The Last Twilight by Marjorie M. Liu Page A

she could hardly breathe. Goddamn, but she was sick. In the head, sick.
    The man hardly glanced at Ruth and Mack. “Is there a problem?”
    Mack frowned. “And you are?”
    “Sent from Larry,” replied the man shortly, giving him a piercing look. His voice was buttery, with a slight accent that was educated and refined. The Naked Professor, Rikki wanted to call him. Except that he held himself like a fighter, sleek and fast and hard. She still felt the branding weight of his arms around her body. That heartbeat moment of safety.
    “Larry,” she echoed, hoarse. “What the hell does that mean?”
    “Never mind,” growled Mack, with a look in his eyes that Rikki might have called uneasiness. “Clean first, talk later.”
    Rikki set her jaw and reached for the hose. Mack blocked her, still sharply disapproving, and a shot of pure despair raged so hard through her heart she wanted to cry—or smash his brains in.
    “Please,” she said to Mack. “Don’t force this.”
    “I have to,” he said, the expression in his eyes truly baffled. “For God’s sake, Rikki, you’re not that shy.”
    Oh, God, she wanted to tell him. Oh, Mack.
    But there was nothing else to say, because the other man, that naked watchful man, suddenly moved. Reached out with one long arm to grab Mack’s shoulder and pushed him past the curtain. Taking Ruth with him.
    Mack was big, but he might as well have been made of cotton candy for all the fight he put up. He cursed. Ruth squeaked. The other man said, “Stay out.”
    “You’re crazy,” Mack said.
    “Not yet,” replied the man.
    “Rikki—”
    “I’m fine,” she found herself saying, and then, more forcefully, “I’ll be fine, Mack.”
    He stared at her like she was a stranger. She felt like one, even to herself. But she held her ground, even as Mack said, “I’m getting help.”
    “Do so,” said the stranger. “See if it makes you feel safer.”
    Mack’s eyes flinched. The other man dropped the curtain in his face. Rikki half-expected her colleague to burst back through, fighting, but he did not…She heard voices—another man, younger—and then footsteps, shuffling quickly away. Leaving her. Rikki wondered idly if she should feel abandoned, even betrayed, but she dug deep and found nothing of the kind. Just an odd terrible relief that was stronger than fear…and almost as confusing as the man standing in front of her.
    Rikki searched his eyes, looking for that unnatural light. Nothing, only amber, gold, pale as honey. Too much to stare at for long. Like being scorched by the sun. An intense look, eerily intimate. It made her afraid, but she buried it. Made her uneasy, but she buried that, too. Never mind the man was a stranger, naked as day. He wore his nudity like it was nothing—another skin, another kind of clothing. Easy and proud. She envied him for that.
    They stared at each other. Silence burned. Rikki remembered the river. She could taste it in her mouth. A chill burst over her body, but even so, just then, a faint smile touched the man’s mouth, heart-stopping, and she forgot for one moment that they were both dying, alone, strangers. She did not mean to—her own mouth curved faintly—and she felt the roots of that smile curl up from her heart.
    Cut short. His gaze lost its steadiness and something flickered hard in his face; it looked suspiciously like grief. Rikki swayed toward him, caught up, and the man turned away, facing the curtain. “Hurry.”
    She was losing her mind. “I don’t understand.”
    “I am buying you time,” he said harshly. “And I will make certain no one sees you.”
    Rikki froze. “How—”
    “I heard you talking. Here. Out there.” He glanced over his shoulder and his gaze was raw. “I listened.”
    Listened. Such a small thing. But this…what he was doing, unasked, without her needing to explain…
    Saving you again.
    Rikki pressed her palm against her gut, steadying herself, staring holes into the back of his head.