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Her lower lip trembles and her eyelids flutter for a moment. The ache in my heart throbs and I clench my hands into fists. She rubs her hands on her face and when she removes them her normal half-smile and bright eyes are there, but I know her now too. She wears a mask because she is also not a fool.
“Thank you,” Gwen says, pulling out her chair at the table and sliding the glass poured for her closer. “Is there any of that bread left?”
I go to the cabinet and pull the loaf out, get a knife, and slice off two pieces for her. I keep them thin. Supplies were already low and with the riot there is no doubt that it is going to be worse. Placing the bread on a plate I set it down in front of her then take my own seat at the side of the table.
“The Maulavi will be questioning,” Khiara says, staring into his drink but not having yet touched it.
“One would assume,” I say.
“Fools,” he says.
I raise my glass and tilt it towards him.
“Wise words, brother.”
He grunts but doesn’t speak. He does lift his glass, touch the rim to mine, then tosses his back in a single gulp. His face screws up as the alcohol burns down his gullet. I take a more sedate sip of my own drink and savor the warmth of the cheap alcohol.
“What…” Gwen trails off then runs her hands through her hair. It’s a soothing gesture I’ve seen her do so many times. She gathers it all into a single tail and tugs on it three times and clears her throat before she continues speaking. “How will they respond?”
Khiara and I lock eyes. We know. Neither of us want to say it. No matter the unspoken impasse between us regarding her, or perhaps because of it, we don’t want to scare her. Or hurt her. Or see her feel pain.
All I want is to see her smile. I will kill for her happiness.
Khiara’s eyes implore me to take the lead and unspoken in them is the knowledge, no matter how deeply buried and unrecognized by him, that she is not the one for him. That if she is meant to be mine, then this too is my responsibility.
Or so I think. Yes, he’s my brother, but do I really know what’s going on in his head? Have I ever?
I take another drink, buying time. Smacking my lips I nod to my brother and take the lead. Right or wrong on the details, the sentiment of it all I am sure of.
“Most likely there will be more sacrifices,” I say, watching her face turn a paler shade as I speak. It makes my guts clench and I want to punch something but what?
“And?” Khiara prods, pushing me to say the rest.
I frown, swallow the lump of resistance forming in my throat and continue.
“We expect them to visit you again,” I finish, draining my own glass.
It burns its way down my throat and lands in my stomach and ignites an inferno. I stare at the empty glass, anger, sadness, and despair swirling in my head. My instinct is to protect her. To keep her from their clutches but how would I?
There are too many of them. They know too much. How do I fight an organization like theirs? The Shaman’s power is too much. That poor, desperate fool tonight is nothing if not proof of the power he wields. He didn’t even get within four arms of the Shaman before he was taken out. The bottle clinks on my glass as Khiara fills it.
“The quake and the riot will keep them busy,” he says, speaking so soft as to barely be heard. It’s a habit we all do. The Shaman’s ears are everywhere. “We have time.”
“But how much?” I ask, not missing the way Gwen’s gorgeous, expressive eyes dart from me to him and back as she follows the conversation.
“It will have to be enough,” he says, ending with a growl. “What choice do we have?”
The despair of the entire situation surges, swamping my thoughts. I sip my drink and look to Gwen. She is a light in the darkness that has become my world. Her extra pale skin, the nervous blinking, the quivering of her lip are a clarion call to act. To do something.
“What if…” I trail off not having a fully formed thought to express, only a musing and a nebulous set of rumors.
“Heh?” Khiara grunts.
“If what?” Gweneth asks.
“A fools idea,” I say, the idea coalescing. “No.”
I shake my head, pushing it away. Gwen reaches across the table and grabs my arm. Her raw skin on my bare forearm is a shock. Jerking my attention to that singular point of contact even as my cock involuntarily stiffens. I stare at her pale hand resting on my green skin.
