Last Kiss Goodnight

Ten

VIKA HAD TOSSED HIM a bag of food. The knowledge held Solo immobile. She’d tossed him a bag of food, and she’d done it even with fear in her eyes.

Why fear?

What—or who—was she afraid of?

Just as before, when the two otherworlders had harmed her, Solo experienced an almost overwhelming urge to chew through the bars of his cage. Not that such an action would work, he now knew. But just then, the urge had nothing to do with earning his freedom and everything to do with slaying whatever dragons plagued her.

Desperate to avenge your keeper?

Maybe. He’d done the vengeance thing countless times before and had never felt better afterward, only worse. He wondered if he would feel different on behalf of a female. His female.

No, not his.

“Jecis is gonna beat her but good for running through the zoo,” the tobacco-spitting male from yesterday said gleefully from the distance. “He’s on his way right now. Do you know how badly I want to watch?”

Solo’s ears twitched.

The other male from yesterday chortled. “As badly as me, I’m betting.”

“It’ll be a shame, though, seeing that pretty face all busted up.”

“It’s always busted up.”

“True.”

A pause. “Okay, here’s a question for you. There’s a gun to your head and you have to do Vika or the bearded lady. But if you pick Vika, Jecis gets to do your wife. Who do you pick?”

“Jecis can have my wife, the little witch. I’ll take Vika for sure.”

Vika. They were discussing Vika. Jecis was going to beat his own daughter? His “heart?” Surely not. Surely the man would spank her, and nothing more. But the males had mentioned a busted face, hadn’t they.

Little black dots flickered through Solo’s vision.

He didn’t know the girl, and he didn’t trust her. Why should he? He shouldn’t want to help her. And yet . . .

She had thrown him the bag of food. He didn’t have to look to know that was what was inside the burlap. He could smell the milk and flour in the bread, as well as the sweetness of the honey and the tang of the meat.

Why would she do such a thing, especially since, according to the brute, she wasn’t supposed to enter this area today? She had risked—and would receive—punishment.

He had to help her.

“Vika!” Before Solo even realized he’d moved, his fingers were wrapped around the bars. He was shaking his cage . . . shaking . . . so angry his bones were vibrating. “Vika, come here!”

Just as before, warmth shot into his wrists and quickly spread through the rest of him. Within minutes, his arms felt weighted down with boulders. Frustrated, helpless, infuriated all over again, he ground his teeth and forced himself to still.

His mother was probably turning over in her grave. A woman was about to be beaten within his vicinity—he was right here, relatively strong, somewhat capable—yet he could do nothing about it, was just going to let it happen.

“We must do something, Solo,” X said, materializing, looking stronger and steadier than yesterday.

No matter where the pair went when they vanished, they always sensed a change in his emotions and returned to him.

“I say good riddance to the girl. He doesn’t want a female like that,” Dr. E said as he, too, materialized, looking weaker and paler than yesterday.

A female like that. For some reason, the phrase irritated Solo. She was a female who had tended him gently. A female who had kissed him as if he were precious to her. A female who had nibbled on his lip as if she liked the taste of him and craved more.

But was she as concerned and kind as she seemed, risking castigation to feed him—why him?—or as deceitful as the serpent in the Garden of Eden, tempting him, luring him into a sense of safety before ultimately striking him down?

There had been true fear in her eyes, and he couldn’t imagine she would endure punishment simply to trick Solo into . . . what? Not softening, as he’d first assumed, for softening was far too mild to elicit any true results in a situation such as theirs. Perhaps she’d hoped to trick him into trusting her. But why would she want him to trust her? He was already locked up and weakened besides. She had no need for his cooperation. To make her job easier?

He barely stopped himself from punching the floor of the cage. He was confused, and he did not like being confused. He preferred things in black and white. Or, in the case of X and Dr. E, right and wrong.

“What can I do for her?” he whispered fiercely. He so rarely asked the pair for advice, they sputtered in bafflement. “I’m trapped.” But he had to do something. Had to repay her generosity.

