The Mammoth Book of Futuristic Romance

One

“C’mon, baby,” Rexa whispered under her breath as she watched the information flashing on the screens in large three-dimensional blocks of glowing blue on the inky black field. Tugging on the sync gloves that both controlled the cursor and decoded the encryption on the files, she sorted through the large cubes of information. She didn’t dare turn on the lights. The glow from the screens was enough of a risk.

If Palis discovered her, she’d be dead.

After all, family loyalty only went so far, and in her clan, blood was not thicker than politics.

The box on the far left flashed like a beacon. She immediately reached out, grabbing the info-lex with the ghostly cursor floating through the air in front of her, and pulling it down to her personal screen. Her heart thundered as she read.

This was it.

She knew the bastard had sold his soul and rigged the last election.

She snatched the info-lex, simultaneously opening links to every media outlet from Udan to Calaria. All she had to do now was let go of the block of information the cursor-hand gripped so tightly, and the whole world would know her brother was a fraud.

The lights flashed brilliant white, and the screens turned black. Rexa spun around.

In the doorway stood her brother, looking at her as if she were a little girl who’d just broken his favorite toy. Two of his bodyguards edged into the room.

“Really, Rexa?” Her brother’s dark hair had thinned since taking office. It only made his face sharper, more like a skulking river rat’s. “I thought you were smarter than this.” He flicked his wrist, and the bodyguards surged forward.

Rexa screamed, and one of them clamped a hand over her mouth. She tried to bite him, but his gloves were thick, and he was more than twice her size. When he picked her up, she thrashed her legs, but it did no good.

“Take her to the portal,” her brother commanded.

Rexa tried to scream again.

Not the portal. Please. No.

She tried to wriggle out of the bodyguard’s grip but it was no use. If they would just kill her, there’d be evidence, eventually her brother would be caught, and fate would be far less cruel.

Palis left the lights off and led them through the dark corridors with the small light from his sync gloves. They weren’t far from that part of the complex that stored the original election files to the justice corridor. The bodyguard now carried her through the cavernous Hall of Justice. The sentencing chamber was just beyond.

At one time, anyone who broke a law was sentenced to banishment in penal colonies on the far outskirts of their tightly knit civilization. But some prisoners had managed to escape and find their way back into society. That’s when the branding tradition had started, so everyone could recognize a criminal and his crime by the location of the brand. Then the portals had been invented. Once a convict was sentenced to banishment, they never came back, and crime had ceased to exist in their world.

Or at least it ceased to exist unless you had enough power and money to corrupt the system. Rexa jerked against her captor again.

The guard holding her didn’t flinch as they entered the small, bare room. Rexa stared at the ominous hexagon framework of metal looming in the far corner. Palis stepped over to the controls and waved his sync gloves in front of them. The machine came to life. A wavering red light pulsed within the metal frame.

Rexa twisted her head around and caught one of the guard’s fingers in her teeth, biting down hard. He shouted and snatched his hand away from her mouth.

“You can’t get away with this. Someone will know I’m missing.” It was a useless thing to say, but she was desperate.

“I’ll tell them you ran off with that Telaran lover of yours.” Palis shrugged as if he weren’t sentencing her to death.

“I don’t have a Telaran lover!”

“Too bad for you.” He grinned.

“You bought the election.” She twisted, but the guard’s arm clenched tightly around her throat.

“I only bought it by slightly more than my opponent did. That is how the game is played.” His eyes were icy and cold.

“You broke the law.”

“What would have happened if the Rengal clan had resumed control of the senate? Father died to see our clan in power. I’m not going to let his sacrifice be in vain. The trouble is, everything has to be so black and white with you.” Palis turned and programmed the portal. It snapped and hissed as whips of bright white energy crackled within the swirling red light.

“So you’re willing to sentence me to death?” She tried to kick herself away from the portal.

“It’s not death, just banishment. Enjoy your life in the wastelands with the other conniving dregs of society. Goodbye.”

Rexa screamed as the bodyguard pulled her up on the platform. The red light swirled and seemed to reach for her. She tried to cling to the guard, but the second one grabbed her around the neck. Choking, she felt herself fall and her vision turned black.

Burning whips of lightning and searing cold assaulted her as she dropped, falling through the red light.

She couldn’t breathe. Her flailing arms did nothing to stop her as she tumbled through the portal.

Suddenly, she felt as if she was being pulled through a tight vortex, spinning and spinning. She hit the ground hard.

Rexa took a minute to breathe. Pain from the impact radiated through her. Still dizzy and sick, she didn’t want to move. The metal platform felt cold against her cheek. She tried to wiggle various parts of her body, hoping that nothing was broken.

Thankfully everything worked fine, although not without a good deal of pain. Cradling her side, she sat up. She’d probably cracked a rib. A gray desert stretched endlessly around her. The barren rocks and crags blended seamlessly on the horizon with the heavily overcast sky. She shivered in the cold, dry wind and pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck.

She glanced back at the portal framework. The red light was gone. Now it was only an empty metal arch. There was no way back.

In the distance, a large mountain range rose above the desert. At least the mountains would provide shelter. But then, that was the most likely place for the other foul residents of this prison to congregate.

She had no desire to run into any of them. She’d be lucky if the only people she came across were thieves and prostitutes.

Rexa touched the back of her hand to her stinging cheek. A smear of blood marred the top of her sync gloves.

Her gloves!

Her idiot brother had forgotten to take her gloves. She struggled to her feet and inspected the side of the portal frame. If she could hack into the system, perhaps there was a way to reverse the gate and send herself home. And when she did reach home, nothing was going to stop her from ruining her brother and making him pay.

She searched the entire structure, but there was nothing she could tap into to gain control of the blasted thing. Without a control screen, her gloves were useless, so she pulled them off and pocketed them. She shaded her eyes with her hand. To her left, some sort of gully scarred the ground.

If it was a ravine, there might be water. It was as good a goal as any.

