Soldier of Fortune: A Gideon Quinn Adventure (Fortune Chronicles Book 1) by Kathleen McClure Page B
Authors: Kathleen McClure
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she didn’t know which — made her look through the fogged window and into the brightly lit bathroom to see the object of her fagin's desire.
He was perched the edge of the sink, rearing up on his hind legs — and he was brilliant , with his iridescent brown gold scales and bright cat eyes — and her breath caught in her throat and for a moment she forgot she was standing on a ledge in the rain with her fingers and toes going numb with the cold of it.
Only for a moment, however, and since there appeared to be no one else in the room, she angled for a better view of the draco, whose neck and wings were now outspread. He was so close, she could even see his pupils, thinned to mere slits as his head turned to the bathtub. So intense was his focus on that particular feature, Mia couldn't help but follow the draco's single-minded gaze.
The first thing she spied was the broken teacup on the floor. Then her eyes moved further left and she spied the tub, and the water sloshing over the edge and, lastly, the draco's owner sliding, all unaware, under the surface of the steaming bath.
* * *
Her smile had always undone him. "I missed you," he told her.
Even saying it, he knew how inadequate that sounded.
"Then why did you send me away?" So did she, apparently.
"It's -- complicated.”
"That was a pathetic answer six years ago," she chided him, though gently, "and it hasn't improved with age."
"Does anything improve with age?"
"Wine, the Infantry long-coats," she glanced at his, where it lay folded over Gideon's clothes, "Blue Suede Shoes — the song, not the footwear — and us," she said lastly, no longer smiling. "We could have improved with age if you'd given it half a chance."
"There was no chance." He wondered how it was possible for a dream to hurt so deeply. "Not after Rand — not after Nasa.”
”And yet, here you are, holding onto a dream."
She wasn't wrong. And not only because, without thinking, he'd taken hold of her hand.
Carefully, he released it.
"Gideon," she murmured his name.
In reproof?
In forgiveness?
He would never know because, though she'd been his for a brief, bright once upon a time, life had indeed served up a dish of pain and Gideon, refusing to let Dani share that particular dish, had pushed her away.
She'd pushed back, hard, but in the end his stubbornness proved greater than hers.
Even then, even after Gideon successfully shut Dani out of his life, he spent the next half dozen years dreaming about her every night and had been days when memories of Dani — her smile, her tragic inability to bake anything without turning it black, her passion for classical Earth music — were all that stood between him and a one-way stroll through the crystal veins.
Still he knew, even on the worst days the Barrens could offer, he knew setting Dani free was for the best.
It had to be for the best. He'd spent the better part of six years telling himself that.
"Gideon."
He blinked, looked up to see she was studying him with an expression he could only hope wasn't pity.
"You need to wake up, now," she placed the hand he'd released to his cheek.
"I don't want to," he said, sounding, even to his own ears, pathetically bereft. "If I wake up, you'll leave."
"Gideon," she leaned close, "I was never here."
Then she placed her lips, warm and silky as the bathwater, over his, "Wake..."
* * *
"... up already, won't you?" Mia didn't know how many times she'd shouted at the man since dragging his head out of the water. Her arms were already trembling as she tried to keep him from sliding down again. Though she'd pulled the plug first thing, water was draining too bloody slow, so she just kept holding on and yelling and hoping she wasn't shaking a dead man.
Not that he felt dead.
Not that she knew what dead felt like.
From the way the draco was acting, shifting from leg to leg to leg and crooning anxiously, she wasn't the only one.
"He'll be all right," she told the frenetic beast,
He was perched the edge of the sink, rearing up on his hind legs — and he was brilliant , with his iridescent brown gold scales and bright cat eyes — and her breath caught in her throat and for a moment she forgot she was standing on a ledge in the rain with her fingers and toes going numb with the cold of it.
Only for a moment, however, and since there appeared to be no one else in the room, she angled for a better view of the draco, whose neck and wings were now outspread. He was so close, she could even see his pupils, thinned to mere slits as his head turned to the bathtub. So intense was his focus on that particular feature, Mia couldn't help but follow the draco's single-minded gaze.
The first thing she spied was the broken teacup on the floor. Then her eyes moved further left and she spied the tub, and the water sloshing over the edge and, lastly, the draco's owner sliding, all unaware, under the surface of the steaming bath.
* * *
Her smile had always undone him. "I missed you," he told her.
Even saying it, he knew how inadequate that sounded.
"Then why did you send me away?" So did she, apparently.
"It's -- complicated.”
"That was a pathetic answer six years ago," she chided him, though gently, "and it hasn't improved with age."
"Does anything improve with age?"
"Wine, the Infantry long-coats," she glanced at his, where it lay folded over Gideon's clothes, "Blue Suede Shoes — the song, not the footwear — and us," she said lastly, no longer smiling. "We could have improved with age if you'd given it half a chance."
"There was no chance." He wondered how it was possible for a dream to hurt so deeply. "Not after Rand — not after Nasa.”
”And yet, here you are, holding onto a dream."
She wasn't wrong. And not only because, without thinking, he'd taken hold of her hand.
Carefully, he released it.
"Gideon," she murmured his name.
In reproof?
In forgiveness?
He would never know because, though she'd been his for a brief, bright once upon a time, life had indeed served up a dish of pain and Gideon, refusing to let Dani share that particular dish, had pushed her away.
She'd pushed back, hard, but in the end his stubbornness proved greater than hers.
Even then, even after Gideon successfully shut Dani out of his life, he spent the next half dozen years dreaming about her every night and had been days when memories of Dani — her smile, her tragic inability to bake anything without turning it black, her passion for classical Earth music — were all that stood between him and a one-way stroll through the crystal veins.
Still he knew, even on the worst days the Barrens could offer, he knew setting Dani free was for the best.
It had to be for the best. He'd spent the better part of six years telling himself that.
"Gideon."
He blinked, looked up to see she was studying him with an expression he could only hope wasn't pity.
"You need to wake up, now," she placed the hand he'd released to his cheek.
"I don't want to," he said, sounding, even to his own ears, pathetically bereft. "If I wake up, you'll leave."
"Gideon," she leaned close, "I was never here."
Then she placed her lips, warm and silky as the bathwater, over his, "Wake..."
* * *
"... up already, won't you?" Mia didn't know how many times she'd shouted at the man since dragging his head out of the water. Her arms were already trembling as she tried to keep him from sliding down again. Though she'd pulled the plug first thing, water was draining too bloody slow, so she just kept holding on and yelling and hoping she wasn't shaking a dead man.
Not that he felt dead.
Not that she knew what dead felt like.
From the way the draco was acting, shifting from leg to leg to leg and crooning anxiously, she wasn't the only one.
"He'll be all right," she told the frenetic beast,
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