but somehow unable to move. It was as though he thought if he only remained still enough, that terrible scene would be erased, and he could go on as he always had.
Worse, he could still taste her on his tongue, smell the scent of her hair. His body throbbed with need for her, and he could do nothing about it.
What did you expect? he thought then. Once she knew the truth of the matter, she would despise him for his weakness, for not being able to move past his pain to claim her for his own at a time when doing so would have made a difference. One might argue that if she hadn’t been in Los Alamos to help them, both Jasreel and Jessica might have perished at Margolis’ hands, but that had to be cold comfort to a woman who had been despoiled by that very same monster.
A monster who was now on the loose.
Anger flashed through him, terrible and quick as the lightning storms that swept over this country at the height of the summer monsoon season. In answer to that anger, the wine bottle flew across the room and smashed itself in the hearth. The flames there sputtered and then flared up more brightly, consuming the alcohol spattered over the logs.
Useless display…and a waste of good wine. He realized he could have used that wine to dull the ache of Julia’s departure. And true, he could have summoned another bottle, but it would not have been the one he had just broken. Like Julia, the cabernet franc had been perfect in its way, not something he could easily replace. Nor would he wish to. They were meant to be savored as their own unique selves.
He wondered then if perhaps he could have said something — anything — to keep her from going, but when the moment came, he had not been able to summon the words to his lips.
In time, perhaps he would heal. She would be gone, and he could return to the life he had constructed here for himself. It had been foolish to think he could have anything more than that.
Ah, well. At least he had had many decades to learn how to live alone.
----
Sleep was not Julia’s friend that night, but eventually she drifted off, more because she knew she had to be somewhat functional the next day, no matter what had happened between her and Zahrias. The problem was, she could still feel his arms around her, the strength and heat of his flesh. Her body yearned for him, even though she knew being with him was not an option. It was — all right, she wasn’t so irrational as to think it was his fault that Margolis had raped her, but one couldn’t argue that she would never have been around the commander in the first place if Zahrias had only claimed her at the same time the rest of the djinn selected their Chosen.
And when she awoke the next morning, she was irritable from lack of sleep and knew she looked terrible. She’d packed a few cosmetics, but they weren’t enough to hide the shadows under her eyes or her reddened eyelids. If anyone asked, she’d just say she’d had an allergic reaction to the detergent they used to wash the sheets here or something.
However, no one did ask. She ate breakfast with Brent Sanderson, but he seemed to be looking at his eggs or into his coffee mug or out the window of the restaurant — anywhere except directly at her. He knew she’d had dinner with Zahrias the night before, but clearly he wasn’t going to ask her about it.
After they were done with breakfast, she told Brent and Nancy and Eric to make sure they were ready to go. No point in dragging them over to the U.S. Marshals’ building; she’d head there herself and collect Miles and Lindsay, then be on the road home by nine o’clock. She hadn’t seen any djinn hanging around, but that didn’t surprise her too much.
The only awkward moment had been when Phillip himself brought out their breakfasts, and asked Julia how she had liked the elk tenderloin the night before. She stammered that she thought it was amazing, and thanked him for preparing for such a wonderful meal. If he’d noticed
Worse, he could still taste her on his tongue, smell the scent of her hair. His body throbbed with need for her, and he could do nothing about it.
What did you expect? he thought then. Once she knew the truth of the matter, she would despise him for his weakness, for not being able to move past his pain to claim her for his own at a time when doing so would have made a difference. One might argue that if she hadn’t been in Los Alamos to help them, both Jasreel and Jessica might have perished at Margolis’ hands, but that had to be cold comfort to a woman who had been despoiled by that very same monster.
A monster who was now on the loose.
Anger flashed through him, terrible and quick as the lightning storms that swept over this country at the height of the summer monsoon season. In answer to that anger, the wine bottle flew across the room and smashed itself in the hearth. The flames there sputtered and then flared up more brightly, consuming the alcohol spattered over the logs.
Useless display…and a waste of good wine. He realized he could have used that wine to dull the ache of Julia’s departure. And true, he could have summoned another bottle, but it would not have been the one he had just broken. Like Julia, the cabernet franc had been perfect in its way, not something he could easily replace. Nor would he wish to. They were meant to be savored as their own unique selves.
He wondered then if perhaps he could have said something — anything — to keep her from going, but when the moment came, he had not been able to summon the words to his lips.
In time, perhaps he would heal. She would be gone, and he could return to the life he had constructed here for himself. It had been foolish to think he could have anything more than that.
Ah, well. At least he had had many decades to learn how to live alone.
----
Sleep was not Julia’s friend that night, but eventually she drifted off, more because she knew she had to be somewhat functional the next day, no matter what had happened between her and Zahrias. The problem was, she could still feel his arms around her, the strength and heat of his flesh. Her body yearned for him, even though she knew being with him was not an option. It was — all right, she wasn’t so irrational as to think it was his fault that Margolis had raped her, but one couldn’t argue that she would never have been around the commander in the first place if Zahrias had only claimed her at the same time the rest of the djinn selected their Chosen.
And when she awoke the next morning, she was irritable from lack of sleep and knew she looked terrible. She’d packed a few cosmetics, but they weren’t enough to hide the shadows under her eyes or her reddened eyelids. If anyone asked, she’d just say she’d had an allergic reaction to the detergent they used to wash the sheets here or something.
However, no one did ask. She ate breakfast with Brent Sanderson, but he seemed to be looking at his eggs or into his coffee mug or out the window of the restaurant — anywhere except directly at her. He knew she’d had dinner with Zahrias the night before, but clearly he wasn’t going to ask her about it.
After they were done with breakfast, she told Brent and Nancy and Eric to make sure they were ready to go. No point in dragging them over to the U.S. Marshals’ building; she’d head there herself and collect Miles and Lindsay, then be on the road home by nine o’clock. She hadn’t seen any djinn hanging around, but that didn’t surprise her too much.
The only awkward moment had been when Phillip himself brought out their breakfasts, and asked Julia how she had liked the elk tenderloin the night before. She stammered that she thought it was amazing, and thanked him for preparing for such a wonderful meal. If he’d noticed
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