She couldn’t survive out in the open for long. She’d barely gone ten steps when she noticed bones sticking up out of the dirt. At least there were animals here . . .

Oh dear Creator, the bones were human.

The arm and leg bones had fallen at odd angles, but there was no mistaking the human ribs. Only the skull was missing.

Rexa shivered and turned away from the grim warning. She started walking.

She learned quickly that several things were deceptive in the wastelands. One of them was distance.

She’d been walking for what felt like hours, but seemed to be no closer to the ravine than when she had started. Now that she looked back, she couldn’t see the portal either. The only things she could see were the scraggly bushes growing like an enormous maze, and the outcroppings of black rock that rose from the brush.

She heard a rumble in the distance, a clattering noise that sent a chill down her spine. Someone was out there.

Climbing one of the outcroppings was a risk, but she needed to know where the noise was coming from.

A large hawk-like bird cried overhead. Rexa glanced up at it. It circled on the wind, an ominous reminder that even the animals in this place would pick her bones clean.

The rumbling came from a different direction now. Frightened, she trotted to the nearest rock outcropping and searched for a handhold, her already parched mouth painfully dry. Luckily the dark rock was layered, giving her several cracks to wedge her hands into.

She climbed, her heart beating faster. The rumbling stopped, and she thought she heard voices.

Thankfully, her black synth coat meant she blended in with the surrounding rock.

Without thinking, Rexa jammed her hand into another crack, and immediately felt a sharp jab of burning pain. She gasped as she let go of the rock and fell backward, landing with a thud on the hard ground. She grabbed her wrist. Blood oozed from a nasty bite on the side of her palm. A red-spotted reptilian creature scuttled out of the crack in the rock, bared its sharp teeth and hissed at her. The frill along its back rattled in warning.

Her hand felt like it was on fire. It was already beginning to swell. She could only hold her wrist tightly and clench her teeth against the pain.

“Over here!” A man shouted. The rustling in the brush grew louder. “Sounds like a kiver got the bastard.”

“Good, we won’t have to kill him, then. We’ll just take his head when he dies.” A second voice answered. “The bounty on the Mad Man will be more than the last three combined.”

Rexa closed her eyes. She was poisoned. Already the nausea set in and she felt dizzy. She was dead.

Either way, she was dead.

She watched helplessly as a rusty blade cut through the brush. “Hey, it’s a woman!”

Rexa tried to clear her vision, but it took too much effort.

The other man cackled. “They must have sent a whore through the wrong portal. We’ll have fun tonight.

If she’s not breathing, she’ll still be warm.”

Rexa felt them pawing at her clothing, searching for pockets, and felt the bile rise in her throat.

“Stop – stop it,” she whispered, as one of them tried to hoist her up over his shoulder.

“Hey you!” A low, booming voice broke the silence of the wasteland. The hawk cried once more, the sharp keening sound slicing through the air like a knife. “You think a kiver could kill me?”

“The Mad Man!” One of them shouted.

The two men immediately dropped her onto the hard rock. She used all of her energy to curl into a ball.

Just then a roar blasted out overhead, followed by a blistering wave of heat. Rexa opened her eyes to see fire raining down around her. The two scavengers screamed as if the hand of death had just opened up to grab them.

The rumbling started up again, and with a squeal of an engine, they were gone.

“You okay?” The new stranger loomed over her. Her eyes cleared just enough to see the edge of his long, patchwork coat waving in the breeze beside the still-burning tip of a junked-together flamethrower.

The bushes around them crackled as the man let out a high-pitched whistle.

The hawk swooped over the burning bushes and landed on a leather pad tied to the man’s shoulder.

Dark hair blew haphazardly across the man’s hardened face, dark eyes, and the K-shaped brand on his cheek.

Murderer.

Rexa let her head fall, and the world turned black.

Two

She woke slowly. At first she held still, frantic to keep the nausea at bay. Her body was just as desperate for something to drink, though. She flopped her arm over her body and rolled to her side. She was on a flat pallet with a rough blanket beneath her cheek. A chain rattled as she moved.

She blinked her eyes into focus and stared down at the wrapping on her wounded hand. Although the clean bandage compressed her sore hand tightly, the color of her fingertips looked healthy. Her clothes were intact. Her ribs were still sore, but other than that, she didn’t seem to have any injuries. Then she noticed the makeshift shackle on her ankle.

“You’re alive.” A deep, gravelly voice commented. “Good.”

Rexa pushed herself against the hard dirt wall behind her. She was in a cave. Exposed wires and lights were tacked into the rough ceiling. The walls curved naturally, as if they had been carved by flowing water.

In every nook and corner, mounds of junk were piled. At first glance, they gave the impression of being heaps of garbage, but as she looked closer, all of the refuse seemed organized by size and material.

Throughout the cave, strange furniture had been welded or strapped together from salvaged parts of old appliances and vehicles. This recycled furniture had even been polished to show off vintage designs. In their own way, the structures were whimsical, if not outright beautiful.

On a stand that had once been the control wheel for a Patarch War-era starfighter, the large, dark hawk roosted with his feathers fluffed in contentment and his eyes happily closed.

That’s when her gaze fell on her captor. He sat at a table using a tool to pry into an electronics panel.

He’d pulled the top half of his hair back and tied it, revealing the hard lines of his face and the rough dark stubble of a young beard. He was large and powerful, with wide, honed shoulders and long limbs.

Her gaze traveled back to his face and fixed on the shining scars. They formed a brand on the crest of his cheekbone, just below and slightly behind his left eye.

“What are you going to do to me?” Rexa hugged her legs tightly. She tried to fight her fear, but she couldn’t stop staring at the brand.

The man frowned and rose from his seat. He stalked across the room like a large hunting cat. Rexa caught sight of the glint of metal and flinched, but when the man came forward, he was only carrying a cup of water. He towered over her, not bothering to try to make himself less threatening as he handed the cup to her.

