Anew: Book Three: Entwined (14 page)

“All I want is
to convince you to let me help,” I say. A hiccupping sob escapes me. “And then
I go and do this.” I need to be strong and he needs to see me that way. Not as the
weak, sobbing mess I’ve suddenly become.

“It’s all
right.” He looks down at me gently, his eyes full of tenderness and the barely
banked fires of passion.

“I know just
what will make you feel better,” he says and starts from the room.

I should insist
that I’m fine and try--yet again--to convince him to see things my way. But all
that is far beyond my capabilities at the moment. A strange languor fills me. I
sigh and relax against him, accepting that for now at least I want nothing so
much as to be in his arms.

As he crosses
the terrace, I push all thought of the rest of the world and what awaits us
there from my mind. Nothing matters except Ian. We may disagree about some
things but the fact is that I trust him absolutely. However much he worries
otherwise, I know that with him I will always be safe. Everything else will
work out…somehow.

As I come to
that conclusion, the coiled tension inside me begins to relax. With each stride
he takes, more of it disappears.

I’m breathing
deeply, savoring his warm, protective touch, more content than I would have
believed possible a few hours ago.

Too late, I
realize where he is taking me.

Ian

I
feel the change in Amelia
the moment we step into the bath house. Hamako thoughtfully turned the heater
on before she left. Steam rises from the water-filled
furo
set into the
center of the bamboo floor. The small, peaked-roof building smells faintly of
the honeyed cinnamon perfume coming from golden cassia trees in the adjacent
walled garden. The entire setting both inside and out is designed to promote a
sense of relaxation and renewal.

I’m thinking that
a hot soak will make us both feel better when I suddenly realize that Amelia
has stiffened in my arms and is struggling to get down. Quickly, I set her on
her feet but I don’t let go of her. She’s suddenly ghostly pale and shaking all
over.

“I’m sorry,” she
says, her voice so faint that I can barely hear her. “Sorry…I have to go…”

She starts to
back away but hesitates. Her eyes are wide, the pupils dilated. She’s staring
at something…

The
furo
?

A quick series
of images flash through my mind. Amelia avoiding the bathtub at the palazzo,
insisting on the shower instead. Never going anywhere near the swimming pool.
Fainting in front of the reflecting pond at the Crystal Palace. And now…

 “Is it the
water?” I’m confused. She didn’t have any trouble going into the ocean. On the
contrary, she enjoyed it but this--

Oh, shit.

 The only
possible explanation crashes through my mind. “It’s a pool of liquid. Like the
gestation chamber where you were kept for so long. Amelia, I’m sorry. I should
have realized.”

I would have
done so sooner if I had been focused at all on how she came to be. But every
thought of that was blown out of my mind the moment I met her. She is so real,
so natural, so warm and giving that the oddity of her origins simply didn’t
matter. I put it aside, forgot about it, and now…

Of course she
would hate any reminders of the place where she was trapped for so long, denied
the right to be born into the world. I move quickly in front of her to block
her view and start easing her backward. If I can just get her out into the cool
evening air, away from this place--

“No,” she says,
raising a hand to stop me. Her voice is faint and strained but unwavering. “It’s
not your fault, I kept it from you.”

She looks up,
her gaze meeting mine. “I hated doing that. You deserve better. You’ve been
open with me, honest while I…”

I reach out
carefully, putting my hands on her shoulders to steady her. As I do, I realize
that I can fight any number of enemies who come at her but fighting her own
inner demons is a whole different story. I know all too well how brutal that
struggle can be. Pain twists in me as I consider what she has had to endure.
What she is still suffering from.

Her gaze clings
to mine as though I’m a lifeline she’s holding onto. My resolve hardens. If I
do nothing else, I can help her through this and I will, provided that she’ll
let me.

“Why didn’t you
tell me?” I ask gently.

She shakes her
head, not in refusal but as though to clear it. Haltingly, she says, “I didn’t
want you to think of me in that way--who I was then, what I was. I was afraid
that all the ugliness and pain could come between us. I just wanted to put it
behind me and concentrate on the here and now. But the memories are too
powerful--” She breaks off.

