Last Kiss Goodnight oa-1 Page 10

  When her eyelids popped open, her eyes were the same bright shade. “More,” she said in a deep, throaty voice.

  “Why will you take food from me and not from Vika?”

  “I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of watching me beg for every scrap.”

  “She offers freely.”

  A growl from Criss.

  “Are you a fan of honey?” he asked.

  “Honey? Give me!”

  Caught you. “I will . . . after you vow never to harm Vika again.”

  “Sure, sure. Now give me.”

  “You will vow not to hurt her with words, food, rocks, or anything else, and I will give you half of the bag’s contents.”

  Dr. E made another appearance. There was a fresh cut on his cheek, and his robe was torn. His shoulders were stooped, as though his head was too heavy to hold up. “Now you’re going too far. That food is yours. You need to keep your strength up.”

  His? Or Dr. E’s?

  “The otherworlder has gone without nourishment far longer than Solo has,” X suddenly said, causing Solo’s attention to whip to him. “It’s only right that he share.”

  His robe had a single singe mark, just over his heart, and his skin was pale, lines of strain branching from his eyes, but he was grinning just as happily as before.

  “And haven’t you heard?” X added. “It’s far better to give than to receive.”

  “The girl?” he whispered.

  Satisfaction radiated from the being. “She is safe.”

  “How?” He’d heard nothing, and so little time had passed.

  “Darkness cannot remain in the light.”

  He wasn’t sure what that meant in terms of Vika’s safety, but allowed the subject to drop. Vika was safe. That was all that mattered.

  “So you got a crush on our keeper, do you? I thought so,” Criss said. “Well, the romantic in me approves. It’s a real beauty-and-the-beast-type story, and I’m in! When my brothers come to get me, and they will, I’ll make sure I only kill Vika a little bit so that there’s something left for you to have as a souvenir. I vow it. You’re welcome. Now, please. Give me the honey!”

  Somehow, he managed to maintain a blank expression. He wouldn’t discuss his feelings for Vika—whatever they were—and he wouldn’t allow himself to react to being called a beast while there was nothing he could do about it. However, he knew how to keep score. That was strike two for Criss. At three . . . poor dead girl.

  That’s what everyone would call her.

  “Not good enough,” he said. “Vow what I demanded.” He pretended to bite into half of a biscuit. “Otherwise, you get nothing.”

  “Okay, okay,” she rushed out. “I vow it. I won’t harm her again. Ever. With anything.”

  A moment passed, and her entire body shook as though hooked to an electric generator. Her spine jerked into total alignment, going ramrod straight. “What was that?”

  “A reminder that you will not like the consequences of breaking your word,” he warned.

  She popped her jaw. “You’re a tricky Jolly Red Giant, aren’t you? Well, that’s okay as long as you give me the rest of what you promised.” Those long, elegant fingers waved with more vigor.

  He tossed her the portion. Just as before, she caught the food and devoured every morsel.

  “Can’t you do anything right today? If you wanted to share with her, fine, but you should have made her work for it,” Dr. E griped. “And by ‘it’ I mean half of the smallest biscuit, not half of the entire bag.”

  Sighing with contentment, Criss lay back in her cage, a rare gem in a sea of dull stones.

  His life would have been easier if he’d speculated about Criss all night. Instead, it was Vika he was drawn to, Vika he wanted to talk to, Vika he wanted to learn about and . . . Vika he wanted to save, even from himself. His hands curled into fists. She was his ticket out of here. He had to do whatever was necessary, even to her.

  “Hey!” one of the other captives called. “New guy. Hamburglar.”

  “What’d you give Criss?” someone else demanded.

  “I want me some!”

  Solo snapped his teeth at the speakers, and they went quiet. Two even bowed their heads, recognizing a predator far more dangerous than themselves—one they did not want to rile, even caged as he was.

  The Targon blew him a kiss.

  Kitten watched him with expectant impatience.