She took it, and while the clear liquid sloshing inside the dented cup was the most tempting drug she could imagine, fear kept her from taking a sip.

“It’s only water.” The man returned to his chair and resumed his work on the electronic panel, as if she were no concern to him at all.

“How do I know?” She placed the cup down on the edge of the pallet. It was the only way she could defy him.

“Trust me, or don’t. I don’t care either way.” He lifted the panel and examined it from a different angle.

“Then why did you chain me to the wall?” She pulled her leg forward and dragged the heavy chain over the blanket.

“Because I don’t trust you.”

Rexa let out a gasp, and almost choked on a laugh. “I’m not branded.”

Her captor fixed her with a stare that could have cowed a deadly creature twice his size. “Not where I can see it, maybe. There are plenty of places to hide a brand on a body.”

“I’m innocent,” she hissed.

“Congratulations, you know the planetary motto.” He put the panel down and walked to the other side of the room, where he lit a fire in the belly of an antique camping stove.

“So, you’re innocent?” she crossed her arms. Again, he looked at her with such intensity, he forced her to glance down.

“No.” He turned his back and walked into another room in the cave.

She fought a shiver, and then looked at the cup of water. Her throat clenched. “I didn’t break any law. I was sent here because I was trying to expose political corruption.” Rexa bit her tongue before she said anything more. Her father was responsible for a lot of the laws that sentenced people to one-way trips through the portals.

The stranger huffed and returned to the table. He chopped up some sort of tuber and tossed it into a pot.

“Good luck with that.”

“No kidding.” She pulled on the edge of the bandage wrapped so carefully around her hand. “Why did you save me?”

He placed the pot over the heat of the fire, and then lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered.

His face remained impassive. “I don’t intend to. Don’t force me to change my mind.”

“Rape, then.” She said it as if it were a foregone conclusion. Her stomach twisted into knots of terror.

He looked at her again, but this time something about him had softened. His eyes seemed dark and deep, and no longer quite so frightening. “My brand is here.” He brushed his hand over his cheek. “Not here.” He brought his finger up between his eyes, where those guilty of sexual assault wore their scars.

Rexa’s heart beat heavy and hard with relief, which she found troubling, since he made no attempt to hide the fact he was a convicted killer. “Then why are you keeping me here?”

He spooned some mash from the pot into a cracked bowl, and then walked over to his hawk. He gently ruffled the feathers on the bird’s neck. The hawk shifted on the perch and the bells tied to the straps on his legs jingled. “You’d run.”

“No offence, but it seems the logical thing to do.” Rexa said, glancing at the dimming natural light slanting against one of the far walls. The light had to come from the entrance to the cave. If she wanted out, it was that way.

“Even if you cleaned me out of food and water to try to make it across the flats, you’d still be dead before you crossed Fool’s Ridge. If the kivers don’t get you, a pack of sand wolves will. If the sand wolves don’t manage to finish you off, there are always the headhunters. And if you somehow make it past them, I’m sure you’ll do fine in the city without protection or anything of value to trade.”

She reached in her pocket and pressed her hand against her sync gloves. They were cutting-edge tech, and he must not have known what they could do. To someone unfamiliar with them, they would have looked like ordinary gloves.

She slowly pulled her hand back out of her pocket. He watched her with suspicion as he placed the food bowl next to her untouched water. “I don’t like wasting energy, or food. When you know your limitations, and have gathered your own supplies, you can go.”

“So you intend to make me work for my freedom?” Whatever he had cooked for her smelled savory and wonderful. Even though it looked like a pile of wet sand, her stomach still rumbled.

“I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s not a bad idea, now that you mention it.” The corner of his lip turned up in what almost looked like a grin.

Rexa fought the urge to throw the bowl of mush at him. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She desperately needed a drink, and the bowl of mash was beginning to resemble roasted meat in her delusional mind.

“Who were those men in the desert?” She asked, poking at the steaming food. “Were they headhunters?”

Her captor nodded. “When the Red Hand Gang finally took over control of the planet, they appeased the less violent masses by offering a bounty for the heads of anyone with a brand on their face.” His cheek twitched just beneath his scar. “Thieves, conspirators, prostitutes and drug-users aligned themselves with the gang under the promise that there would be no murderers or rapists in their midst.”

“They got rid of their competition.” Rexa mused.

“Smart girl.” The man sat back down and kicked his feet up on the table.

“And these headhunters kill for money?” She knew the wasteland was a bad place, a dangerous place, but in her worst nightmares, she couldn’t have imagined this.

“Trust me, the irony is not lost on me.” Bitterness dripped from his voice. He looked at her, his expression grim and serious. “The really bad ones kill whoever they want and brand the face post-

mortem. You were lucky I found you.” He tilted his head at her unused cup. “It’s only water.”

Rexa picked up the cup and slowly took a sip. Her whole body cried out in relief and she hastily gulped down the rest. She waited for dizziness, some sort of sign he had ill intent, but there was nothing.

She picked up her bowl of food. She watched as he filled another bowl for himself. “What’s your name?”

“Taven.” He took a bite, and she did as well. The mash tasted rich, warm and soothing, with a pleasant sour bite.

“I’m Rexa.” She took another spoonful. “Thank you,” she forced out.

He looked down at the bowl in his hands. “You’re welcome.”

Three

Three weeks passed while Rexa remained chained. Thankfully, the tether was long enough that she could move fairly freely through Taven’s ramshackle home. She could only get about a foot outside the mouth of the cave, though, before the chain stopped her. In that three weeks, she took great care in observing her host.

To say he was a man of few words was an understatement. In fact, since the day she’d woken up, he hadn’t initiated any conversation or interaction at all. He always left it to her. At first it was infuriating.

Then Rexa came to the startling realization that he was, in effect, taming her. Any interaction between them was always her choice. She had to seek him out.