Despite the heat
of the bathhouse, a blast of cold roars through me. I stare at her in shock. Part
of me wants to believe that I can’t possibly have heard her correctly. The rest
knows that I have.

Even so, I have
to be sure. “Memories?”

Slowly, with
obvious reluctance, Amelia nods.

“I was conscious
intermittently over the years. I think it happened when they were doing things
to keep my muscles toned and for other reasons, things that were painful. I’d
wake up then.”

I stare at her
in dawning horror as the full implications of what she’s saying sink in.
Trapped, helpless, in pain. And
aware
.

Bile rises in my
throat. “How many times?” I manage to ask.

“I don’t
know…dozens, maybe more. They all blend together. In a weird way, they’re my
childhood, my adolescence, all I had until I was finally allowed to have so
much more.”

“And you remember
them?” I ask hoarsely.

She nods. “I
wish I didn’t…in a way. But there’s something in those memories, something I
don’t really understand, that has to do with who I am. Who I was before
Susannah made the choice she did and I received the neural imprinting. That
caught me up to where I should have been if I’d been allowed to learn and grow
like a normal person. But I was already real.”

Her breathing
eases a little. More strongly, she says, “I was me even before then. I
existed.”

Such a simple
statement yet it rocks my world. All I can think of is that Clarence tried to
warn me. What was it he said? That genetics is just a palette of colors from
which an infinite set of unique paintings can be made. And knowledge is just a
body of information that even a machine can possess. Self- awareness and
awareness of others are what really matter when it comes to being truly human.

I was wondering
back then how Amelia with all her warmth, empathy, passion and free will could
have come to be. I just didn’t let myself work through the implications of what
he was trying to tell me.

Mainly because
they’re too sickening to contemplate.

“Did they know?”
I ask more harshly than I intend. None of this is her fault. She’s completely
innocent, a victim even if she refuses to ever behave as one. Her courage blows
me away.

She frowns.
“Who?”

“The scientists
and technicians at the Institute where you were. Did they know you had periods
of consciousness?”

“They were
monitoring me all the time. They must have seen when my brain waves changed.”
She’s silent for a moment before she adds very softly, “I used to stare at
them, waiting for them to acknowledge that I was there but they always looked
away from me. They wouldn’t meet my eyes.”

My fists clench
at my sides. I drag in air, fighting the rage building inside me. Before I can
stop myself, I say, “It’s lucky for them that they’re dead.”

The irony of
that doesn’t escape me. The scientists and technicians who treated Amelia with
such sickening cruelty were all vaporized by the terrorist group funded by
Davos when he tried to steal the technology that they used. The man who is her
mortal enemy inadvertently gave her tormentors what they deserved. And thereby
unknowingly denied me the right to do so.

She lays her
hand gently on my arm. “Please, don’t let them into your head. It’s bad enough
that they’re still in mine. I don’t want them there.” She moves a little so
that she can see around me and stares at the bath.

“I don’t want to
be like this anymore,” she whispers.

The helpless
fury that grips me eases a little, giving way to a flicker of hope. She wants
to face this but she doesn’t have to do so alone.

Her pulse is
fluttering in her throat and she’s so pale that her lips are almost white. But
she’s standing her ground. Admiration for her swells in me but so does the
determination to help her heal.

“Will you trust
me?” I ask softly.

She wrenches her
gaze back to mine. Again, I have the sense of the connection between us, shimmering
brightly even in the greatest darkness.

“Always,” she
says.

I have to close
my eyes against the wave of emotion that hits me. Flawed bastard that I am, I
don’t deserve the faith she has in me. But that doesn’t mean that I’m willing
to give her up--not to anyone but most of all, not to the white-coated demons
who haunt her. I’ll fight them with everything I’ve got.

As humbled as I
am by her trust, I have to make sure that she understands. “You can leave
anytime you want. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do…know it. I
want to stay, Ian. I need to overcome this. I’m just afraid that I can’t do it
alone.”

“You don’t need
to. We’ll face it together. All right?”