In all his life, in all the precarious situations he’d been in, he’d only ever been trapped without any sense of hope once. He’d been a child, and as young as he’d been he probably shouldn’t have retained the memory of what had happened, but he easily recalled sitting in his playpen, his biological mother kissing his cheek and telling X to take care of him while she showered . . . and Solo having to watch as three masked men burst into the house and gunned her down. Her body had fallen, a pool of crimson flooding her.

He’d smelled the tang of gunpowder, felt the warm stickiness of the blood.

His father had run in from the other room, his skin already changing from bronze to crimson, his eyes glowing with concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but the boom, boom, boom of bullets drowned out his voice as he, too, was gunned down. He toppled mere inches from Solo’s mother, his own blood deepening the pool. Both of their eyes had been wide with fear and pain, the light inside dulling. . . .

One of the men asked the others what to do with him. All three had peered down at him, discussing the matter and deciding to shoot him, too. An argument ensued as the shooter was chosen. A gun was raised. Another boom thundered. The pain . . . the utter darkness that had descended over Solo . . . X cooing, “Sleep now.” The return of consciousness, with Michael cradling him close, shouting for paramedics.

“Bid me to help Vika,” X said now, his voice terse with the force of his determination. “Just bid me, and trust me to do it. You’ll see. You can sit back and watch as miracles happen.”

Dr. E snorted. “If you help the girl, you’ll be in a weakened state and unable to help Solo if something happens to him. He’s not stupid enough to allow that.”

“Solo?” X said, ignoring the other being. “Come on. Bid me.”

Solo didn’t mind losing X’s strength, not for something like this, but they had gone down this road before and X had only disappointed him. A best friend had never appeared. A good girl had never chosen him above all things. His adoptive parents had not risen from the dead. He had no more trust to offer.

“Solo?” X prompted.

But . . . maybe a good girl had finally chosen him. Vika had helped him despite the danger to herself. Such generosity was better than heat in a winter storm, light in a darkened cavern. Hope bloomed. “What will you do for her?” he demanded.

“Why are you even asking? You can’t escape if you’re weak. Therefore, you can’t risk anything that has the potential to make you weak.” Dr. E paced from one side of his left shoulder to the other. “Plus, when X fails, and he will, you’ll be upset and unable to function properly. If you can’t function properly, you can’t, what? Escape.”

And he wanted to escape more than anything. Right?

X remained focused on Solo. “I won’t know how to handle things until I reach her, but I will do something. All I need is your permission.”

“Don’t do this, Solo. Please.”

“X,” he whispered. “Do it.”

“No! Don’t be an idiot,” Dr. E said with a sharp shake of his head.

“What, exactly, do you want me to do?” X insisted, still ignoring Dr. E. “Be specific.”

How well he knew the importance of words. “I want you to—”

“No,” Dr. E interjected harshly. “Are you kidding me with this?”

“Save her,” Solo finished. “However necessary, whatever the cost to me, save her.”

“Consider it done.” A grinning X vanished.

“Idiot!” Dr. E shouted, stomping his foot. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Yes. He did. He’d turned to the only avenue available to him, trusting in a power greater than himself. And he couldn’t allow himself to worry about the outcome. Something he’d noticed over the years: worry always weakened X further, and strengthened Dr. E.

Solo glanced at the tiny man who so often fueled his rages, no longer surprised to find his skin devoid of color. “Go away.”

“You cannot . . . how dare you . . . Oh!” Dr. E vanished too.

“Hey, no fair, I smell food,” Criss said, drawing his attention to the cages.

Good. He couldn’t allow himself to think about Vika, and a distraction had just presented itself. “Your nose is working correctly. I have food.” Delivered by Vika.

When would that fact cease to shock him?

Criss stretched her arm through the bars and waved her fingers at him. “Share with me. I haven’t eaten in days.”

“That’s your own fault. You wasted what you were given.”