When she did, it was often rewarding. In spite of the fact that he was quiet, she found Taven to be thoughtful, observant, fiercely intelligent and patient. On occasion, he showed a dry wit. He was even gentle. When her kiver-bite wound festered, he treated her hand with delicate care, and apologized under his breath when his efforts to clean it stung.

She still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted from her, but as each day passed, she knew without a doubt he would not harm her. He earned her trust the way one would a wild creature’s, and she wondered if he’d used the same method to tame his hawk, Wingman.

Any time she neared the bird, it gaped its beak, hissed at her and puffed all its feathers up in warning.

She decided to give the raptor a wide berth for both their sakes.

Even after all this time, Rexa still didn’t know what Taven had done to earn the brand on his cheek, but in her mind she came up with a million excuses for him. Maybe it was self-defense, or perhaps he had been trying to protect someone. She couldn’t believe he would willingly kill another person in cold blood. Perhaps she was fooling herself. She’d heard stories of people allying themselves with their captors out of self-preservation, but from where she stood, it didn’t seem like too bad an idea. So far, he’d proven she could trust him. She couldn’t say the same for the rest of the planet.

That morning, Rexa watched him as he stood at the entrance to the cave, preparing to go out to check his traps for food. Whatever star threw light at this backward hole of a planet seemed to take pity on them that morning. For the first time since she’d arrived, a sun broke through the endless layer of clouds. In the unfiltered light, Taven’s hair looked more dark brown than black, with parts that shone deep red when the rays hit them right.

He concentrated on untangling a snare. She could only see the unbranded side of his face. It was harsh, barely tamed. In that moment, he was a handsome man.

“Can I come with you?” she asked. “I could help.” Her belly fluttered nervously as she stared at him.

He slowly turned to look at her, his heavy lashes low, giving an inexplicable heat to his dark eyes. She knew it was futile, but she wanted to be with him on such a nice day.

He strode forward with slow and carefully placed strides, a half-grin quirked in the corner of his mouth. It reminded her of that first day. Her heart kicked up, thumping loudly in her ears, and her throat went dry. He bent down and wrapped his large hands around her ankle. With his fingertips, he deftly unscrewed one bolt, and the entire contraption fell away.

“It wasn’t locked!” Rexa kicked the damn thing, and then had to hop on one foot as she nursed her bruised toe. “The whole time, I could have walked away?”

Taven shrugged. “You coming?” He held his arm out to indicate the world outside the cave.

In half a millisecond, Rexa thought of a million acts of torture she could inflict on him, and every single one of them seemed like a pretty good idea. “Damn you,” she muttered. “Damn you, damn you, damn you.”

And damn herself for being so stupid.

“Too late. C’mon, before the scavengers beat us to the traps.” He smiled at her, and she found herself chuckling in response.

Freedom, even such a small taste of it, felt good. The heat from the sunlight soaked into her coat as they carefully hiked down a well-worn path through the ravine. Wingman flew overhead, circling through the bronze-tinted sky.

“From this point on, you have to obey any order I give without question,” Taven said, turning back to her.

“Why?” She stopped in her tracks, worried for the first time.

Taven looked exasperated. “That’s a question.” He took a careful step forward and pointed down to a thin wire crossing the path. “I’ve set traps all along here to keep headhunters out. Pay attention, follow my lead, and go slowly. Got it?”

Rexa gave him a quick mock salute, determined not to disappoint him. She’d never learn her way around enough to survive on her own if she couldn’t keep his trust. They proceeded slowly until they reached a broad trail along a dry river bed at the bottom of the ravine.

“Keep your eyes and ears open for trouble,” Taven warned. After a long, still pause where Taven watched Wingman’s behavior in the air, his whole posture seemed to ease. “Do you have any experience at hunting?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Rexa confessed. “I’m a bit of a city girl. I didn’t even have any pets.” In truth, she had been ignored most of the time she had been growing up. One of the political neophytes had always been assigned to watch her, because her parents had been too busy with their campaigns to pay her any attention. She had learned to occupy her time by hacking the tech around her, because it was there, and the only thing she really had to play with. Now that she thought about it, the stark loneliness of her childhood had been crushing. Even her brother had always seen her as a spying nuisance bent on getting him into trouble. Maybe he had had something there.

Taven seemed to have a lot of experience trudging around through brambles. They didn’t have luck with any of the snares he’d set, but he carefully checked and concealed each of them before moving on again. They were able to catch some mud toads. These amphibians were immune to kivers, and Taven used them to make antivenom.

“How long have you been here?” Rexa asked, stuffing a toad in the pack.

He shielded his eyes from the sun with his palm, and seemed to consider the question for a moment.

“It’s been about fourteen season cycles for this world, but I don’t know how many standard years that translates to.”

Twenty-one. Damn.

“How old were you when you were branded?” Her throat closed up with shock as she said it. He didn’t look old enough to have been a convict for over twenty years.

“Sixteen.”

Dear God, he’d been a child. What had happened to him? Whatever it was, he had only been a boy. His whole life had been taken away. It didn’t seem fair. But whoever he had murdered was dead. Was that fair? It was all so twisted. No matter what, she had to remember – the man who stood before her had lived most of his life in the wastelands. This place had honed him. She couldn’t let herself forget it.

“Rexa, look,” he said in a hushed whisper. As he turned to her, his dark eyes lit with excitement. She pushed all other thoughts from her mind and focused on the weedy patch of ground where he pointed. She stepped closer, bringing her body close enough to him that he wrapped his arm over her shoulder and directed her gaze toward an enormous, fat, muddy-brown bird resting beneath the bush.

“I haven’t caught a brushrunner in years,” he whispered against her ear. A shiver tickled down her neck and pooled deep in her belly.

“Do they taste good roasted?” she whispered back, as warmth spread through her limbs.

“It’s the closest thing to etherium you can get around here.” He pulled out a sharpened blade. “Hold still. They’re strong, and it looks like the snare only caught his leg. If he breaks loose . . .”

