Vanished (11 page)

He nodded. “It might look antiquated, but I’ve added my own tech.” He slapped the gun, much like one might pat a loyal pet’s head. From over his head, he drew a weapon she recognized.

He stared at it while speaking. “This isn’t a practice rifle and there is no safety.” He thrust it out in one hand, offering it to her. The target darted back, and she gauged the distance.

She snapped the crossbow into her thigh holster and took the sniper rifle. The weight of it comforted her. It seemed to have
been built for her. She turned. In less than a blink, she leveled it at the target, pressed her cheek to the stock and squeezed the trigger. Through the scope, she could see the bullet smash through the same wound her bolt created.

“Damn. How-“

“Father. He was on squad 253. He planned to go to Earth, but his heart failed two years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. He taught you a valuable skill.”
Camter’s hand covered hers for an instant before he turned. “One more thing.” He pulled a knife from one of his many pockets and slipped it into a sheath on her hip.

“
You never know when you’ll need a knife.” Then he was gone, before she could wonder why she hadn’t flinched at his touch, and why no fear had tainted her reactions while he guided her. The thought lingered, and she promised herself she’d try to talk to Farali about it.

The rifle felt right in her hands, and even better when the weight of it pressed into her shoulder after she s
lipped it on her back. With brisk steps, she left the range and padded into the weapon locker. She lifted her chin at Gerand, who eyed her with large, questioning eyes.

His
baritone voice startled her as he spoke over the hum of conversations in the room. “Fits well, then?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t know your weight, so I tested it with the same restrictions as the guys. Overkill, maybe, but no way in hell those seams will give.”

She nodded again
. With quiet steps, she tried to slip from the room, but froze when he addressed her.

“I have the feeling you are displeased with me, ma’am.”

She winced and spun to face him, realizing the room had fallen silent. Eyes followed her as she approached Gerand. She focused on those stark freckles against olive skin. His sharp, serious face hardened, as if chiseled from granite. She narrowed her eyes.

Close enough to whisper, she spoke. “Everybody
out
.” Men snapped to carry out the order she’d barked, but she focused on Gerand. When they were alone, she softened her posture.

“How did you-“

He held up a hand. “I’m perhaps less comfortable with this conversation than you, if that makes any sense. Radek offered up a guess. Seems he’s had a chance to-“ He glanced away from her, his skin deepening into a blush. “uh- see you disrobed. The front zipper was his idea as well, though I admit my own misgivings about it.”

Chastened,
she rocked back on her heels. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I thought, but your story isn’t what I expected.”

He nodded, his nostrils flaring.
“Quite alright, ma’am.” She turned away, slamming into an impassive wall. The scent of mint and pine warned her it was Radek. His hands closed around her, but the expected flash of fear didn’t come. His tense muscles warned her he anticipated such a reaction.

“Nice rifle.” He pulled away, his thick voice dark in the confined space.

Unable to stifle the grin, she caught his eye. “And don’t you forget it.” The joke popped out before she could contain it, and an uncomfortable cough sounded behind her. Radek’s cheeks darkened and she noticed he sported a random smattering of light freckles.

“You seem tense. Need a sparring round?”
She eyed him, curious of his uncomfortable blush. His voice seemed normal with his response, and she commended him in her mind for holding it together.

“Sure. I don’t mind losing.” He nodded at her, before gathering his choice weapons from a named locker.

“Let’s up the stakes, then. Get some of the guys together. Do you still lose gracefully if you’re being watched?” She arched an eyebrow at him, catching the incredulous look he shot her direction.

“Well, it would be a good way to ease some of the tension landing will bring.”
He turned away, tucking a lone knife into his belt, his guns in place on his back and thigh. When he pushed toward the exit, the brush of his shoulder against hers sent a shiver frisking over her skin.

She followed him out, realizing he was on his way to the mess. Breaking into a jog to keep up,
she noticed he slowed a bit. Annoyance and thrill strummed in her blood. He was accommodating her shortcomings, and the brief battle of emotions ended with excitement winning out.

The heavy thuds and grunts of men hitting mats alerted her
, long before she entered the room, to the activities within. Radek led her along a weaving path through the hulking men dropping one another on black mats. The flashes of gleaming metal warned her these guys played serious, though the few slashing injuries she could see were surface at best.

Radek was right, the men were tense. It showed in over-quick motions, control on the fringes, the maniacal calm in echoing gazes. Though, as she passed, men stood and backed off, each sparring match breaking off to follow her progress.

The shift in the musky, sweat-scented air didn’t faze her, rather, she inclined her chin a few inches, refusing to meet curious eyes. Radek halted before the man she recognized by his short, blond locks and obsidian eyes. Opreden stood, a thin trail of blood tearing along his arm, the material of his dark undersuit gaping to reveal the wound.

Radek’s hoarse voice set the men further on edge. “Wrap it, then ready for round two.”

Opreden’s eyes darted to her, their depths unreadable. Radek turned. “Line up, we’ve got fresh meat.”

The hesitance angered her as the men shuffled, unsure, throwing unreadable glances at her.

“Line up or so help me I’ll shoot you all like dogs.” In a smooth motion, she slipped the rifle from her back and hauled it to her shoulder. The men jumped into line and Radek stalked to her, stripping the gun from her hands. He leaned in, overpowering her with his scent.

His murmur wa
s for her ears only. “Please tell me you’re wearing an undersuit.”

She shook her head, and
his jaw set. He sauntered to an upright shelving unit and pulled the smallest suit from it, throwing it her way. She snatched it out of the air and ignored the expressions as she froze. He didn’t expect her to change here, did he?

Radek arched a brow at her, and she read a challenge in those startling blue eyes.
He didn’t think she’d do it.

