Summon Lyght(83)

Fuck, fuck, fuck. And there was no getting out of it.

The familiar rage that came from the pit of her being launched her off the bed. Nearly blinded with it, she stumbled to the bathroom and managed to start the water and get herself into the shower. She stood in the stream of hot spray and braced her palms on the cracked tile and let the past harden her. She needed to be hard.

She thought of all the times she'd been raped by her loving father. And brother. Ah yes. That was her war hammer memory. Didn't take long for it to crush all things living inside her, make her into the animal she'd become. The animal that got things done, the fuck-me-all-night-long-because-I'm-not-home animal, the you-can't-reach-me animal, the not-of-this-fucking-world animal.

She slammed her palms, pissed. Stupid shit.

A warm feeling slithered through her and she shut the water off and jerked open the shower curtain. What the fuck? Her heart pounded like a cannon in her chest as she remembered that feeling. Last night. What had happened?

She stood, thinking. Remembering. She'd been singing…and then…

She yanked the robe from the peg and slid it on. She'd felt arms around her. Warm. So strong. Comforting. And she'd given in to it.

She stormed out the bathroom to pace, confused as hell. What else? Her body remembered more. What was it? Oh God. She touched her lips with trembling fingers. The memory came finally. Warm soft lips. On hers. Pressing gently. Comforting. Adoring. Longing.

She'd been kissed?

Fucking impossible.

****

Francis walked up and down in his room. He'd kissed her. It was with his spiritual lips, but that was… God, that was nearly real. It was real.

For exactly the three hundredth thirty-seventh time, he relived it. She'd turned her face up. Her warm breath hit his mouth. It's what he was supposed to do. What she needed him to do. That was the only reason, the only logical explanation for his lack of shame. He tried to feel shame again, and as usual it refused to come. No matter what he told himself, how he rationalized its necessity, nothing. Nothing but his heart racing and his body aching for…more.

Much more.

Her lips had trembled against his. Timid and soft, willing. More than willing. He paced, finding names for what he'd understood in that brief meshing of lips. She was also unsure. He'd sensed uncertainty. No, not uncertainty. Fear. She was afraid. He raked agitated fingers through his hair. But she wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid of…him not being real. She had desperately needed him to be real, to rescue her from her life even if only for a little while.

He hit his fist against the wall. I am real!

He collapsed onto the couch and cradled his head in his hands. And now he had to go fight with her! Tonight!

And yet.

He straightened. The idea of being touched by her, in any way, was beyond thrilling. The problem was, the plan called for defeating her gang without touching so as to keep his secret. He and the others couldn't reveal what they actually were. Or actually weren't. Not that he couldn't manage the winning part.

But now he wanted to touch her. Keeping himself from her would be the real battle.

Understatement of the Universe.

****

Robert shoved dark shades close to his forehead. "So, we're just going to go right into the devil's lair and announce we're the new fire in the den?"

Good God. Francis had just spent the last two hours learning how to act, and Robert's vocabulary did not fit the culture. "I see you didn't really study." Francis rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How about you not talk this time around?"

Peggy slid her hands over Francis' arms. "I love, love, love what you did with the biceps, baby."

Francis smiled. "You studied."

She winked at him. "No shit."

Francis looked over her clothes. Pure white was the decided color for their so-called gang. And matching. They all wore a white leather trench coat, leather pants, and boots. Except Peggy's boots reached her thighs and were shiny. They'd decided on not flashy. White was bright enough, but nothing shiny. He also noted flesh showing beneath the trench-coat. If Toren had reacted badly over her last outfit, he didn't want to see his reaction over this.

"You let Toren know we're headed out?"

Peggy flustered a little. "I told him yesterday when we were leaving."

Francis shook his head a little.

"What!"

"You know damn well what. It's your ass if he catches you dressed that way."

"Oh, he doesn't care." She waved a hand.

"You're a pathetic liar, sis."

She smiled at him. "I like when you call me that."

He grinned and rolled his eyes. But he liked it too. It felt good to be doing things together. Felt like a family. All those thousands of years together, but not. Occupied with helping their individual Warriors, but not actively helping each other regularly or spending time together. This felt like the way it was supposed to be.