“I’m on it.”

Excitement coursed through her as he stalked around to the back of the bird. It was an ugly thing with a wrinkly bald head and a long, flappy blue comb. At the moment, its eyes were closed. Perhaps it had exhausted itself. Taven crept up behind it. Rexa took a step to the side to hide herself behind a scraggly tree.

Just then she heard a familiar rattle. A kiver hissed at her from the trunk of the tree and she screamed and leapt forward.

The bird woke with a loud “Gwark! gwark!” It flailed against the snare. Taven swore as he lunged for the thing. The tie snapped and the bird, easily the size of a small dog, barreled straight toward Rexa in an awkward, hopping run.

“Grab it!” Taven shouted, hot on the bird’s tail feathers.

Rexa fought the urge to run and, instead, squatted in the middle of the bird’s path with her hands outstretched as if she were catching a ball.

The ugly bird launched at her face, beating his enormous black wings. All Rexa could do was duck and cover her head with her hands.

Another sharp oath erupted from Taven as he crashed into her. They both tumbled along the ground.

Fire lanced through her side from her sore rib, and the rest of her was a tangle of arms and legs. She came to a stop with her back on the warm sand and Taven pressing down on top of her.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, as she wriggled beneath him. “Hurry, we can . . .”

But he didn’t move. His body shook with odd jerking motions. At first she was concerned he was having some sort of seizure, but then she heard it. Low at first, as if he were trying desperately to hold it in, but couldn’t.

He laughed, and the sound was far better than a roasted bird ever could be.

Rexa found herself laughing with him as they lay there in the heat and just gave in to the moment.

Taven’s face was transformed. Warm and bright, he seemed to glow with mirth. She wondered how long it had been since he’d laughed. He’d been alone for so long.

She reached up and touched his unbranded cheek and his gaze met hers. Tilting her chin up slightly, she smiled at him, and then let her eyes drift closed.

Her heart hammered as she waited for him to bring his lips to hers. She ached for his touch, for his kiss.

Finally, soft lips brushed hers, and his cheek scratched her warmly. Rexa had only ever heard of the effects of etherium, and the wild, free-floating ecstasy it induced in its users, but she couldn’t imagine anything more mind-blowing than this kiss.

Taven pulled away. She fought to catch her breath.

“Are you okay?” His voice had turned husky and taken on a tone she’d never heard before. Her rib still ached, but at the moment she didn’t care a whit. She nodded, unable to speak.

Taven rose and helped her to her feet, though he wouldn’t look her in the eye and seemed uncomfortable. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

Rexa nodded again, feeling both dizzy and drunk from the after-effects of his kiss. “I guess it’s tubers again for dinner. It’s better than eating the toads.”

He chuckled and led her back to the cave.

Four

Another few weeks passed, and Rexa was sure they were far more agonizing than the last ones. She had her freedom, but now her mind was in a constant state of chaos. Taven remained his usual elusive self, and to her endless torment, he refused to acknowledge that he had kissed her.

Rexa had no idea where she stood with him. Half of her felt she was completely out of her mind for thinking about it at all. It wasn’t as if they could be married and live happily ever after. But he looked at her with such longing it nearly broke her heart.

If that weren’t enough, sometimes they sat at the mouth of the cave in companionable silence listening to the soft sounds of the desert as daylight faded. In those moments, she really felt at peace. When they stared out over the ravine, all her thoughts and worries fell away. She could live in the present and it felt good.

She caught Taven watching her. It wasn’t the first time. Usually he’d turn away, but this time, he met her gaze.

“What would you do if you could escape this place?” he asked, before tossing a kiver tail to Wingman.

“That’s easy. I’d expose my brother and watch him get tossed into this hellhole.” She crossed her arms and rested them on her knees.

“You really think he’d be convicted?” Taven asked.

She shrugged. “He broke the law.” It was as simple as that.

Taven seemed to consider this as he picked up a knot of wires and slowly worked to untangle them.

“The question is, do the people really care?”

She looked back out over the ravine. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering what the point of exposing a politician is if the people are too fat, content and lazy to stage a revolution anyhow. Even if you get him, the next guy will be just as bad.” He managed to work a length of red wire out and laid it in the sand.

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Her brother needed to pay for what he did.

Taven nodded. “I bet it’s nice to have the luxury to stand on principle.”

Rexa opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again when she realized this was one argument she had no hope of winning.

“What about you?” She tilted her head, curious as to how he would answer.

“I’d jump back to the old garbage portal that used to serve the penal colonies before they decided to throw away people.” He set his lips in a thoughtful line, and then tossed a pebble into the ravine.

Rexa huffed in disbelief. “You want to go to a penal colony?”

“From what I understand, they’re abandoned now. No one would notice strange activity at the portal, and from there I could head out into the wilderness. No one would ever find me again.” He turned a second pebble over and over between his fingers before throwing it as well.

“That sounds lonely.” The words came out before Rexa thought about them at all. He stared at her, his deep eyes sad and mysterious.

“It would be.” He hung his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell across his scarred cheek. “I have to go somewhere tonight. Remain here. Stay vigilant until I return.” Taven pushed himself off the ground and brushed off his hands.

“What? Where are you going?” Rexa jumped to her feet and followed him as he gathered some things in his pack.

“I’m heading to the junkyards. The headhunters like to patrol there, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before dawn. Stay safe.” He brushed a hasty kiss on her cheek, and then turned for the entrance to the cave.

Rexa grabbed him and hauled him back. Her lips met his, and she hungrily took his mouth in a searing kiss. He caught her, holding her around the ribs. She let her fingertips slide over his neck. His mouth opened to her, and she took full advantage, slipping inside him, coaxing him to meet with her completely.

She broke the kiss, breathless. She stared into his eyes, which were alight with shock and a deep burning fire. “You come back,” she demanded.

She let go.

He pushed forward and met her for a second blistering kiss, brief and fierce. When he pulled away he nodded, then disappeared into the night.

