12. Chapter Twelve

Sylas

I’m clean and took care of myself again in the shower. I should be able to manage through dinner before another surge of lust overcomes me.

All my life has been spent around other males. If another splicer were in the kitchen cooking, I wouldn’t have even bothered to sling a towel around my hips. I’m wearing it out of deference to Cally.

It’s only when her eyebrows flash up toward her hairline and her mouth makes a little O of surprise that I realize my gaff—wearing only a towel isn’t proper. I trot to the counter to grab another pair of shorts out of my pack, then hurry to the privacy of the bathroom to pull them on.

“Sorry,” I call through the closed door. “Didn’t think. Never been around a—”

“Woman before.” She finishes the sentence for me.

She sounds calm, almost happy. That couldn’t be right, could it? Instead of being scandalized, her voice is filled with humor.

When I rejoin her and slide onto a stool on the other side of the kitchen bar, she asks, “Feel better?” The way one eyebrow wings up, it’s as though she’s sharing a joke with me. I guess I wasn’t so stealthy when I palmed myself in the shower.

“Loads.” I wondered if my innuendo would be lost on her, but by the low timbre of her chuckle, she got my dirty pun.

She’s stirring the veggies in a skillet, facing away from me when she says, “I wish I didn’t feel as though you’re my jailor, Sylas. Otherwise, I think we could be friends.”

Something hot and sharp coils in my belly as I consider this.

I’m quiet for so long Cally turns to inspect me. Still, I weigh and measure and turn things over in my mind before I remove her lanyard from my neck and set it on the bar countertop between us with a muffled clatter. I eye it for a moment longer, my fingers still clutching it as when playing chess; your turn isn’t over until you completely remove your hand from your chess piece.

“Both your car keys are here,” I finally say as I release the galaxy-colored fabric lanyard.

She spins from where she’s rummaging in the upper cabinet to eye me. By the intensity of her stare, I’ve got her full attention.

“I don’t want to be your jailor. As of this moment, I quit. Take the keys. I’m sorry I confiscated them. Out of anyone on Earth, I should know the value of free will. Run away if you want. Do what you need to do.”

Using the colored fabric of the lanyard, I spin the keys in a circle, avoiding Cally’s penetrating gaze. She hasn’t said a word, knowing there’s got to be more to come in my little speech.

“You do what you want, Calliope Quinn, but be forewarned that I will do what I must as well. My safety, perhaps my life and that of my friends, depends on secrecy. Until the army rescued me, I was kept in the dark about everything except how to hunt and kill and stay alive. Since then, I’ve gotten up to speed about the world by spending hours a day on the Internet.”

I quit fiddling with the keys and spear her with my focused gaze.

“If the general population finds out about us accidentally, without a perfectly coordinated PR campaign, I have no doubt things will go badly. I will do everything in my power to prevent that.”

When she gasps, I realize that those words coming from the lips of a supersoldier must have terrified her.

“Let me rephrase that. I won’t harm you, Cally, but I will tell the brass and they will hunt you down and lock you up. Of that, I have no doubt. So run if you have to, but be assured, I will do what I must to ensure the safety of the people I care about.”

As I push the keys toward her, I say, “As of this moment, I hereby resign my position as your jailor.”