She nods again
but I can see her hesitation. “I don’t know what I should do.”

“You don’t have
to do anything.” I manage a faint smile. “Just breathe.”

She looks
relieved. “I think I can do that.”

“Good.” I take a
step back and strip off my T-shirt.

As I hoped she
would, Amelia is distracted. Her gaze shifts to me and stays there. She’s no
longer looking at the
furo.
As the rest of my clothes follow, her
breathing quickens and she begins to flush.

I’ve appreciated
from the beginning that she finds me as arousing as I find her but I’ve never
been so humbly grateful for that as I am now. If it distracts her from what’s
about to happen, good.

“Your turn,” I
say gently.

I undo the belt
of her
gi
, toss it aside, and slide the white cotton jacket from her. As
I do so, she toes off her shoes. Her drawstring pants follow until at last,
she’s standing naked in front of me.

“What now?” she
asks faintly.

“Step over
here.” I guide her to the wall where the shower hose is hanging. As I turn the
water on, I say, “The bath is just for soaking and relaxing in, not for
washing. We get clean first.”

Gently, watching
her every moment, I let the warm water spray over her shoulders. “Does that
feel all right?”

She standing
very stiffly but she nods. “It’s fine…good, really.”

The next few
minutes are an exercise in strict self-discipline that I just barely pass. When
Amelia is thoroughly wet, I squeeze body wash onto a loofah and carefully apply
it to her skin. The temptation to use my hands instead is almost irresistible
but I’m not out to see how much I can torment myself.

“Not too hard?”
I murmur as I pass the rough sponge over her slender arms and along the curve
of her breasts.

“Not at all.”

Her voice is
faint and she’s still clearly very anxious but I have to hope that a little of
her fear is ebbing. To that end, I take my time, carefully moving the loofah
over her stomach and belly, her thighs and calves, turning her so that I can
scrub her back and the delectable curve of her ass.

My cock bumps
against her. Shameless dick that he is, he wants to play. “Sorry,” I murmur.

A soft giggle, the sweetest sound
in the world, escapes her. “No problem. We’re all friends here.”

I finish finally
but I’m far from done. It’s my turn but when Amelia tries to takes the loofah
from my hand, I shake my head. “If you touch me right now, there’s only one way
this ends.”

I make quick
work of scrubbing myself as she watches. When the tip of her tongue sneaks out
to moisten her lips, I come close to losing it. She doesn’t help. Taking the
hose, she begins spraying the traces of soap from me.

I’m dealing with
that, barely, until she pretends to lose control of the hose. With a mischievous
grin, she bounces it back and forth between her hands like she can’t hold onto
it, then aims the spray straight at my groin. The sudden pressure of warm water
against my cock and balls is almost too much.

I grab for her
and we tussle--very lightly because I’m acutely aware of how vulnerable she is.
A moment later, she’s pressed against the cedar wall of the bath house, my body
hard against hers. The hose flip-flops across the floor until I reach out and
turn the water off.

“Are you telling
me that you’d rather just fuck?” I ask.

Breathless, gazing up at me, she
says, “Or course I would but I’ve come this far. I’m not sure that I could get
here again.”

She looks past me to the
furo
.
Her throat ripples as she swallows her fear. “I want to do this.”

I cup her chin in my palm and meet
her determined gaze. “All right. But we do it together. One step at a time.”

Her smile trembles. “It might be
better if you just tossed me in.”

“No, it wouldn’t and I wouldn’t do
that anyway. You need to know that you’re in control.”

I wait a moment, giving her time to
absorb that before I take her hand and move toward the
furo
. At over
three feet deep and more than twice as wide and long, it’s larger than most of
its kind. I had it custom designed that way and am glad now that I did. It’s
big enough for the two of us without, I hope, overwhelming her.

I step in first, still holding her
hand. “The water is hotter than in a regular shower or bath,” I warn her. “You
should be prepared for that.”

She nods but I’m not sure that
she’s heard me. All her attention is on the water.

“It’s not that deep,” she says as
though reassuring herself.

“It’s not but there’s also a
submerged bench along the edge in case you prefer it even shallower.”