Rexa tried to catch her breath, but her heart was pounding, and nothing seemed to quiet it. Wingman lazily flipped his wings and picked at the leather ties on his feet. The bells jangled and he fluffed his feathers as if Taven had gone to the junkyard a million times and the bird didn’t have a care in the world.

Looking around the cave at all his stuff, he probably had done this a million times. She settled down on her hard bed and tried not to worry. It was no use.

She didn’t sleep at all. After a few hours, she reasoned he couldn’t possibly be back so soon. In another few hours, she fought to keep her eyes open and furiously tried to find anything that could tell her the hour. When she gave up on her search for a clock, she had to admit she was worried. When dawn finally broke, fear – deep ugly fear – gripped her.

Where was he?

By mid-morning she knew there was no mistake. Something was terribly wrong. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to find the junkyard. The wasteland outside of the cave was endless. What if he was out there somewhere and needed help, but she couldn’t reach him? She had to do something.

“Wingman, get up!” She undid the bird’s ties and pushed him on the rump, but he hunched down over his perch and hissed at her. “Damn it, bird. Taven’s in trouble.” She smacked him on the tail and the hawk flew out the cave opening. Taven had used the bird as a spotter. Maybe she could as well.

She grabbed an iron bar with a hooked end and Taven’s box of medical supplies. Then she slung a pack with water and food over her shoulder. She ran out of the cave and looked to the sky.

Wingman was silhouetted against the gray clouds, circling and crying, beyond the ravine in the wasteland where she’d been bitten by the kiver.

If she went out onto the wasteland on her own looking for him, she was putting her life in grave danger.

She had to try.

Taven had never taken her up the trail that led to the rim. She had to be careful of the traps. Ferreting out the triggers took time, and she worried she was already too late. Once she reached the rim, she ran as hard as she could, following the circling bird. Wingman was the only guide she had.

She’d run for what felt like hours when she spotted a strange-looking vehicle with wide treads and a large, steaming tank in the back. She dove behind some brush.

Wingman had spotted the headhunters.

Slowly she peeked around the thick brush. A man with dark hair was slumped over the vehicle’s controls.

Good, the bastard was dead, but there might be another. She gripped the iron bar tighter, gathering her strength. Then she noticed the familiar tie in the man’s hair.

Her heart shattered.

“Taven!” Rexa rushed to him. She pulled him back from the wheel and he fell against the seat. His skin had gone gray and he’d broken out in a sweat, but he was alive. His whole shoulder was soaked in blood.

Rexa pulled his shirt away from the wound. Someone or something had stabbed him, but the bleeding had stopped.

He moaned, his breathing shallow. Rexa reached for her water canteen, and brought it to his lips. “No,” he whispered. “I’m poisoned. Kiver venom on the blade.” Oh dear God, he was dying.

No! Rexa forced some water down his throat and pulled out the medical kit. In a small, sealed plastic pouch was a bright green, viscous fluid. “Is this it? Is this the antidote?” she asked, holding it up for him to see.

He nodded weakly. “You have to inject it deeply into the wound.”

With what? There were no needles in the kit. Damn it! Here she was with the antivenom and she couldn’t use it. She was going to have to watch him die with the cure in her hand.

She looked around desperately. There was a plant nearby covered with four-inch-long thorns. They were the closest things to a needle she could see.

Rexa broke one off. It was hollow in the middle. Thank God. She snapped off the tip, and then jammed it into the fluid. Pinching the pouch tight against the thorn, she squeezed. The fluid oozed out of the tip of the spine.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slid the spine into the wound. Taven cried out and started to shake as she emptied all of the antivenom deeply into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said, as she pulled the empty pouch away, but the thorn remained lodged in his arm. Wincing, she dug carefully into the wound to get a grip on it. He shouted again as she wrenched the thorn free. Blood poured out of the agitated wound, and she staunched it with a piece of cloth. He grabbed her hand and held on. She tried to give him more water but he passed out.

Rexa struggled to stay calm. She had no clue how much antivenom she should have given him. What if she’d just killed him? She felt for a pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief as she found it slow and steady.

She brushed his hair from his face and felt his skin. It was warm, but his color was already returning, and his skin didn’t feel so clammy. The antivenom was working. They just needed to give it time.

Rexa didn’t know how long they would have to remain out in the middle of the wasteland, but her fear increased with each passing minute. Cuddling in close to help keep Taven warm, she prayed the headhunters weren’t watching them. They were completely exposed.

As dusk began to fall, Wingman let out a long warning cry. Rexa heard a rumble in the distance. She gripped the hooked bar tightly.

They were coming.

Five

Rexa tried to shake Taven awake. He stirred and mumbled something, but didn’t regain complete consciousness. She tried to push him out of the driver’s seat, but that was no use either. She had no idea how to run the machine. It was all levers and wheels. If it had a control interface, she could have handled it, but this was beyond her.

Desperate, she searched for some sort of weapon, anything. All she found was the flamethrower in the back. That thing would probably kill her faster than the headhunters would. The rumbling grew louder.

She thought she could hear high voices whooping and shouting above the engines.

She threw her coat over Taven, then jumped down behind the vehicle, hiding. She forced herself to stay calm. Panic wouldn’t help her now. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and adjusted her hold on the bar. She’d been pretty good with a batter-club when she’d played field ball. Swinging a hooked iron bar at someone intent on decapitating you was hardly different from swinging at a ball, right?

The rumbling grew louder, and then stopped, becoming a low, ominous growl. She heard two sets of boots hit the ground. “Hey, over here!” The voice sounded young.

They came closer. Closer.

Rexa let out a feral yell and ran out from behind the vehicle. The two headhunters turned in surprise.

She brought the bar back and then swung with all her strength, aiming for the knee of the shorter hunter. As she connected, she felt the vibrations of his shattering bone reverberate up the iron bar. He crumpled with a loud scream, holding his broken leg.

