"I heard you shot a mountain lion that was about to rip Steven's throat out," she continued, one hand at her waist. Her fingers rested on her bare midriff, and I recalled placing my own fingers there. Her shapely lips curved, probably at the same memory. She moved closer, tilted her face up invitingly. "You could come over tonight and tell me about it."
"Maybe another time."
She didn't seem to understand my refusal any better than I did, but she let me pass. Until recently, I'd enjoyed frequent female companionship. Sure, my attraction to them was as shallow as their attraction to me: They saw my lean body and confident posture, my wavy black hair and dark eyes, and nothing more. I didn't care, as long as it resulted in a beautiful woman like Harley opening those fine legs for me.
In fact, I preferred it that way. I didn't tolerate intrusive questions about how I felt or what I wanted. It was no one's business whether I missed my sister, or why my father had left, or what had happened to my mother. My partners learned not to try to complicate sex with intimacy. If they wanted more, they looked for it elsewhere. My friends, because they cared about me, learned not to push my limits either.
What I was about to do broke all my long-established rules, and the thought put my stomach in knots again. After all these years of keeping it casual, why did it have to be Delta who upended it all? Before him, I'd never even looked twice at a man.
In a few minutes, he would be heading back from rounds among the scouts, my best opportunity to catch him alone. Despite holding the second-highest position in our internal leadership structure, he insisted on checking in personally, occasionally taking shifts standing watch himself, when he could get away. It was one of the things that made him such an effective commander.
Sometimes, I wished Delta had found his way to some other community, rather than the one we'd established here at Sabine Ridge. He could have shown up anywhere that day, three months ago, with his casually dangerous bearing and unassailable composure, his handsome face set in stern lines. He'd said that he had been a highly-ranked officer in what remained of the United States military, and he, along with two veterans who came along, no longer wanted to serve the political aims of those in power. He'd refused to provide any other details, not even his real name. However, his deep technical knowledge and top-notch combat abilities backed up his story, and my community has been grateful for his expertise ever since.
If I'd never met Delta, I wouldn't know how much it hurts to care for someone you can't have, how powerless you can be over your own attraction. I wouldn't be a daily battleground of conflicting desires: craving closeness with him, but terrified of having it, or of trying to. I'd still be content with my female hookups, where I felt nothing but afterglow. I wouldn't lie awake at night fantasizing about him: being in his arms, known and secure; being in his bed, naked and needy. God, the orgasms I've had just thinking about the way he would touch me.
Because there's no way I have a chance with him. Most likely, no one does. His military colleague, Maurice, has mentioned Delta's preference for men, but I've seen no signs that Delta prefers anyone. His looks and prowess in battle attracted plenty of attention when he first arrived, but his cold glare quickly shut down male and female suitors alike. He barely speaks to the two friends he arrived with.
Even if he were to choose someone, it definitely wouldn't be me. He's four years older, vastly more knowledgeable, and gives orders like it's his birthright, while I haven't even mastered my temper. Next to his flawless, classically-sculpted physique, I just look short and scrawny. He never makes mistakes, never gets upset, and can kill you with his bare hands in about ten seconds. As hard as I try, I can't come close to matching his skill or stoicism.
And yet, he isn't inhuman. There was a time, a couple of months ago, when my team was ambushed, and one of my fighters was gruesomely killed. It wasn't my first loss, but we'd spent some nights together, and I took it really hard. Sick of my own failure, dreading facing her family, I told Delta I wanted to resign my position. Instead, he took me aside and worked through what had happened. He asked about the girl who had died, as if he actually cared what she meant to me.
"I know what a weight it is, carrying the lives of others," he told me. "But you're making the best decisions you can with the information you have. That's all anyone can ask."
"It's not," I argued. "I should have -- been able --" I turned away, trying to find the kind of steely indifference that came so easily to Delta.
