“Yup.”
Her words were obviously true. Sadly so. And she was a bit of a poet. Poetry was unique. She made him realize how the art created by humankind was going to die out with them. The deeper literary stuff was nuts, but he loved his books.
“You read?” he asked her.
“Read?” She sounded incredulous. “That’s some question, now.”
He waited.
“I used to. Pretty sure. I remember turning the pages… Most of my past is just a ball of fuzz.”
Hmmm.He’d made her think too. “We have to get your memories back.”
Those red-flecked eyes contemplated his. “That would be nice.”
Her eyebrows curved above those eyes like elegant wings. All those curves on her, every single one, they were beautiful.
Vargr drew a deep breath and kept on walking. He really had a problem. Not enough females to fuck was going to make his balls burst.Wow. I’m a poet too.
“My fave books right now areMusashi, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, and I haveWar and Peacebut might never get it read. Too big.”
“You have a library?” She wriggled in his arms, sitting up a little.
“A few.” He grinned. “One of the good things about an apocalypse is no one complains when you nick their books.”
“Uh-huh. I like that. Looking on the bright side of life. No library fines…”
The hours passed as he threaded through the corridors of a resort with an open atrium that appeared to go far up above.Maybe to the top. Were those twinkling stars? Nervous, he jogged faster past an empty swimming pool filled with the leaves of fake plants and some crunchy-brown real ones, smashed glassware, and a few clothed skeletons. The GLs and their human minions didn’t do much at night, but he’d hate to be proved wrong by being shot.
He had just decided it was nearly one AM, by the old time, when she spoke.
“Are we there yet? You know, I can walk. I’m all recovered.”
“How can you be?” He stopped, frowning at his pretty parcel before hefting her into a slightly better position. The bandage showed where her shirt had slipped up her midriff. This could still prove fatal. Would she show signs yet, if it was infected?
Carefully she probed the bandage where the darkening blood stain showed on the white wrapping. He’d wrapped her entire stomach to hold the wound dressing in place.
“See. It barely hurts.” She grunted but pressed harder. “I’d rather walk. I can’t see what we go past like this.”
This was a new area for him also, for he never took the same route back when scouting. So many hundreds of stories of scraper, so many paths. The more he learned the better.
His map… He’d neglected it. Nothing stirred in this broad, balconied terrace that skirted several tiers of shops. Here too there was a high ceiling, but it merely arched to a fluted point and went no higher than an extra two stories. Nothing scuttled here either. Whatever that noise had been, they’d left it behind.
He set her on her feet, made sure those sandals she wore were on level floor, and watched her for signs of fainting. “I will check that wound.”
Mouth downturned, she waggled her head and poked it herself. “I’m good.”
His protective instincts flared. “I will check it.”
“Hmmm.” Her mouth pursed, and her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek, then waggled at him.
He frowned but refused to acknowledge her insolence.
One of those things the nanites amplified was his need to protect and keep things in order, especially those who were under his jurisdiction. Fighting such instincts had proved difficult in the past, so he’d given in. Besides, it gave him gratification.
Cyn counted as someone in his jurisdiction. He raised an eyebrow at her before finding and opening the book of maps.
Impossible to map everything and this was only one area, but he tried.