The second came at her with a long blade, swinging it up and down in a sloppy arc. She had just enough time to block his blade with the bar, catching it with the hook. With a quick twist, she pulled the blade from his hands. Both weapons fell to the ground, bringing her face to face with her attacker.

Dear God, he was just a kid. His eyes flashed wide with panic and he lunged.

He grabbed her around the neck, choking her. Rexa struggled to kick him, but he was tall with long, lanky arms. He clenched his teeth, his face tight with fear as he squeezed the life from her. White light swam in her vision until something ripped him away. She collapsed, coughing.

Taven wavered on his feet as the young hunter turned his attention to this new threat. The hunter with the shattered leg pulled himself toward the fallen blade. Rexa dove for it, snatching the knife away at the last second and holding it over him, daring him to make her use it.

The young hunter launched himself at Taven, who fell into a fighter’s stance, and with the grace of a champion, landed clean, precise, terrible blows. Taven’s face had gone completely blank, as if his soul had abandoned his body and instinct alone controlled him. His hard fists landed with loud smacks on the hunter’s gut, ribs and jaw. The kid was down.

They were safe. But it wasn’t over.

Rexa watched in horror as Taven pulled back to strike the young hunter again and again, even though blood poured from the kid’s face, and he was writhing on the ground, helpless and begging. The man she knew wasn’t there anymore. Taven had become some sort of animal. And he was going for the kill.

“Taven!”

Rexa’s heart thundered. Taven’s bloody fist hovered, clenched in mid-air. He looked at her with wild eyes that frightened her.

His fist loosened, and he staggered backward, landing hard against the vehicle’s treads. He looked horror-struck. The pain in his eyes was overwhelming. He looked down at the bleeding face of the kid he’d almost killed. She ran to him.

He panted out heavy breaths as she smoothed his hair back from his face.

“I . . . I,” he stammered.

The two headhunters writhed in the sand, but neither could get up. Rexa tossed the canteen of water at them. She spoke to the one with the broken leg. “Come for us again, we won’t show mercy.” She turned to Taven. “Let’s go home.”

Taven started the vehicle and they rode across the wasteland in silence, Wingman following in the sky.

Guilt and a terrible darkness had come over them.

When they reached the safety of the cave, Taven stumbled into the alcove where he had his bed. She’d never entered his space before, and remained at the narrow opening.

“Who trained you to fight?” She crossed her arms and watched him as he pulled off his boots and peeled his bloody shirt over his head.

“I’m exhausted.” He let the shirt fall to the ground.

“You were trained for bloodsport, weren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. Everyone knew about the illegal fights in the slums. On occasion, the loser didn’t come out alive.

Squinting as if pained, he rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?” He poured the contents of a bottle onto a rag, and then pressed it to his wound and hissed.

“No.”

He clenched his jaw and remained silent as he tended his wound. Rexa waited him out. Finally he spoke, “My mom was arrested for drugs when I was three. The government handed me over to my uncle.”

He let out a bitter chuckle. “He was her dealer. They should’ve arrested him.”

Rexa felt ill. Taven inspected the red stain on the cloth he pulled from his shoulder. She took an uncertain step into his room. She could feel his presence filling the small space as she moved closer to the bed. “What happened?”

Taven didn’t answer for a long time. He sat on the thin feather mattress of his patched-together bed and folded the bloody cloth in his hand before pressing it to his shoulder again. “He decided early I’d be a good fighter, so he used any method he could to make me believe he had power and complete control. As I grew up, he deserved brands in five different places for all the things he did to me, but he never broke me. He thought he did, but he never broke me.”

She sat next to him and placed her hand on his knee.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “One day, he told me about an upcoming fight. I knew I couldn’t win. He knew it, too, which was why he’d asked for my cut up front. I told him I wouldn’t do it. I’d get killed. He didn’t care. He said he owned me. So I hit him.” She reached out and took his hand. He wove their fingers together as if he feared she’d leave. “I hit him.”

Rexa felt a hot tear slide over her cheek. She squeezed his fingers tight, but the connection just didn’t feel deep enough to tell him everything she wanted to say and couldn’t.

Taven hung his head, his hair sliding into his eyes. “When the authorities came, I was still standing there with his blood on my hands.” He looked up and met her gaze, as if daring her to claim he was innocent. “I wanted him dead. I wanted him to suffer half of what he’d made me suffer. I didn’t even flinch when they gave me this.” He brushed his fingertips over his branding scar.

Rexa leaned in close and kissed him there, the raised scar smooth and corded across his rough cheek.

She pushed her fingers into his hair. He leaned into her, burying his face against her and holding her desperately. His shoulders shook as he fought against silent sobs. She let her own tears fall and stroked his hair.

Together they eased back onto the bed, clinging to one another. Rexa wasn’t sure at what point comforting touches turned into enticing strokes. She didn’t remember who exactly had peeled off her shirt so they could feel each other, skin to skin. Stroking hands turned into soft kisses. Soft kisses became gentle tugs as the rest of their clothing seemed to disappear. His skin was so soft, his body hard and hot, and in such great need of her.

She felt no fear as she surrendered to him. She ached for him, both her body and her soul. She met his hot gaze as he braced himself above her. With a gentle touch, she guided him to the core of her. With careful, agonizing strokes his body slid into hers, joining them together with such heat and intensity it took her breath away.

They moved slowly, reverently. Taven’s eyes were filled with such heartbreaking wonder, Rexa struggled to keep herself centered in this storm. In the end she could only hold on, crying out and letting her tears stream down her face as they crested together. Rexa let herself be swept away, and as they clung to one another in a tangle of limbs and sleepy kisses, she felt whole.

The next morning Taven was a new man. Rexa giggled because he couldn’t stop smiling, and when he tried to kiss her smirk off her face, they ended up having another much more playful go round.

Finally, weak-limbed and giddy, they managed to pull themselves out of the bedroom and into the main part of the cavern. Wingman welcomed them by tucking his head under his wing and flicking his tail.