“For a good cause!”

Was that so?

He opened the bag. The corners of several of the biscuits had crumbled off, and the crisp bacon had broken into multiple pieces. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. “You want half?” he asked, taking a section of a biscuit and a quarter of a bacon slice and tossing them at her.

First rule of fishing: Use the proper bait.

She caught the pieces with surprising grace and, with a speed his gaze struggled to track, stuffed both portions into her mouth as if she feared someone would try and take them away from her. Her eyes closed as she savored the food, her skin brightening . . . radiating a pearls-in-sunlight sheen . . . making his eyes tear with its radiance.

When her eyelids popped open, her eyes were the same bright shade. “More,” she said in a deep, throaty voice.

“Why will you take food from me and not from Vika?”

“I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of watching me beg for every scrap.”

“She offers freely.”

A growl from Criss.

“Are you a fan of honey?” he asked.

“Honey? Give me!”

Caught you. “I will . . . after you vow never to harm Vika again.”

“Sure, sure. Now give me.”

“You will vow not to hurt her with words, food, rocks, or anything else, and I will give you half of the bag’s contents.”

Dr. E made another appearance. There was a fresh cut on his cheek, and his robe was torn. His shoulders were stooped, as though his head was too heavy to hold up. “Now you’re going too far. That food is yours. You need to keep your strength up.”

His? Or Dr. E’s?

“The otherworlder has gone without nourishment far longer than Solo has,” X suddenly said, causing Solo’s attention to whip to him. “It’s only right that he share.”

His robe had a single singe mark, just over his heart, and his skin was pale, lines of strain branching from his eyes, but he was grinning just as happily as before.

“And haven’t you heard?” X added. “It’s far better to give than to receive.”

“The girl?” he whispered.

Satisfaction radiated from the being. “She is safe.”

“How?” He’d heard nothing, and so little time had passed.

“Darkness cannot remain in the light.”

He wasn’t sure what that meant in terms of Vika’s safety, but allowed the subject to drop. Vika was safe. That was all that mattered.

“So you got a crush on our keeper, do you? I thought so,” Criss said. “Well, the romantic in me approves. It’s a real beauty-and-the-beast-type story, and I’m in! When my brothers come to get me, and they will, I’ll make sure I only kill Vika a little bit so that there’s something left for you to have as a souvenir. I vow it. You’re welcome. Now, please. Give me the honey!”

Somehow, he managed to maintain a blank expression. He wouldn’t discuss his feelings for Vika—whatever they were—and he wouldn’t allow himself to react to being called a beast while there was nothing he could do about it. However, he knew how to keep score. That was strike two for Criss. At three . . . poor dead girl.

That’s what everyone would call her.

“Not good enough,” he said. “Vow what I demanded.” He pretended to bite into half of a biscuit. “Otherwise, you get nothing.”

“Okay, okay,” she rushed out. “I vow it. I won’t harm her again. Ever. With anything.”

A moment passed, and her entire body shook as though hooked to an electric generator. Her spine jerked into total alignment, going ramrod straight. “What was that?”

“A reminder that you will not like the consequences of breaking your word,” he warned.

She popped her jaw. “You’re a tricky Jolly Red Giant, aren’t you? Well, that’s okay as long as you give me the rest of what you promised.” Those long, elegant fingers waved with more vigor.

He tossed her the portion. Just as before, she caught the food and devoured every morsel.

“Can’t you do anything right today? If you wanted to share with her, fine, but you should have made her work for it,” Dr. E griped. “And by ‘it’ I mean half of the smallest biscuit, not half of the entire bag.”

Sighing with contentment, Criss lay back in her cage, a rare gem in a sea of dull stones.

His life would have been easier if he’d speculated about Criss all night. Instead, it was Vika he was drawn to, Vika he wanted to talk to, Vika he wanted to learn about and . . . Vika he wanted to save, even from himself. His hands curled into fists. She was his ticket out of here. He had to do whatever was necessary, even to her.