  Without a word, he claimed a piece of bacon and tossed half of what remained in the bag to her, and the other half to the Targon. She caught her portion and dug in. The Targon shook his head and volleyed his portion to her, as well.

  “Sweet gesture, but I can’t eat this,” the Targon said. “My woman—” He slammed his lips together, going silent. And he must have decided that wasn’t good enough, because he spun, giving Solo his back.

  Interesting.

  “I’m too happy to be upset that you shared with Kitten without making her give the dumbest vow ever,” Criss purred. “She’s feral, by the way. I’m surprised you got her to talk to you rather than spit curses, but news flash, you’ll never be able to tap that.”

  He ate the bacon, relished the flavors.

  “I’m not a beer keg,” Kitten snapped.

  Voices from beyond the clearing caught his attention.

  “They’ll be here in less than an hour. Move your lazy carcasses, now, now, now!”

  “Have you glued the spikes to the paddle?”

  “Feed the snakes, Rasa! If they take one more nibble out of my hand, I’m gonna start biting back.”

  A bead of sweat rolled down Solo’s back. Already the air was warm and humid, and it would only grow hotter and wetter as the day passed.

  “What’d you do to make Vika like you, anyway?” Criss asked, rolling to her side.

  He had no answer and, taking a page from the Targon’s playbook, turned away.

  “Whatever. Hint taken,” she mumbled. “This isn’t a beauty-and-the-beast story, though, is it? It’s a sisterwife thing, right? You want Vika, Kitten—and probably me. Definitely me. I’m pretty sexy. Well, consider me no longer intrigued . . . unless Vika brings you something more to eat. If you get a meat loaf, I’ll be your slave for life. Well, half a life. My brothers will kill you.”

  Again, he offered no response.

  “Have you prepared your mind for what’s about to happen?” she asked.

  The reminder flooded him with apprehension. The circus, due to start.

  “Just do what you’re told,” she said. “You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll be better off. Trust me.”

  • • •

  He could not have prepared himself for this, Solo thought.

  For fifteen dollars a head, one human after another was allowed to parade through the clearing. The humans would stop in front of each cage and study the starving otherworlders inside while eating cotton candy, melting ice cream, hot dogs, and pretzels laced with addictive chemicals.

  Did they know they were being drugged?

  Some would stare with awe and wonder. Some would offer a critique of flaws. Some would throw pieces of grain at the captives. Solo allowed those pieces to bounce off him, letting them fall at his feet, but he watched as the others picked them up and ate, desperate enough to take what they could get, when they could get it, despite what Vika had fed them.

  He should have shared his bounty with all of them, he realized with a flicker of guilt.

  Children ran through every so often, laughing, tossing pebbles rather than food, before being chased off by the armed guards. That certainly explained where the rocks hurtled at Vika had come from.

  “Dance for me, Pearls,” one man begged Criss while the two males with him nodded eagerly.

  Never once uttering a derogatory comment or insult, Criss danced, lifting her arms over her head and swaying her hips. The men moaned and groaned their approval, even though her every motion was made while she gritted her teeth and hate shone in her eyes.

/>   Just do what you’re told. You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll be better off, she’d said. Trust me.

  Even now, he believed the opposite. If you hated yourself for your actions, you were never better off.

  Only Kitten challenged the humans. She spat curses, as Criss had said she would, and tried to scratch and bite anyone who stepped too close.

  Some of the female viewers asked the male otherworlders to lift their loincloths, and they, too, obeyed. Even the Targon, who wore his customary grin—though it was now cut by shards of broken glass.

  No one asked Solo to do anything. He’d partially morphed, his skin a light shade of red, his eyes probably glowing, and his fangs and claws at half-mast. However, those with stronger stomachs stared at him with morbid curiosity until realizing he would not be the one to first lower his gaze, and that the fury blazing through him might give him the strength he needed to burst through the bars and do some damage before the guards could shoot him.

