between the Dietrichs and Ruslanivs,â Cain reminded him, and when Levi stared back stupidly, Cain narrowed his eyes. âThe feud itself runs deep. You know that, surely, even claiming neutrality as you do. But with my standing as the Dietrich heir, my focus is not on ancient bloodlust. My focus lies in the present.â He paused. He shook his head, throwing his gaze elsewhere. He could feel the hatred coming down over his face, washing away all the good feelings. âYou know what happened to me, donât you? It wasnât that long ago, and it was the talk of New London for months.â
Levi stared at him, eyes heated and alive with that raw dark passion of his.
âMy parents were murdered,â Cain filled him in, coldly. âAnd I know the culprits are Ruslanivs in some way or another, because no petty street gang could manage something so calculatedâkilling my parents and making my life a living hell for as long as they did. Iâm going to make them pay. Iâm going to make them bow down and kiss my feet. That, Levi, is the Dietrich focus while I am head of the family. You get it now, I assume?â
Cain knew the weight of such a revelation was crushing. He understood the gravity of his place, and his motives, and his history, and his impetus. He was aware of the demands it made of others. But if Levi did not get it, then there was no point in using him for anythingâscouting, patrolling, fighting, nothing .
âYou will not rest until youâve exacted your revenge,â Levi surmised in a husky voice, Turkish cigarette smoldering between his knuckles and a new curious light sparking in his aloof eyes. âI understand.â
He put out his cigarette against the front of the pew, a blatant desecration that pleased Cain for some reason.
âDo you?â Cain drilled. âDo you understand, Levi? I know you want me.â
âLike you want me.â
âI wonât deny it. But I havenât contracted you as my paramour. Iâve contracted you as a fighter.â
âAh, my lord,â Levi said quietly, âI told you before, I am whatever you want me to be.â
Cainâs face pinched. He felt the stab of a tiny and guilty fear, the dreadful idea that perhaps the primal throb of lust was unreciprocated. I am whatever you wantâ¦. Did Levi mean to imply he was simply going along with all this for moneyâkilling and sex for money? Could one really hold it past a man to do something so depraved? Did Levi pity him? Did he think he was lonely or something? A wave of cold, black, insulted rage crested in Cain quickly, to feel so pathetic and manipulatedâor at least, to suspect as much.
âI want you to be honest with me,â he whispered urgently through his teeth, before he realized the depth of the ache at such a suggestion.
Leviâs eyes moved across his face, almost frantically. It was odd. It was like a man with a secret, looking a complication right in the eyes. Maybe it was just that he had been trying to convince himself he would be whatever Cain wanted, because it was too much for him to admit inside that the feelings were real. If freelance gunmen hadnât buried all their own feelings early in life. Maybe Cain was just lucky enough to have found the last gunslinger on the streets of New London who possessed a functioning moral compassâand whether it might one day spin wildly out of control like Cainâs own, didnât matter.
âHonestâ¦.â Levi echoed, and Cain couldnât bully him any longer.
He could see the emotional struggle blazing in Leviâs eyes. And he looked so little and defeated, on his knees before him, wide dark eyes and loose blond hair. It was like he was trying to piece together normal feelings inside, his own version of bruised and broken trust after the world had stomped on his soul too many times. Or so Cain guessed.
âHonest,â he repeated. âBe honest
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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