“Hey!” one of the other captives called. “New guy. Hamburglar.”

“What’d you give Criss?” someone else demanded.

“I want me some!”

Solo snapped his teeth at the speakers, and they went quiet. Two even bowed their heads, recognizing a predator far more dangerous than themselves—one they did not want to rile, even caged as he was.

The Targon blew him a kiss.

Kitten watched him with expectant impatience.

Without a word, he claimed a piece of bacon and tossed half of what remained in the bag to her, and the other half to the Targon. She caught her portion and dug in. The Targon shook his head and volleyed his portion to her, as well.

“Sweet gesture, but I can’t eat this,” the Targon said. “My woman—” He slammed his lips together, going silent. And he must have decided that wasn’t good enough, because he spun, giving Solo his back.

Interesting.

“I’m too happy to be upset that you shared with Kitten without making her give the dumbest vow ever,” Criss purred. “She’s feral, by the way. I’m surprised you got her to talk to you rather than spit curses, but news flash, you’ll never be able to tap that.”

He ate the bacon, relished the flavors.

“I’m not a beer keg,” Kitten snapped.

Voices from beyond the clearing caught his attention.

“They’ll be here in less than an hour. Move your lazy carcasses, now, now, now!”

“Have you glued the spikes to the paddle?”

“Feed the snakes, Rasa! If they take one more nibble out of my hand, I’m gonna start biting back.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Solo’s back. Already the air was warm and humid, and it would only grow hotter and wetter as the day passed.

“What’d you do to make Vika like you, anyway?” Criss asked, rolling to her side.

He had no answer and, taking a page from the Targon’s playbook, turned away.

“Whatever. Hint taken,” she mumbled. “This isn’t a beauty-and-the-beast story, though, is it? It’s a sisterwife thing, right? You want Vika, Kitten—and probably me. Definitely me. I’m pretty sexy. Well, consider me no longer intrigued . . . unless Vika brings you something more to eat. If you get a meat loaf, I’ll be your slave for life. Well, half a life. My brothers will kill you.”

Again, he offered no response.

“Have you prepared your mind for what’s about to happen?” she asked.

The reminder flooded him with apprehension. The circus, due to start.

“Just do what you’re told,” she said. “You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll be better off. Trust me.”

• • •

He could not have prepared himself for this, Solo thought.

For fifteen dollars a head, one human after another was allowed to parade through the clearing. The humans would stop in front of each cage and study the starving otherworlders inside while eating cotton candy, melting ice cream, hot dogs, and pretzels laced with addictive chemicals.

Did they know they were being drugged?

Some would stare with awe and wonder. Some would offer a critique of flaws. Some would throw pieces of grain at the captives. Solo allowed those pieces to bounce off him, letting them fall at his feet, but he watched as the others picked them up and ate, desperate enough to take what they could get, when they could get it, despite what Vika had fed them.

He should have shared his bounty with all of them, he realized with a flicker of guilt.

Children ran through every so often, laughing, tossing pebbles rather than food, before being chased off by the armed guards. That certainly explained where the rocks hurtled at Vika had come from.

“Dance for me, Pearls,” one man begged Criss while the two males with him nodded eagerly.

Never once uttering a derogatory comment or insult, Criss danced, lifting her arms over her head and swaying her hips. The men moaned and groaned their approval, even though her every motion was made while she gritted her teeth and hate shone in her eyes.

Just do what you’re told. You’ll hate yourself for it, but you’ll be better off, she’d said. Trust me.

Even now, he believed the opposite. If you hated yourself for your actions, you were never better off.

Only Kitten challenged the humans. She spat curses, as Criss had said she would, and tried to scratch and bite anyone who stepped too close.

Some of the female viewers asked the male otherworlders to lift their loincloths, and they, too, obeyed. Even the Targon, who wore his customary grin—though it was now cut by shards of broken glass.