"You couldn't have saved her, Avery," he said with uncharacteristic compassion. "But you did save the others. Your people trust your leadership, and so do I. You should too."
It was the most he'd ever spoken to me. To my surprise, I actually felt...better. Like I might not be entirely worthless as a person.
Not too long ago, I nearly lost one of my best friends, Rowan. She and I have gotten close over the past few years, as we've both taken on more responsibility. We've been in some pretty tight scrapes together, and she's saved my life more than once. That time, I had the chance to free her from vengeful kidnappers, and I screwed it up. They got away, and I completely lost it -- running around in a blind panic, sure that she was dead. Delta appeared and pulled me to a halt in front of him. He tried to calm me down, but all I could see was Rowan getting her throat slashed, after everything she'd done for me.
Suddenly, Delta put his arms around me, which was the absolute last thing I expected. Too upset to care about my pride, I held on to him, his strength an anchor against the waves of guilt and loss. It was exactly what I needed, and I don't know how he knew that. I certainly didn't. Physical affection is not a luxury I've had in my life, and I'd long since forgotten to miss it.
When I was grounded enough to use my brain again, he let me go, and then helped me rescue Rowan. It's been just about all I can think of ever since.
Which is why I was here, tonight, in the thickening dusk of late summer, watching for Delta on the path ahead. A couple of weeks ago, our governing council decided to send a team to establish a new base, far enough from here that enemies or natural disasters couldn't easily reach both locations. A second settlement would diversify our food supply, give us a place to run to in an emergency, and improve our odds of long-term survival. On a theoretical level, I was all in favor of a new base. There was just one crucial, gut-wrenching problem: Delta was leading the mission, and I wasn't on it.
Once he left, I likely wouldn't see him again for months, or longer. The only practical way to travel these days is on foot, with gear carried on your own back or by plodding pack animals. Sixty miles might as well be six thousand. I didn't know how to handle being six thousand miles away from Delta.
I'd already tried asking the council to add me to the mission. They'd said they needed me here -- flattering, but not helpful. The only chance left was to beg Delta himself to bring me with him. The council would listen to him if he insisted, but he wouldn't do that unless I provided a good reason. I shuddered to imagine the embarrassment of admitting why I needed to go with him. I'd probably never be able to look him in the face after this, but if he took pity on me, at least I'd still get to be around him. I'd still get to hear his steady voice -- effortlessly commanding, yet surprisingly gentle when he wanted to be.
The path twisted to the left, and there was Delta, alone, about thirty yards ahead. My pulse pounded at the familiar sight of his long, graceful strides. I didn't know how I was going to do this. I could already feel heat rising to my face.
I took a deep breath and gathered my courage.
* * * * *
Delta:
I saw Avery on the path ahead long before he saw me, before he'd have been close enough to kill me. The classification of sensory input by level of danger was automatic after so many years of training and discipline. I couldn't turn it off, even when I wanted to. Every motion, every sound, every expression translated into warnings: low threat, possible threat, immediate threat, lethal threat. Nothing presented no threat. Not in my experience.
Despite the distance, I recognized Avery immediately. Subtle differences in shape, pattern of movement, and carriage have always been noticeable to me. Accommodating the blindness of others is one of my most difficult leadership challenges. Precise observation often makes the difference between life and death. The shift in footing that signals the direction of attack. The flash of a blade as it leaves an enemy's hand. The number of shots in a burst of gunfire.
At some point, my military habits must have been consciously practiced, rather than deeply embedded instincts, but I could barely remember such a time. In my family, only three things mattered: your rank, your decorations, and maintaining your father's reputation. My grooming for command began in childhood. In places like where I grew up -- government complexes that protect the most powerful -- children are seen as political pawns, worth something only if they lead to the strategic capture of greater privilege. My family's status afforded me the very best education still available on this continent: private tutors, elite schools, and officer candidate training starting at age fourteen. My promotion to captain at twenty was barely even an achievement -- it was expected.
