnificent, a credit to the Fleet."