No one asked Solo to do anything. He’d partially morphed, his skin a light shade of red, his eyes probably glowing, and his fangs and claws at half-mast. However, those with stronger stomachs stared at him with morbid curiosity until realizing he would not be the one to first lower his gaze, and that the fury blazing through him might give him the strength he needed to burst through the bars and do some damage before the guards could shoot him.

He heard murmurs of “ugly” and “hideous,” just as he’d heard all his life, only now there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to take it. To react was to pass out, and to pass out was to be far more vulnerable, as he’d already realized, and this was not a place or time to welcome any type of vulnerability.

“I bet you want to kill these people,” Dr. E said. He was paler than before, truly pallid, and shakier. “I know I do.”

The damage Solo could have done at any other time . . .

“You should memorize their faces, and when you get out of here, you should hunt the offenders down and give them a little taste of your pain.”

“There’s another way, you know,” X said before he could reply. Always he was there with his kindness and compassion, doing his best to build Solo up and encourage him. His color had already returned.

“Don’t you dare feed him another line about forgiveness. We can’t forgive this kind of behavior.” Always Dr. E was there with his flamethrower, determined to enrage Solo further.

Well, it was working.

“He can, yes,” X said, “but that’s not what I was going to say. This is a terrible situation, but there is a light in the darkness if you’ll look for it rather than keeping your eyes closed.”

“My eyes aren’t closed,” he growled softly. They were open, and they were peering at the human couple who’d just stopped in front of him, gaping. Why weren’t they disgusted by the conditions living beings were forced to endure? Why weren’t—

His gazed snagged on a cascade of blond hair, just behind the pair. He focused. Peeking out from behind the far cage, watching him, expression concerned and guilt-ridden, was Vika.

Her lip was split in the center, and there was a fresh bruise on her cheek.

“X,” he snarled. X hadn’t saved her. She had been beaten.

The human male tried to impress the female by stretching out his arm, as if he were brave enough to pet a beast like Solo.

Urges he’d battled since waking up in this cage suddenly overcame him. The urge to hurt those who wanted to hurt him. The urge to repay cruelty with cruelty. And yet, there was a new one. The urge to get to Vika. To protect.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Solo reached out, grabbed the male by the wrist, and twisted. The bones instantly broke.

A howl of pain rang out.

One of the guards surged forward, his gun already drawn.

Solo could handle being shot. Over the years he’d been shot, stabbed, beaten, and anything else the human mind could think up. Still. He shouldn’t have done this, he realized. He should have remained stoic. Even without the human, he couldn’t yet get to Vika.

Now he released the man and held his hands up, palms out, all innocence.

“I demand a refund!” the man shouted as fat tears ran down his cheeks. “Ow, ow, ow, and damages! And all my medical bills paid, ow, ow, ow. I was told I wouldn’t be harmed, but look at this. It’s crushed! Ow, ow, ow. False advertising is a crime.”

Scowling, the guard replaced his gun to examine the human’s injury.

“Uh-oh. You’re in trouble now,” Dr. E said with a laugh. Health and vitality was returning to his cheeks. He was no longer shaky.

“Focus on the light,” X said. He was now pale. He was now shaky.

There was no light in a situation like this.

The guard sent the human on his way, probably to a medic, and approached the cage. “I hope you realize the money he’s now owed is going to be taken out of your hide.” With that, he jabbed the button Vika had once pressed—the button that brought paralysis.

Solo roared as warmth spread from his wrists to the rest of his body, exactly like the times he’d gotten angry, only this warmth was stronger and moved far more quickly. A river that had just broken free of a dam. He fought the sudden surge of weakness . . . fought the incoming vulnerability. . . .

He lost.

The last thing he saw before a heavy weight tugged at his eyelids was Vika, her hair wild, her eyes glittering with a strange sort of madness. She was rushing toward him, determined to get to him—until the second guard grabbed her by the waist and jerked her to a stop.

Solo unleashed another roar, tried to reach for her, and failed.