  He heard murmurs of “ugly” and “hideous,” just as he’d heard all his life, only now there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to take it. To react was to pass out, and to pass out was to be far more vulnerable, as he’d already realized, and this was not a place or time to welcome any type of vulnerability.

  “I bet you want to kill these people,” Dr. E said. He was paler than before, truly pallid, and shakier. “I know I do.”

  The damage Solo could have done at any other time . . .

  “You should memorize their faces, and when you get out of here, you should hunt the offenders down and give them a little taste of your pain.”

  “There’s another way, you know,” X said before he could reply. Always he was there with his kindness and compassion, doing his best to build Solo up and encourage him. His color had already returned.

  “Don’t you dare feed him another line about forgiveness. We can’t forgive this kind of behavior.” Always Dr. E was there with his flamethrower, determined to enrage Solo further.

  Well, it was working.

  “He can, yes,” X said, “but that’s not what I was going to say. This is a terrible situation, but there is a light in the darkness if you’ll look for it rather than keeping your eyes closed.”

  “My eyes aren’t closed,” he growled softly. They were open, and they were peering at the human couple who’d just stopped in front of him, gaping. Why weren’t they disgusted by the conditions living beings were forced to endure? Why weren’t—

  His gazed snagged on a cascade of blond hair, just behind the pair. He focused. Peeking out from behind the far cage, watching him, expression concerned and guilt-ridden, was Vika.

  Her lip was split in the center, and there was a fresh bruise on her cheek.

  “X,” he snarled. X hadn’t saved her. She had been beaten.

  The human male tried to impress the female by stretching out his arm, as if he were brave enough to pet a beast like Solo.

  Urges he’d battled since waking up in this cage suddenly overcame him. The urge to hurt those who wanted to hurt him. The urge to repay cruelty with cruelty. And yet, there was a new one. The urge to get to Vika. To protect.

  With lightning-fast reflexes, Solo reached out, grabbed the male by the wrist, and twisted. The bones instantly broke.

  A howl of pain rang out.

  One of the guards surged forward, his gun already drawn.

  Solo could handle being shot. Over the years he’d been shot, stabbed, beaten, and anything else the human mind could think up. Still. He shouldn’t have done this, he realized. He should have remained stoic. Even without the human, he couldn’t yet get to Vika.

  Now he released the man and held his hands up, palms out, all innocence.

  “I demand a refund!” the man shouted as fat tears ran down his cheeks. “Ow, ow, ow, and damages! And all my medical bills paid, ow, ow, ow. I was told I wouldn’t be harmed, but look at this. It’s crushed! Ow, ow, ow. False advertising is a crime.”

  Scowling, the guard replaced his gun to examine the human’s injury.

  “Uh-oh. You’re in trouble now,” Dr. E said with a laugh. Health and vitality was returning to his cheeks. He was no longer shaky.

  “Focus on the light,” X said. He was now pale. He was now shaky.

  There was no light in a situation like this.

  The guard sent the human on his way, probably to a medic, and approached the cage. “I hope you realize the money he’s now owed is going to be taken out of your hide.” With that, he jabbed the button Vika had once pressed—the button that brought paralysis.

  Solo roared as warmth spread from his wrists to the rest of his body, exactly like the times he’d gotten angry, only this warmth was stronger and moved far more quickly. A river that had just broken free of a dam. He fought the sudden surge of weakness . . . fought the incoming vulnerability. . . .

  He lost.

  The last thing he saw before a heavy weight tugged at his eyelids was Vika, her hair wild, her eyes glittering with a strange sort of madness. She was rushing toward him, determined to get to him—until the second guard grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to a stop.

  Solo unleashed another roar, tried to reach for her, and failed.

  Eleven

  Do not gloat over me, my enemy! Though I have fallen, I will rise.