“Good to see you too, buddy,” Taven greeted.

Rexa rolled her eyes at the hawk and smiled at Taven. He turned to her. “Thank you for coming after me.”

She let a soft smile play on her lips. “You’re welcome. I hope that vehicle you found at the junkyards was worth it.”

He straightened as if he had just remembered something. “I’ll be right back.” He bolted out of the cavern.

“Hey!” she called, but she didn’t chase after him. She didn’t have the energy, and her legs were still feeling a little wobbly. She sat at the table and looked over at the bird. “What’s gotten into him?”

Wingman just ignored her as usual.

It didn’t take long for Taven to come back, carrying a large chunk of scrap metal. He laid it down on the table, and turned to get his tools. Rexa examined his prize.

She grabbed it in disbelief, turning it over in her hands. It was an old-model control screen for a banking kiosk.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. With enough know-how, and the right wiring, they could convert the control screen and tap into the command functions of one of the portals.

His eyes were alight with something she’d never seen in them before – hope. “I’ve been searching for something like this for years.” Taven laid out his tools. “This is the first one I’ve found in good enough condition that it might work. Now it’s just going to take me the next twenty years to figure out the security codes so I can program the portals.” He gave Rexa a resigned shrug. “At least it’s a start.”

Rexa’s heart flipped over and over in her chest as she reached into her pocket and removed the sync gloves. “It’s more than a start,” she confessed, laying the gloves on the table. “These are sync gloves. I was using them to hack into the information databases when I was caught by my brother. If we can get enough power to the control screen, the gloves should activate and I can transfer the security codes from the gloves directly into the portal’s command system.”

His brows knitted together. Taven seemed wary, as if he didn’t dare to believe what he was hearing.

She swallowed. “If we can get it working, we’re free.”

Six

“Damn it!” Rexa smacked aside the bent piece of wire she was using to patch together the circuit framework on the table. They had been trying to breathe life into the damn control screen for weeks, and nothing had happened. Every time they powered up Taven’s generator, their patched electrical connections would pop and hiss, but it did no good.

“We’re never going to get off this damn rock,” she muttered to herself as she bent back over the mechanically cannibalized screen.

“Would that be so bad?” Taven patiently picked up the bent wire and tried again. Rexa looked up at him. He’d changed so much from the first time she’d seen him. He now trusted her to shave him and clip his hair, two things he couldn’t do well before, since he had no mirrors. Without the stubble on his face, his scar seemed less pronounced. There was humor and warmth in his fathomless eyes, and his shorter hair gave him a rakish quality.

“Your silence is less than flattering,” he commented, humor shining in his eyes.

Would it be so bad? Honestly, in spite of the headhunters, the kivers, the terrible food and living in a cave, she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. And it was all because of him. “No,” she answered. “No, it wouldn’t.”

She didn’t have a lot of experience of love. As bad as she had it, Taven had it worse.

As she looked at him, she knew. They didn’t have to say a thing. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, his warm lips showing – in all the ways they might never be able to say – that he loved her, and she loved him too.

He gave her a wicked smile full of promise as he flipped the switch on the generator for one more try.

The entire contraption whirred and hummed, and the screen came to life.

“We did it,” Rexa whispered, so overcome with hope she could hardly draw breath.

Taven let out a victorious shout and bounded from the table. He swept her up, swinging her around as he kissed her. It was a kiss filled with joy and hope and so much fiery desire all Rexa could do was hold on.

It didn’t take them long to pack up anything useful they could find. Taven’s new vehicle made quick work across the desert, but at the height of the day, the risk of headhunters was very real. Finally, they arrived at the portal.

Rexa watched Taven cut the leather ties from Wingman’s legs. As she finished the last connections that spliced the new control screen into the portal she’d come through all those weeks ago, her heart twisted in sympathy when Taven said goodbye and sent the bird soaring free.

The hawk let out a long keening cry that carried on the wind. Rexa took Taven’s hand as they watched Wingman soar.

She tried to quell the jittery feeling in her hands by pressing them together. “Are you ready?” she asked.

She reached down and turned on the generator. The control panel came to life and she slipped on her gloves.

With expert dexterity, she hacked into the coding, overrode the security systems, and activated the portal so it could draw power from the entire network of portals on the other side.

The red swirling light burst to life in the center of the frame. “I’ve tapped into the old portal at the abandoned penal colonies.” She gave him a soft smile. “That’s what you wanted.”

Taven had to go first. She’d have to reprogram the portal to send her back to the capital. It was what she had wanted since she’d arrived on this planet. She’d wanted to go home.

But now?

Taven lifted her chin with one finger. “I want you, Rexa.” He pulled her in close, holding her tight as if he would never let go. “Come with me.”

“Taven, I . . .”

He pulled away from her and stepped to the edge of the red light. “Come with me,” he said, as the light engulfed him and he disappeared.

Rexa cursed. She suddenly felt choked with an emotion she could hardly understand. She knew what she had to do. It was black and white.

She pressed her lips to the back of the control glove. Taven was right: political corruption would just roll merrily along while her brother got a slap on the wrist.

But it was the law.

She didn’t care.

The generator’s hum dropped a note and began to slow. She didn’t have much time. She had to make her choice.

The hawk cried, and she felt the tears streak down her face. There was no choice.

She stepped forward into the red light. It surrounded her and she let it sweep her away. She didn’t fight the vortex as it grew tighter and tighter.

She fell.

Strong arms caught her on the other side.

She blinked up into Taven’s shining eyes. He buried his face into her neck and held her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“I didn’t think you’d follow,” he whispered against her skin. She looked out on a sunrise glowing over an endless forest teeming with birds and beasts, and clear running streams. “God, I’m glad you did.” He turned to her and looked at her with such awe. He kissed her with deep, fierce, true love.

She wound her fingers with his, and together they walked toward freedom.