She only hesitated for an instant. If she backed down now, it would show weakness to the entire gathering here. Not a good idea when challenging them to fight.

Refusing to think about it, she unsnapped the suit. She unzipped it, noticing Opreden’s gaze lowering to the floor. Around her the other men mirrored his motion. Only Zoltan’s eyes caressed her motions as she peeled the second skin from her body. Warm air met her naked flesh, the touch electric.

She could hear Radek’s words again
though he remained silent.
“Me! Look at me.”
Clinging to the comfort of the memory, she obeyed. His eyes locked on hers, giving her the strength to continue. His chin elevated a fraction when the suit swallowed her. She realized his challenge set her on fire. Raw power surged through her, and she smiled. If she could be naked before them and survive, she could endure anything.

She pulled on the
undersuit, struggling a bit with the back zipper. Radek padded to her, stepping around so close her short hair whipped back from her face.

His hands tickled up her back, jerking the back closed and sliding the zipper up to her neck.
Trying to forget the memory of the warmth she’d experienced when he’d last zipped it, she fought the blush searing across her cheeks.

She stretched her arms out, then up, rolling her neck to loosen the kinked muscles there. Straightening her spine with the pull of her arms, she lifted to her toes, sensing Opreden’s eyes on her. The air hummed with electric excitement, and she lowered her body, shaking out the last of the sore exhaustion.

She bounced back onto the mat, lifting her arms to block her face while Opreden’s gaze shifted from her to Radek, his uncertainty clear. She waved him over, judging his weight. He was the smallest among the giants, but still had a good six inches and forty or fifty pounds on her.

Her father’s words floated back.
You’ll never win in a fistfight. You’re too dainty. It’s about using leverage and their weight against them. Fight smart and win. Fight angry or panicked, and you’ll lose.

She caught Zoltan’s eyes, and paused. Rattled, she tried to force memories of her father telling her to get up after Zoltan dropped her to the mats. In the beginning, he’d won, every round, every time. Later, they seemed to split the winnings down the middle. After he’d kissed her, she’d lost most of them, unable to focus with his face so close to hers.

Focus that now descended on her. It forced all thoughts from her mind, save one; how to win. She studied Opreden's movements, gauged his style. He walked up, knees bent, but obviously skeptical. In a flash she decided that showy was better while his guard was down.

Radek stepped onto the mats. “First one down is out.” He edged back and nodded at her, but her attention stayed on Opreden. He bounced a bit, those fists flashing up near his face.
He threw a couple punched at the air, sharp breaths bursting from his lips. Suddenly thankful they were all trained in the same style with only slight variations, she allowed a small smile to cross her lips.

She turned around, catching the wide-eyed shock and fear of the men bef
ore her. Throwing her hands up with a showy smile, she gauged her motionless adversary. With a quick backbend, her hands touched the ground, walkovers closing the gap. The world flashed by, and she caught his confused expression and frozen limbs. Launching off her hands on the last, she hooked her knees over his shoulders.

Her stomach clenched,
jerking her upright. She slammed her palm into his nose. He fell back. Her hand found her knife. His back slammed into the mat, her feet on either side of his ears, knees bent double. Her knife jumped to his throat. His hands flashed to his nose; the tip of her blade pricked the flesh of his neck.

She stood, turning to face the men. New respect shone from faces, along with the need to take her on. Opreden was dragged from the mat, his bloody nose examined. Radek threw her a frustrated glance that obviously asked if she really needed to rearra
nge the bones in Opreden’s face. She shrugged, pulling as innocent an expression as she could manage.

Once he’d been healed, he gave her a nod.
She stepped before him, offering her hand. He took it, his face reassuring no hard feelings. He dragged her close, their arms between their chests. His other arm grasped her shoulders and she returned the hug. She patted his back and released him, walking back to the mat for her next match. Realizing all eyes were on her, she took a deep breath, trying not to let fear creep in.

Xteral stepped forward, his thin, recurve-bow lips twisted into a grimace, sharp, hazel eyes locked on her face. His protruding jaw line worked and she knew his teeth were gritted.
He’d be more of a challenge. His stance, solid as a rock, wouldn’t be easy to take down without excessive force.

He didn’t bounce; he stood, expression doctored into impassive granite. She shook her limbs, settling into a calm that put her mind at ease. Her eyes assessed his stance again, and the answer smashed into her with the force of a brick wall.

With a deep breath, she edged closer to him, his attentive stare disconcerting. She dashed past him, rolling on the mat. He turned to her, his confusion clear. Getting her feet, she leaped at him. One leg slammed into his gut, the other she closed behind his knees. With a sharp shout, she brought her weight down. He hit the floor with a solid
crack
. She straddled his chest, her knife to his throat. His wide, golden green eyes filled with respect and fury. She held him for a second until his fury eased. With legs trembling from exertion, she backed off, replacing her blade.

She offered her hand, helping
him to his feet. He gave her an awkward handshake once the ground was solid under his feet again.

He released her grip and hurried off the mat.

She glared around, wondering who would challenge her next. Camter pushed forward, and inwardly, she groaned, careful not to give away anything in her expression. Camter was taller than most, and stockier. Those rough features twisted into a smile, and she knew he sensed her worry, which put her at a severe disadvantage.

Shaking her tiring muscled out agai
n, she jolted. He rushed at her. She thought fast. An awkward sidestep. Her hand gripped his belt. She leaned back, her muscles screaming as his weight flung him into an airborne circle around her pivoting point. The full circle halted as her arms refused to hold his weight and his body curled around hers. She dropped him, his weight pulling her body down on his chest, her trusty knife to his heart.