Page 52 of The Gathering Storm

“Because you’ve cautioned her not to.”

“Because she’s a stubborn, arrogant woman and refuses to assimilate to the modern world.” Lukas closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillow cushioning it. “Much like other elders among the People, yes?”

That was a bit of an understatement. The more a Daughter aged, the less likely she was to adapt to the changing times. The inability to assimilate had led to the deaths of more than one among the People.

“I need to see her.” The words were a harsh whisper among the hum of fluorescent lights and the drip of the IV attached to Lukas’s arm. “Please, Director. I can help you only if you will allow me to.”

Rebecca sucked in a long breath, released it slowly. So much rested on this decision. If she trusted Lukas, the man destined to kill her, and he betrayed the People, how could she ever forgive herself for willingly placing him in their midst? But if she turned him away and Nala continued her recalcitrance, refusing to speak to another, what advantage were they losing?

Never before had she been faced with such a hard choice. Never before had she taken so long to decide.

“I need time to seek counsel from our ruling body,” she hedged.

Lukas’s deep blue eyes flew open. “No, you don’t. You’re stalling, and we do not have time for such tactics.”

She leaned forward in her chair, her words hard and merciless. “You’re the only one whose time has run out, Mr. Alexiou.”

“If only that were so. You leave me no choice, Director, none.” He set the book aside, slid out from under the covers, and braced himself against the IV stand, his shoulders thrown back under the stony weight of his gaze. “I challenge you for the right of Sanctuary, and for the right to freely communicate with the woman you call the Oracle.”

Rebecca slammed her mouth shut and gritted her teeth together. “Only those of the People have the right of challenge.”

“I wear the mark of Nala,” he said, each word a deliberate force in its own right, “and am therefore of the People through my union with her.”

Rebecca stood slowly and weighed his challenge against the hue and cry sure to follow such a match. Many among the People would be unhappy no matter how it played out, and unhappier still should Rebecca decide to grant their enemy Sanctuary upon defeating him on the mat.

And defeat him she would. Lukas was taller and stronger, his reach and step were longer, but no man was a match for her in combat, and hadn’t been since she her days as an untried youth. The People trained hard, fought harder. They had to if they wanted to survive, and she had more reasons to live than most.

Still, it would prove a point. Entrance here must be earned.

Solemnly, Rebecca nodded. “I accept your challenge. We have an exhibition scheduled soon. I expect you to abide by our rules and the challenge’s outcome.”

He bowed to her, never removing his gaze from hers. “Of course. Well met, Rebecca of the Blade.”

A chill shivered down her spine. Only two people had ever rendered her name like that. One was her adopted daughter Dani, during a vision spoken not long ago. The other was the Woman with No Face, an assassin who was, as far as Rebecca could tell, a Daughter of unknown origins.

Rebecca clamped down on her emotions and returned Lukas’s bow, then left before fatigue caused a slip she could ill afford.

Monday after lunch, Sigrid hunkered down with George and the results of the tests he’d directed their team to run on the skeletal remains housed at the IECS museum. He’d started with the oldest, a sensible precaution given the impetus behind their search. It had been less than a week, but already results were rolling in. She and he had met in the workroom holding the Sisters’ remains and worked side by side sorting through and collating data.

The weekend had been pleasant.

Sigrid ducked her head and shuffled paper in a half-hearted attempt to hide her happiness. Will had spent much of his time at work, either coordinating supplies and the housing of visitors, or at The Omega. At night, though, he slipped gladly into her bed and shared it and his pleasure with her, even when fatigue sent him straight into sleep afterwards.

He was doing too much.

She was reluctant to discuss it with him. They’d reached a truce of sorts, a place where his interests were being served as much as hers. After the night she’d demanded he please her, she was afraid of forcing him to bend to her will again.

Humor tugged at her. Imagine that, a Daughter giving a man his head out of fear of his adverse reaction to a more constricting hold.

George slapped a folder closed and shoved it aside. “You’re smiling a lot today.”

Sigrid pretended interest in the graph estimating the ethnicity of one of the DNA samples. “I had a good weekend.”

“With Will?”

“Who else?” She glanced at him and arched a teasing eyebrow. “These results won’t analyze themselves.”

He laughed, creasing his thinner face into a smile. “Ok, ok, you’re the boss. I just… You seem really happy lately.”

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