  —MICAH 7:8

  A ROUND TWO O’CLOCK IN the morning, the moon was a mere hook of gold in the black, star-studded sky. All of the circus patrons had gone home, and now, all of the performers were gathering around a great, blazing bonfire in the center of the imprisoned otherworlders.

  Vika shook with the force of her fear. Not for herself, not this time, but for the newcomer.

  Blue Eyes, she’d begun to call him. The fifteen-dollar fee her father had lost coupled with the money for “damages” and the irritation of having to deal with an irate human were to be taken out of Blue Eyes’s flesh.

  The male had not roused since the drugs had hit his system, but only because he’d been given a fresh dose every hour. Her father had wanted him docile until the right time, which just happened to be when all of his employees and Vika’s charges could witness Blue Eyes’s punishment.

  The performers had brought lawn chairs and now placed them in front of the cages. There was Rasa, the elf-size bearded lady with hissing snakes growing from her chin. There was the sword eater, the she-male with four hands, the conjoined gymnasts, and seemingly a thousand others.

  Blue Eyes was on his knees, slumped over, his cuffs bound to hooks protruding from a man-made stump. The fire blazed beside him, casting rays of gold over the deeply bronzed skin of his bare back. There was no longer any hint of red. But there would be. All too soon, there would be, and it would be red of a different sort.

  Jecis kicked him in the side to wake him, and cheers abounded.

  As Blue Eyes lifted his head, he blinked rapidly, perhaps fighting to focus. Jecis walked around him with arms lifted high. In front of the otherworlder, he stopped, turned to face his people.

  “This man—this disgusting creature—dared to touch a human without permission,” her father called, riling the crowd. Vika continued to read his lips. “He had every intention of causing irreparable damage—after he had been warned to behave.”

  A chorus of “boo” swept through the masses, the vibrations nearly rocking her off her feet. She surveyed the people she’d grown up with, hoping, praying to find one sympathetic face, that someone, anyone, would stand up and shout, “This is wrong. I won’t let you hurt that man.” Someone with the strength to force her father to back down.

  Instead, she discovered malicious glee and vicious enjoyment. Expressions all the more maniacal because everyone still wore their performance costumes, having come here directly after the last show. There were sequins, feathers, short fluffy skirts, lace and fishnets, oiled chests and pants practically painted on.

  These people were outcasts, accepted only for how they entertained. Now, they wanted to be
entertained. Actually, they probably felt as though they deserved a good show. Jecis had charged admission, after all.

  The muscles in Blue Eyes’s back knotted and his spine straightened. He scanned the area, suddenly alert. Someone threw a handful of popcorn at him, the fluffy yellow kernels raining over him.

  Fury blazed in his eyes . . . a fire far hotter than the flames crackling beside him.

  Please, she projected at Jecis. Don’t do this.

  “Let this be a lesson to all,” her father continued, turning . . . turning . . . to face everyone in the assembly. He was saying more, but his back was currently to Vika, so she couldn’t read his lips. The crowd liked it, whatever threat or insult he’d issued, because laughter erupted.

  Then he was facing her again, and he was saying, “—know that to disobey is to suffer.”

  Cheers joined the laughter. Her stomach churned. And as much turmoil as she’d reacted to lately, she felt as if she could have made butter with it.

  As her father stretched out his hand, as Matas slammed the handle of a whip against his palm, Vika shrank back into the night’s gloom. Jecis wanted her blood, and if he caught sight of her, she would get a whipping, too.

  Something strange had happened today. A few minutes after Matas had left her trailer, the lights had flickered again. She had opened the door, expecting to have to deal with him a second time.

  Instead, her father had been there. Scowling. Enraged.

  “You dared disobey me? Dared place yourself in danger, when you know you’re the most precious thing in the world to me?”

  He shoved her backward, stormed in after her, and slapped her.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she’d managed.

  “Why would you do this to me?” Slap. “Why would you force me to hurt you like this?” Slap.

  But that time, he had yelped in pain. Him. Not her. As if her skin had somehow cut at him.