“You’re hurt.” Hawthorne tries to look, but I won’t let him touch it.
“I’ll get it looked at later,” I reply. The crest etched into the hilt left its mark, and it will be like a death warrant for the Gates of Dawn soldier and his family if my regiment discovers it. It was monumentally stupid of him to use his family fusionblade in combat, or else extremely arrogant. If I ever see him again, I’ll sticketh my boot up his ass.
Hawthorne’s voice is soft. “Do you know what went through my mind when I found out that they took you in the middle of the night and dropped you off somewhere on the battlefield, Roselle?” I shake my head. His expression turns bleak. “I thought, ‘Well, that’s it, then. She’s gone. She won’t survive that. They’ve figured out a way to kill her as some kind of sick revenge against her mother, and now my life will go back to normal.’” He scowls. “Then I started imagining you on the battlefield—abandoned. Alone.” His teeth clench. “I had this pain—this unbelievable ache in my chest. I didn’t know why at first, but I do now. I used to worry about active duty because I might be killed. Now I’m terrified that it’ll be you who dies out there, and I’ll have to go back to a life without you in it.”
“You hardly know me, Hawthorne.”
“I’ve been in love with you since I was ten, Roselle . . . maybe even before that.”
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“I’ve watched you forever—for as long as I can remember.”
Disappointment rises in me. “I’m not that person you grew up watching, Hawthorne. I mean, I was her, but ever since I left home and Transitioned, I’m not her anymore. She’s not me.”
“You’re right. You’re not her. You’re better. You think for yourself, and you never back down when you believe you’re right. And you’re not perfect, like they made her seem. You have flaws, but your flaws are sexy. You’re na?ve and jaded, smart and gullible, ferocious and delicate. Men will break themselves against your fragile smile.”
“And you? Will you break, too?” I ask, a little breathless.
“I’m already broken, Roselle.”
His hand reaches over to cup my cheek. For a moment, his warm fingers rest on my nape, his thumb brushing my skin. I’ve lost the ability to breathe, as if the air is too thin. His face is half in shadow. He leans closer.
Something rattles outside the airship. Hawthorne drops his hand from me. We move apart, afraid to be seen. Another airship is landing in the hangar. We peek through the open door. Twilight soldiers are waiting outside. I recognize a few, Carrick among them. Tolman is with him.
“I know them, Hawthorne,” I whisper. “They sent me to the front line this morning.”
Hawthorne points with two fingers, first to his eyes, then toward the front of our airship. I nod and follow him to the cockpit. He switches on an audio feed that picks up voices from outside our airship.
“Why is that St. Sismode brat still breathing my air?” an angry voice barks.
“She got lucky. We’ll take her again tonight,” another voice responds. “No way she survives a second time.”
“I want you to deliver a dead secondborn to me!” the first voice screams. “It has to look like the Gates of Dawn are responsible. Contact me when you have her body. I’d like to deliver it personally.”
The door of the other airship closes, and the gathered Twilight soldiers move away. Hawthorne is the first to speak. “I’ll take care of it, Roselle. I have friends. I’ll reach out to everyone in our unit who ever owed me a favor.”
“That was a commander. This goes higher up than even him. You can’t help, Hawthorne. I’ll think of something. They cannot suspect that we know or they’ll act sooner.”
“They’re going to act tonight!”
“Then I’ve got time.”
When I get back to my capsule, I decide I have no other option but to talk to Clifton Salloway. I search my moniker for his contact information. Surprisingly, he’s not listed under “Inter-Fate Playboy” or “Panty-Dropping Smile.” I’m forced to resort to Salloway Munitions. I expect some kind of secretary, but I’m linked directly to the man himself.
“Roselle St. Sismode. What a pleasure it is to see you.” His good looks shine through even in holographic form.
“We need to meet.”
“Would this be for business or pleasure?” He grins.
“Business.”
“Pity,” he sighs.
“I have a proposition. When can we speak?”
“How about this evening? I’m en route to Twilight now. We can discuss your proposition at my private quarters on the Base.”
“I would love to, but some Twilight Forest officers have been having a bit of fun with me. They plan to send me out to the front line again this evening. In a few hours, I’ll be knee-deep in mud and blood.”
“Don’t worry about armoring up tonight. I’ll take care of it. I’ll send a hovercar and an escort for you at twenty-two hundred.” His tone brooks no refusal. I nod and sign off.
I have two hours.
Slipping from my capsule, I make my way to Hawthorne’s bunk. I knock gently on the door. It opens almost immediately. I put my finger to my lips and climb down the steps. He follows me. I lead him to the locker room, into an empty shower closet. I lock the door behind us and face him. “I found a way to avoid being sent to the front.”
“How?”
“You’re not going to like it.” His face loses its cautious smile. “I contacted Clifton Salloway. I’m going to meet him.”
Hawthorne closes his eyes and turns away. “When?”
“Tonight. It’s not what you think. I’m going to make him an offer—one that will be profitable to him. It’ll ensure that he’ll do everything in his power to keep us from the battlefield.”
“Explain.”
“Later. I have to get ready to meet his escort. You have to trust me.”
Hawthorne leans against the shower door. “You think your plan is going to work?”
“I do. I’ll be safe tonight anyway.”
“You understand who he is, right?” Hawthorne asks. “He’s an arms dealer. He sells weapons, legally and illegally. Men like him make their own rules. Men like that don’t do favors for free.”
“I’m going to make him seem more legitimate. I still have the St. Sismode name. It’s synonymous with weapons. I’ll use the name they tried to take from me.”
Hawthorne holds me in his arms. “I wish I could protect you.”
“I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t found me today.” My fingertips slip beneath his shirt, inching it up, exploring his ribs. As I lift the shirt over his head, it turns inside out, like my heart. I let it drop on the floor. Hawthorne’s chest is broad and strong.
His hands go to the hem of my shirt, peeling it away over my head, exposing my military-issue bra. Midnight-blue cotton covers my breasts, a light blue string cinching in a crisscross at my back. Hawthorne reaches around me and unties the lace. The string slips from my back. He keeps the ribbon, tucking it inside the pocket of his pajama bottoms.
I arch my brow.
“It has your scent,” he answers in a gruff voice. He leans his face nearer.
I tilt my lips up to meet his mouth. His kiss weakens my knees. He gathers me closer to him, and the warmth of his forearm against the small of my back is seductive. His fingertips move to my shoulder, sliding off the blue strap. He kisses my skin, and I shiver. An ache builds inside me. My hand slips to his back, feeling the play of his muscles beneath his smooth skin. The tips of my breasts rub his chest. An explosion of heat drenches me.
Hawthorne lifts me in his arms and presses my back against the wall. My legs wrap around his narrow waist. I feel the hard length of him against me. My mouth finds his again. He holds my bottom, his strong fingers digging into my flesh, his tongue caressing mine.
“I don’t want your first time to be in a shower closet,” he says.
“What does it matter where,” I whisper, “as long as it’s with you?”